“No, nothing. I’m in LA, on the 405, coming home.”

“Do you have an hour to stop by and see me?”

“Of course.” For the first time since heading south, he glanced at the car clock and was surprised to see that it was only 2:29 p.m. He thought he’d spent at least half an hour in the house, more like forty minutes. It should be at least half an hour later than this. Evidently, while he’d brooded about Maddison and what might lie ahead for them, he must have greatly exceeded the speed limit from Goleta. “Depending on traffic, I’ll probably be there around four o’clock. What’s up?”

“I had the most incredible experience this morning. I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m consumed by it, and I just don’t know what to make of it.”

“Nothing wrong, I hope.”

“No, no, dear. It was quite wonderful but very strange.”

“You should be a writer, Calista. You certainly know how to set a narrative hook. Give me a hint of what comes next?”

She was silent a moment. Then she said, “We’ve never spoken of the subject, perhaps afraid of sounding frivolous. I’m not sure how I feel about it, really. But you, David—do you believe in ghosts?”

He knew at once that whatever had happened, it had involved Maddison Sutton.

“I don’t disbelieve in them,” he said cautiously. “I have an open mind, though I’ve never seen one. Sounds like I might need a drink to go with this tale of yours.”

“Josefa is here today. She’ll fix you whatever you want, and you’ll find me on the deck.”

“You’re really all right?”

“I’m splendid, dear boy. I’m ebullient!”

“Fourish,” he promised, and they disconnected.

In its determination not to keep still, in its fever, humanity surged south and north across eight or ten lanes of traffic, eager to get to one future or another, as if the future wouldn’t find all of them on its own, minute by fateful minute.

Part 3

| 45 |

At 4:12 p.m., Josefa Alvarez answered the backstreet door and led David into the kitchen, where he agreed to a glass of cabernet. She was a doll-faced dumpling of a woman, just five feet tall but with a mighty heart. Her sweet appearance and air of perpetual gratitude for the very fact of life seemed to be the truth of her.

As she poured the wine, she reported on Calista. “Our Calie has been in such high spirits all day. She had an unexpected visitor at breakfast, before I came to work, and I swear she hasn’t stopped smiling since.”

“What visitor?”