Night Owl(50)

I also one-sidedly continued the story of Cal and Lana. Nothing was over. Everything went into the manila envelope.

Three weeks had passed, and I felt a growing sense of urgency about getting the material to Hannah. I needed to see her.

My brothers and uncle called and emailed relentlessly. What the f*ck did they want? I couldn't deal with them yet, and their barrage of attention was making me anxious.

I couldn't lose focus.

I hadn't seen Hannah, but I knew I was close to getting her back. If I could just get the envelope to her. The letters explained everything.

Bethany texted me on the 29th.

I'm in the city staying with a friend. I'll be over on Friday to get my stuff. Stay away from the apartment this weekend.

Under different circumstances Bethany's tone would have pissed me off, but I wanted to see her about as much as she wanted to see me. Besides, I was on a mission. August was two days away and I'd be damned if I started a new month without Hannah.

I gathered Bethany's stuff from the trunk of my car and piled it in the living room.

I never considered taking Bethany to court, though I could have. She was the source, I knew it, and we had a non-disclosure agreement—but the damage was already done, and the lawsuit would bring more publicity.


I packed a light bag and installed myself in a corner king room at the Brown Palace Hotel. I brought my manila envelope.

At the last minute, I slid my sketch of Hannah into the envelope.

I knew what I was going to do. I couldn't trust Pam and I didn't dare go to Hannah's house, where her father might greet me with a sawed-off shotgun.

If I mailed the envelope, Hannah might throw it away. Plus, I needed to talk to someone who could tell me the truth about how Hannah was doing.

On Friday night, I dressed casually in jeans, a t-shirt, and of course my sneakers. I jogged around the hotel room psyching myself up. I had a good plan. Finally, a good plan.

My phone rang.

For f*ck's sake, it was my brother. Again.

"Nate," I grumbled. "Look, could you not call anymore ton—"

"Hey buddy, there you are."

I paused.

I could picture Nate's face as he spoke. Warm, open, patient. Nate was my oldest brother, Seth was in the middle, and I was the youngest. Nate had always been the best of us. He had a family, a brilliant career, and a natural charisma that drew people to him.

When I had my breakdown in grad school—and all through my rough tumble down the rabbit hole—it was Nate who came alongside me, his presence so gentle and non-judgmental. Seth and my uncle just wanted to smack some sense into me. (They tried.) It was Nate's kindness, though, that finally nudged me onto the path to sobriety—and sanity.

"Hey." I sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm kind of—"

"I know, you're kind of busy," Nate cut in smoothly. He laughed. His laughter was slow and easygoing. Listening to it, I realized how manic I sounded by comparison.

"Yeah, I kind of am. I've got something to do." I tapped the envelope on my knee.

"Well, I've got an idea for you buddy."

"Have you talked to any reporters?"

"Nah. Now listen Matt."

I rose and began to pace.

"They're telling everything about me. Have you seen it? On the internet."

"Nah, I don't read that bullshit. I've got a great idea for you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, we miss you buddy. Me and Seth, the kids. Uncle. What do you think about getting out of Denver for a while?"

I tightened my grip on the envelope. Getting out of Denver? I started to jog, going from the desk to the door and back.

"Can't. I've got things to do here."

"Like what?"

"Loose ends," I said. A fine sweat broke out on my brow. "Gotta do some things."

"Loose ends? Slow down there buddy, I can't understand you."

"I've got stuff going on out here. I can't leave; I need to make some things happen."

"Matt? Listen, I really want you to come out here. Take a real break, take it easy."

"I can't leave!" I snapped.

"Hey, sure you can. You take your time and then come on out here. Uncle's cabin's been empty all spring, and all summer so far. You can—"

"Stop it!" I shouted, my voice rising hysterically. Nate had to know about Hannah. He was trying to pull me away from her. Fuck, he'd spoken to the reporter. Maybe he spoke to Pam.

"Buddy, where are you? Are you in your apartment?"

I rushed to the hotel windows and snapped the curtains shut.

"Why do you want to know?" I whispered.

"Matt? I can't understand you, hang on. Let me—"

I ended the call and flung my phone onto the bed. Fuck, was Nate in Denver? Was he coming to stop me?

I left the hotel in a cold sweat. I drove into Boulder, watching my rearview mirror carefully and sticking under the speed limit. I held the manila envelope on my lap.

Please, please, please be there tonight. Time was running out. I could feel it.

I drove right into one of Colorado's capricious summer storms. Perfect. The wind pushed at my car and the rain pelted against my windows so that I couldn't hear myself think. Fuck, at least it wasn't hail.