Mara and Evan were driving home after visiting me in Wyoming. They'd spent four days at the house, helping me clean out the basement and convincing me to return to ordinary routines.
Mara made me promise to stop sleeping on the couch.
Evan fixed the loose railing on the back steps.
On their final morning, Mara hugged me beside the driveway.
She was wearing Linda's old denim jacket.
I noticed something different about her.
She seemed tired.
A little pale.
But she smiled when I asked whether she was feeling all right.
“Just a long trip, Dad.”
Evan placed the bags into the truck.
Then shook my hand.
“Take care of yourself, Ray.”
I nodded.
“You too.”
He looked toward Mara.
Then back at me.
For a moment, his expression became serious.
“Don't worry so much about her.”
I laughed.
“That's not possible.”
Evan smiled.
“I figured.”
Then they drove away.
I watched until the truck disappeared.
An hour later, I received a call from Mara.
She sounded cheerful.
They'd stopped for coffee.
The weather was getting worse farther south.
Evan was considering spending the night near Gallup instead of trying to reach home.
I told them to be careful.
Mara laughed.
“Dad, you say that every time.”
“Because every time, you need to be careful.”
She groaned affectionately.
Then said the words I'd heard since she was little.
“If I need you, I'll call.”
I smiled.
“And I'll come.”
We ended the call.
Five hours later, my phone rang again.
But this time, Mara wasn't laughing.
She was screaming.
“DAD!”
I stood so quickly that my chair fell backward.
“Mara?”
There was a terrible sound in the background.
Wind.
Metal.
And someone shouting.
Then her voice returned.
“WE'VE HAD AN ACCIDENT!”
My heart stopped.
“Where are you?”
She struggled to answer.
I heard Evan groaning.
Then another crash.
The connection broke.
I called back.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
I looked toward the weather map on my computer.
A severe storm system had moved across northeastern Arizona. Several roads were flooded, and a section of highway near an old Route 66 alignment had been closed after a collision involving a commercial truck.
I called emergency services.
Provided everything I knew.
Then I called Bishop.
He answered on the second ring.
“Gravel?”
“My daughter's in trouble.”
He didn't ask unnecessary questions.
“Where?”
I told him.
Then I grabbed my vest and left.
I had never ridden so far with so little awareness of the miles passing beneath me.
I remember rain striking my visor.
The smell of wet asphalt.
The sound of thunder beyond the mountains.