Finn twisted around in her seat and leaned over the box once again. This time, she perused the tapes more carefully, her eyes lingering on the handwritten spines like SUMMER MIX ’94 and RAINY DAY MUSIC. One tape in particular caught her eye. It had no writing on the spine and a blank cover. She held it up for Zadie to see. “What’s this blank tape?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never opened it.”

Finn unlatched the case and saw, in her mother’s handwriting, a label that read: DO NOT RECORD OVER!!! Her curiosity was piqued. “I’m gonna play it. See what it is.”

“A wild card. I like it.” Zadie smiled. “Put it in.”

Finn tried to not look too eager as she fed the tape into the player. She held her breath as she waited for music to start, but what came out of the speakers was not music. It was their mother’s voice.

EIGHT SIX MONTHS

(UNTIL NORA WILDER’S DISAPPEARANCE)

“My name is Nora Wilder.

I am forty years old.

I live at 828 Marigold Lane in Switchback, Texas.

My daughters’ names are Zadie and Finn.

We drove to Arizona this morning, to the Constellation Campground.”

Nora looked down at the recorder in her lap, watched the tape spin slowly through its little plastic window. She didn’t have the money to record in a booth with the foam on the walls like Dolly or Bowie, so she’d bought the tape deck to record herself singing in the bathroom where the acoustics were best. In recent years, she’d hardly ever used it. In fact, the only reason it was in the car with her was because she’d lent it to a friend the week before.

Nora considered what to say next—what, if anything, future her would need to know. “The feeling you are having right now will pass. It always does.”

A knock on the driver’s-side window startled her, and she turned to see Finn waving at her through the glass. “Are you recording a song?” her daughter asked as Nora opened the door.

“Uh, no. Not exactly.” Nora quickly changed the subject. “Hey, do you want to help me pitch the tent?”

“Okay!”

Nora tucked the recorder under her arm and set it on the picnic table before kneeling down next to the tent she’d already spread out on the sand.

“See that hole?” Nora pointed to a grommet on the tent floor closest to Finn’s feet. “Put the end of the pole in there and hold it steady while I attach the sides.”

Finn followed Nora’s instructions and held the pole upright while her mom clipped the nylon sides to it. As they worked, a shadow from the rocks above crept slowly toward them. They had arrived at the Constellation Campground just in time to see the Martian-red cliffs catch fire in the evening sun.

“I like this place,” Finn said as Nora snapped the last of the fabric in place. “I like the way it sounds.”