“So … what can you tell me about my dad’s disappearance?”
Dr. Prichard nodded. He’d known this was coming. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t have anything else to add to the story. It’s exactly what I told everyone else: He left camp without telling anyone where he was going, the same way he did all the time. Only this time he didn’t come back.”
The words hung awkwardly between us. Then Dr. Prichard cleared his throat. “I’m sorry if that was too blunt. Your father was a good man. I respected him a great deal.”
“No, it’s fine. Thank you. I appreciate your honesty, and I know you’ve told the whole story before. It’s just … if you could think about it … if there’s anything else you can remember about the day he disappeared, anything at all, even if it seems completely insignificant … it would mean so much to me.”
Dr. Prichard nodded again. He squinted into the sun, thinking it over. I kept quiet, giving him space. Finally he ran his hand over his scalp in a way that made me wonder if it was a gesture left over from the days before he’d shaved his head.
“Okay,” he said, “I do have something. Just know that I do think it’s completely insignificant.“
“That’s okay,” I assured him. “I’d still love to hear it.”
“We deal with a lot of heavy stuff at this camp,” Dr. Prichard said. “One in five people who come to us has had a family member killed, and most of them have direct experience with violent acts. Seeing that again and again … it can wear you down. Your dad never let it. He always kept things light around here. He made jokes, he planned goofball things for us and the community—stupid stuff, like games of charades and obstacle courses—things to take our mind off the worst of it. But in the last planned goofball things for us and the community—stupid stuff, like games of charades and obstacle courses—things to take our mind off the worst of it. But in the last few days before he disappeared, he wasn’t like that. He was serious. Somber, even. Like he was wrestling with something.”
“Do you know what it was?” I asked. “Was anything going on around camp? Maybe with a patient?”
“Not that I know of. My guess? A bad meal that tied his intestines in knots. Wouldn’t be the first time that happened here. I told you, anything that mattered I’ve already said. But you asked, so …”
He got up. I guessed our conversation was done.
Ben and I rose as well. “Thank you,” I said. “You have no idea how much I appreciate your time.”
We all said our good-byes, then Ben and I climbed into the Jeep and started back to the hotel.
“It’s interesting,” Ben said, putting a voice to my thoughts, “but it doesn’t really give us anything to go on.”
“Maybe not,” I agreed, but my mind was already racing. What could have changed Dad’s mood? Had something gone wrong with a patient? Or maybe an ex-patient —someone outside the camp, so Dr. Prichard wouldn’t have known. Maybe there was a family he tried to save from the drug trade. Could he have gotten too deeply involved, and had someone taken drastic steps to get him to butt out?
GloboReach technically belonged to our family now—I was sure I could find a way to get all Dad’s files and go through them, see if any of his past patients or their families were involved in something shady that Dad might have gotten into.
Then again, didn’t Dr. Prichard say nearly everyone they dealt with had experience with violent acts? There must be an endless list of Dad’s ex-patients who could have inadvertently led him into something dangerous. The search could take forever, and I still might not find out anything for sure.
Ben leaned on the horn, and I snapped out of my reverie. We were caught behind a massive crowd of people dancing in the streets around a sound truck blaring samba music. Instinctively I stood in my seat for a better look, hooked my sunglasses over my shirt, and started snapping pictures.
“That’s really not safe,” Ben said.
“We’re moving two miles an hour. I’ll be okay.”
And truthfully, the longer I lingered behind my camera, and the longer the samba music seeped into my system, the more I felt okay, and let everything else melt away. The whole scene in the streets was irresistible—the thrumming from the sound truck was enhanced by live drummers in feathered and beaded costumes. I didn’t even realize I was moving my hips to the beat until Ben called me on it.
“How can you dance and take pictures at the same time?”
I laughed, and the sound unlocked the last bit of tension in my body. “Motion stabilization in the camera—can’t live without it!”
Cruising slowly behind the revelers, our Jeep became part of the parade—even more so when two men wearing nothing but black thongs and bongos leaped aboard, screaming encouragement to the crowd.
“Seriously?” Ben groused. “No way. I’m going to get pulled over.”
“How?” I shouted over the bongos. “The police are dancing too!”
I snapped a close-up of one of the bongo players, who then offered me a spot on his drum. We played together as Ben drove on, finally pulling into the hotel valet parking area, where the drummers leaped off the Jeep and ran ahead to continue with the crowd.
More music blared from inside the hotel. I felt it carry me, lighter than air. “Not so much for Carnival?” I asked Ben playfully, hooking my arm through his.
“Not so much for driving through Carnival,” Ben amended.
“Too tough for you?”
“I travel with you. Nothing’s too tough for me.”
“Not even that guy?”
He turned to look, and the minute his attention was diverted, I raced to the elevators.
“Hey!” Ben cried, and ran after me, but I dove and pressed the button first.
“Yes!” I cheered.
“Loser,” Ben said.
“Actually, I just won. Let’s go up and change, then we can hit the Samba Parade.”
“Change? But I like you just the way you are.”
“You are such a dork.”
Ben nodded, accepting the title with grace as the elevator arrived.
I’d thought we’d get ready and go back down right away, but once I got to my room, I realized how exhausted I was. I looked at the clock and was grateful to see we still had a few hours before we needed to get to the Sambadrome—enough time for a room service snack and a nap. I called Ben to tell him the new plan.
I didn’t sleep that long, but it was enough to energize me. I woke up refreshed and excited for the Samba Parade. It was the perfect excuse to wear my favorite black sundress with the excellent twirling properties, and I felt light and breezy as I knocked on Ben’s door. He swung it open and presented me with a single red rose.
“For you,” he said.
“Very gallant,” I replied. “Of course you do realize I have the same cut flower in my room.”
Ben glanced over his shoulder at the now empty bud vase sitting on his table. “Hmm. Didn’t really think that out. Still gallant?”
“Very.”
“You happen to look ravishing tonight.” He said it with a British accent that made me laugh out loud.
“As do you, sir,” I responded in kind.
“Excellent. Shall we go, then?” He extended his arm and I linked my own through it, first shifting my camera bag to my other shoulder so it wouldn’t bang between us.