Page 63 of Our Last Resort

Simon rolled his eyes. “Émile,” he said. In a falsetto voice, he repeated: “Émile, Émile, Émile.” He turned to stare at Louisa. “What’s Émile going to do when I go? Come and get me?”

Louisa shrugged, but Simon couldn’t let it go. He was the gossiper in chief, the original keeper of outside-outside. And, over the past couple of years—it occurred to me as I watched him nudge Louisa with his elbow—his status had been threatened. By Gabriel and me and our repeated journeys beyond the center of our shared universe.

“You should care more than anyone,” Simon added. “You and all the girls.”

Louisa frowned. I pretended to ignore what Simon had just said, but I kept listening.

Thankfully, Louisa took the bait.

“What are you talking about?”

Simon looked at her in mock incredulity. He was pleased, really—so pleased to know something she clearly didn’t.

“You have no idea, do you?” he asked.

Louisa clicked her tongue.

“Shut up.”

Simon shook his head.

I don’t know what I pictured then. I couldn’t have spelled it out. There was something dark and cutting at the center of Émile’s world, something of which I had only a remote sense. The knowledge was in the soil under our feet, in the vegetables we grew and ate.

Something I didn’t want to confront.

“Seriously, Simon,” I said. “Shut up.”

Simon turned his gaze to me.

Come on,he seemed to say.You of all people should know.

23Escalante, Utah

The Sixth Day

In the lobby, our group disbands. The actor speed-walks away from the influencers.

Gabriel’s phone rings.

“Hey,” he says, then mouths “Howard” in my direction. “No, that’s fine. I can talk.”

He steps away, presumably heading back to our suite.

WhereisHarris?

I spot his colleague, the young woman who examined Sabrina’s body two days ago, speaking to Catalina in a corner of the lobby.

“Excuse me,” I say. “Deputy…”

The police deputy turns around.

“Calhoun,” she says.

Her hair is in a bun at the nape of her neck, though some strands have become loose and frame her face. She swipes them back.

“I’m Frida,” I say. “I spoke to your colleague yesterday. I’ve been—”

“I know who you are.”

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