Phần I
Sam's truck came up the drive at ten to one in the morning, too fast, one headlight out, and stopped crooked across two parking spaces by the equipment barn.
Claire was sitting on the porch steps in the dark. She had been sitting there since eleven. She had not gone back into the house since Mateo shut the laptop. She didn't think she could stand to be under the same roof as her father's breathing.
Sam got out of the truck and stood swaying beside it, his keys in his hand.
"You drove like that," she said.
"Rutherford's four miles."
"You drove four miles like that."
She went down the steps and held out her hand. After a long moment, he put the keys in it.
They sat on the tailgate of his truck. The night crew was on the last of the Ridge above them, the headlamps scattered on the hill like a constellation slowly falling. The air smelled like eucalyptus and diesel and, on Sam, beer and cigarettes. Sam didn't smoke.
Claire took out her phone. Mateo had sent her the file.
"Sam. I need you to hear something."
"Don't."
He said it without looking at her. Quietly. The way you'd tell someone not to touch a hot pan.
"You don't know what it is."
"It's from Luca's phone." He was staring up at the headlamps on the Ridge. "Mateo's been at that repair shop in Napa all day. Ines called Paige. Paige called me at the bar." He rubbed his face with both hands. "It's him. In the tank. Isn't it."
"Yes."
"And Dad."
Claire didn't answer. She didn't have to.
"I don't need to hear it, Claire." Sam's voice was very steady, which was the worst thing about it. "I was there."