“That’s not helping.”
“Something is wrong up there.”
“You don’t know that.”
He turned to where his wife was sitting calmly, sipping a cup of coffee and typing at her laptop. A trellis rose behind her, covered in flowering vines that attracted hummingbirds. Becca looked calm, but he knew that she was worrying in her own way.
The guest house sat in the town of Santa María del Lago, on the opposite side of the lake from their more luxurious digs of the previous couple of weeks. The accommodations were basic, with a shared bathroom servicing the five different guest rooms, and the other lodgers seemed to be entirely backpackers on their way to the cloud forest preserves of Santa Elena and Monte Verde. The lodge served full, hearty breakfasts, and offered a path through the forest down to the lake, with a view up at the cloud-covered volcano. Wes’s brother was only a few miles away on the other side of that mountain, but it took two hours to get there from here.
“He was supposed to send an email by now,” Wes said. “He was supposed to complain about the food and I’d come up and grab the phone and the video. Soon as it checks out, we get him out of there.”
“Maybe he hasn’t found her yet.”
“How many residents are there at Colina Nublosa? Thirty? Forty? They eat their meals together—Eric must have seen her a dozen times by now.”
“That doesn’t mean he got her alone long enough to ask questions and video her answers.”
“Doesn’t matter. There’s a signal for that, too, remember?”
Eric was supposed to email one way or the other. Complain about the food if he had the video, and rave about it if he didn’t. Either way, Wes would get a message and know where they stood. He’d dropped his brother off on Monday morning and given strict instructions for Eric to email no later than Tuesday night. It was now Friday.
“I’m going to call the administrator.”
“Don’t make him suspicious,” Becca said.
“It’s not suspicious. I just dropped him off, so naturally I want to know how he’s adapting.”
“They said not to do that until he’d been there two weeks. It disrupts the adjustment.” As Wes passed, she took his arm. “Sit down. Please.”
He obeyed and she poured him coffee. He didn’t drink it. They sat in silence while Becca typed at her laptop.
“Any word from Davis yet?” he asked.
“The usual. Emails, back and forth. I haven’t told him where we are, and he hasn’t asked.”
“What about the money?”
“He hasn’t noticed it’s missing yet. Or if he has, he hasn’t mentioned it.”
“And he doesn’t want to know why we never showed up at the house?”
“Not yet. Kind of surprising.”
“Yeah,” he said with a frown.
Maybe his uncle would have given them a pass on Tuesday, figuring they were wiped out from the travel. Maybe as long as Becca kept the emails coming, he would give them a pass on Wednesday, too. Maybe even Thursday. But Davis didn’t like a purely virtual office—being wheelchair-bound, it made him feel doubly isolated. It was now Friday, and he’d expect them in. It was already noon in Vermont, so wasn’t he at least curious as to why Becca and Wes were nowhere to be found?
“Forget about Davis for now,” she said. “What about Eric?”
“I bet he forgot. I bet he spaced out why he’s there and what he’s supposed to be doing.”
“We drilled it a million times. His memory isn’t that bad.”
“Sometimes it is.”
“He gave me a blow-by-blow description of The Hound of the Baskervilles, ” she said. “How bad could it be?”
“That’s different. That’s a story. He can remember stories.”
“Hmm.” She frowned and closed her laptop. “My guess is he almost has it. If we could find a different way to get him the information, instead of making him memorize and repeat it back.”
“Good idea. I could get him out of there and try again.” He gestured at the laptop. “Pass it over. I’ll
“Something is wrong up there.”
“You don’t know that.”
He turned to where his wife was sitting calmly, sipping a cup of coffee and typing at her laptop. A trellis rose behind her, covered in flowering vines that attracted hummingbirds. Becca looked calm, but he knew that she was worrying in her own way.
The guest house sat in the town of Santa María del Lago, on the opposite side of the lake from their more luxurious digs of the previous couple of weeks. The accommodations were basic, with a shared bathroom servicing the five different guest rooms, and the other lodgers seemed to be entirely backpackers on their way to the cloud forest preserves of Santa Elena and Monte Verde. The lodge served full, hearty breakfasts, and offered a path through the forest down to the lake, with a view up at the cloud-covered volcano. Wes’s brother was only a few miles away on the other side of that mountain, but it took two hours to get there from here.
“He was supposed to send an email by now,” Wes said. “He was supposed to complain about the food and I’d come up and grab the phone and the video. Soon as it checks out, we get him out of there.”
“Maybe he hasn’t found her yet.”
“How many residents are there at Colina Nublosa? Thirty? Forty? They eat their meals together—Eric must have seen her a dozen times by now.”
“That doesn’t mean he got her alone long enough to ask questions and video her answers.”
“Doesn’t matter. There’s a signal for that, too, remember?”
Eric was supposed to email one way or the other. Complain about the food if he had the video, and rave about it if he didn’t. Either way, Wes would get a message and know where they stood. He’d dropped his brother off on Monday morning and given strict instructions for Eric to email no later than Tuesday night. It was now Friday.
“I’m going to call the administrator.”
“Don’t make him suspicious,” Becca said.
“It’s not suspicious. I just dropped him off, so naturally I want to know how he’s adapting.”
“They said not to do that until he’d been there two weeks. It disrupts the adjustment.” As Wes passed, she took his arm. “Sit down. Please.”
He obeyed and she poured him coffee. He didn’t drink it. They sat in silence while Becca typed at her laptop.
“Any word from Davis yet?” he asked.
“The usual. Emails, back and forth. I haven’t told him where we are, and he hasn’t asked.”
“What about the money?”
“He hasn’t noticed it’s missing yet. Or if he has, he hasn’t mentioned it.”
“And he doesn’t want to know why we never showed up at the house?”
“Not yet. Kind of surprising.”
“Yeah,” he said with a frown.
Maybe his uncle would have given them a pass on Tuesday, figuring they were wiped out from the travel. Maybe as long as Becca kept the emails coming, he would give them a pass on Wednesday, too. Maybe even Thursday. But Davis didn’t like a purely virtual office—being wheelchair-bound, it made him feel doubly isolated. It was now Friday, and he’d expect them in. It was already noon in Vermont, so wasn’t he at least curious as to why Becca and Wes were nowhere to be found?
“Forget about Davis for now,” she said. “What about Eric?”
“I bet he forgot. I bet he spaced out why he’s there and what he’s supposed to be doing.”
“We drilled it a million times. His memory isn’t that bad.”
“Sometimes it is.”
“He gave me a blow-by-blow description of The Hound of the Baskervilles, ” she said. “How bad could it be?”
“That’s different. That’s a story. He can remember stories.”
“Hmm.” She frowned and closed her laptop. “My guess is he almost has it. If we could find a different way to get him the information, instead of making him memorize and repeat it back.”
“Good idea. I could get him out of there and try again.” He gestured at the laptop. “Pass it over. I’ll
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