Page 12 of Find Me in California

“Julia Hope, the massage therapist. My grandmother is Ruby Rose Hope in room 115.”

“Ah, right. It’s late. She’s probably asleep.”

Julia glances at the old ticking clock on the mantel and deflates. It’s already after 10:00 p.m. Mama Rose is definitely asleep.

“Want to leave a message?” Steve asks.

“No, thanks. I’ll see her tomorrow.” Just as well. Doubtful the diary exists. Julia would have come across it when she boxed her grandmother’s belongings. Best she avoid that rabbit hole before she falls in. She has more pressing matters to contend with and can’t afford the distraction.

She’s about to say goodbye when Steve says, “You got a call earlier.”

“I did?” That’s unusual. Her Rosemont clients have her cell number. They or their caretakers call her directly to schedule appointments.

“Hold on.” Papers rustle on Steve’s end. “Some guy named Matt Gatlin.”

Well, what do you know. He did call back.

“What time did he call?”

“Around eight forty-five.”

Four hours after he hung up on her.

“Do you know if he spoke with Lenore?” She didn’t get the chance to. Lenore had left for the day by the time Julia sought her out.

“No, but I transferred him to her voicemail. He might have left a message, but he called right back and asked for you.”

“Did he leave a number?”

“Sure did.”

She takes down the number Steve dictates. “Thanks.”

“No prob.”

Matt might have had a change of heart about his grandmother. Maybe he decided to handle her finances and will come to get her. Probably best to speak with him before she updates Lenore in the morning.

Taking Trevor’s advice from earlier that day, she pours herself a glass of cabernet and, facing the bookcases, perches on the edge of the old couch with unforgiving cushions. She calls Matt only to reach his voicemail. A simple “Matt Gatlin—leave a message” plays, followed by a standard recording that states his voicemail box is full.

She disconnects and dictates a text instead: “Hi, Matt. This is Julia. We spoke earlier about your grandmother. I got a message you called. I tried calling back but got your voicemail, which is full, by the way. You might want to clear it out. I know Lenore tried to contact you recently, oh ... so many times. Anyway, it’s me. I’ll be up for a little while longer if you need to reach me.”

She reads the text back, cringing at the two-and-a-half-sentence rant about his voicemail. Deleting that. She corrects a few typos, adds punctuation, and sends it. After adding Matt’s information to her contacts, she leaves her phone on the coffee table and, sipping her wine, peruses the bookcases on the off chance Mama Rose slipped her diary among the books. Assuming it exists. But several books on the shelf have light-blue spines and gold lettering.

She slides the nearest one off the shelf, and her phone blares Ozzy Osbourne’s “Patient Number 9.”

Julia jumps and the book drops to the floor. Wine sloshes onto the carpet. She scrambles for the phone and lowers the volume, chastising herself for not changing her ringtone back to Paratone’s cover of “Time After Time.” Mr. Myers, a seventy-four-year-old Rosemont resident who rocks out to heavy metal, asked her to show him how to personalize his daughter’s ringtone this morning, which she demonstrated for him on her phone. Hence the Ozzy.

“Hello?” she answers, breathless.

“It’s Matt.”

“Hey, hiii.” She looks around for something to wipe up the wine and settles on a roll of paper towels she gets from the kitchen.

“Thanks for calling me back. I wasn’t sure you would.” His voice is whiskey honey. He sounds as exhausted as she feels.

“Why not?”

“I hung up on you.”

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