When he gets sleepy, and he promises me he’s just going to hang up and close his eyes, no drinking, I say good night and I tell him I love him. It’s easier this time. Not easy, but easier.

I hang up and check in case a text came in and somehow I didn’t hear it. No.

I text Aisha again.

i’m worried. Please let me know you’re okay and that you’re coming back to stay with me.

It takes her only a few seconds to respond.

Let’s chill for the night. We’ll talk in the morning, okay? I’m fine. Have a place to stay.

K, I text back.

I turn off the lights and listen to the traffic outside. It soothes me, in a way; it sounds like New York. The shadows of cars traverse the walls and I feel the pulse of the city just outside the window. Maybe there are kids who would take tonight and get drunk or go looking for girls. Maybe part of me is one of those kids, I don’t know. Mostly I just want to be alone right now, and that’s a bigger part of me.

I play the entire volleyball scene over and over in my mind. What I said. My tone. My mood. Why did I have to be that way? If I could go back and change the entire thing, I would. I wouldn’t let my pride take over. I would not make my friend feel bad about wanting to enjoy herself.

Tomorrow I’ll either find out what happened to my grandfather, or I never will. There’s no other way it can turn out. I’ll find Turk Braverman, or I won’t. If I do, he’ll know my grandfather. Or he won’t.

And for the second time in a few days, I find myself doing something I don’t normally do.

Please, God. Let me find my grandfather tomorrow. Please. If you exist, please just give me that one thing. Amen.

THE NEXT MORNING, I shower, get dressed in the same dirty clothes I wore yesterday, and think about texting Aisha. But I don’t want to wait for her before going to see Turk Braverman. And why should I? She can join me when she wants, if she wants. I check out of the hotel and start my walk back toward 36 Prosper Street. It’s chilly again, and I wonder if it ever warms up here.

I ring the bell again. I hear the dog bark again.

My heart sinks. Nothing else. No other sounds.

Then, softly, I hear the patter of slow footsteps. My pulse accelerates.

The knob turns. The door opens.

The old man who answers has extremely thin legs, which I can see because he is wearing white shorts that reach to just below his knobby knees. His upper body is thick and muscled. He looks a bit like he might topple over at any moment because he’s too top-heavy. He has a mustache that has clearly been dyed black because the rest of his hair is salt-and-pepper, mostly salt. His face is craggy and lined; he has two horizontal lines across his weathered cheeks that look like minus signs to me.

“So where’s your truck?” he asks, looking around.

“Excuse me?”

He raises an eyebrow and frowns. “They said you were bringing a new cable box. And you’re not holding a new cable box. I’m not feeling enthusiastic about Comcast right now.”

“Oh,” I say. “I’m not … I’m not the cable guy.”

“Good,” he says, sizing me up. “No offense, but you look like someone who would have trouble screwing in a light bulb.”

“None taken,” I say. “True story.”

He grins a bit. “So … can I help you?”

I inhale slowly and prepare myself for rejection. “You wouldn’t happen to be Turk Braverman, would you?”

“I would. Who would be asking?”

“I’m Carson. Carson Smith.”

His eyes go soft and his mouth opens.

“So I’m guessing that means you do know my grandfather, then?” I say, and I feel like I could explode out of my skin. Victory. I’ve found him.

He nods slowly. “Come in,” he says, nearly breathless. “Please.”

He opens the door, and there is a black, furry dog sitting at attention, a pink tongue hanging down. His mouth is in a dog approximation of a smile. When he sees me, his thick tail beats against the floor.

“This is Gomer,” he says.

“Cute,” I say. “What kind?”

“Australian Labradoodle.”

“Does he have an accent?”

Turk laughs. “Of course you’d say that. Just like your grandfather.”

I nod, stunned. This man knows my grandfather. Not like thirty years ago, he knew him for a few minutes. He knows him well enough to know his bad sense of humor. My body feels like it’s going to start shaking.

I want to hear everything all at once. But Turk is taking his time.

“You can say hi to Gomer if you want,” he says. “He’s very friendly.”

To be polite, I tentatively get down on one knee. Gomer jumps up on his hind legs to greet me. His tongue shoots at my face. I duck and tumble backward.

“Oh!” I say. “Wasn’t ready for that.”

Turk laughs. “Range and accuracy, this one’s tongue.” He reaches a hand down to lift me up, but I decline, preferring to push myself up on my own.

“Carson Smith,” he says, turning to walk down the hallway to the living room. I follow. “How on earth did you find me?”

“Long story,” I say.

“Well, let me get you some water,” he says, and he motions to an old, weathered leather couch. I sit and look around. His place is casual and comfortable, like there’s nothing in here that doesn’t have history.

“I like your house,” I say. “It’s cool.”

“This old place? Thanks.”

He brings us water and then sits to my right on a smaller version of the couch I’m on.

“So tell me this long story. How did you find me?”

I take a sip and tell him about finding the letter from Russ to Pastor John. Then I back up, realizing I should just give him the whole story. About my dad and mom splitting when I was three. About my dad being sick with cirrhosis of the liver, about us coming to Billings for the summer, meeting Aisha. His face is very reactive to everything I say, and he just lets me spill. When I mention finding his name in the book that Lois Clancy gave me, he laughs.

“Well, now I understand the phone call.”

“What phone call?”

“This past Sunday. I got a call on my old landline phone that I never use anymore. It was from a woman who asked me if I was Turk B. I said I was, and she said, ‘Good, you’re still alive.’ And then she hung up. It freaked me out. I unplugged the phone.”

Which explains why the phone just rang and rang when I tried to call him, I realize. And it confirms that Lois was trying to tell me something when she said that there were answers in the book! I’d just thought she was a weird old lady. I silently thank her.

“So that’s how I found you. And now I’m here because maybe you can tell me where I can find my grandfather. Because my dad deserves to see him before … you know.”

“You haven’t read all the letters, have you?” he asks. His expression is hard to read, and I desperately want to know what he’s thinking.

“They were waterlogged,” I say. “There was a flood. Why? What don’t I know?”

He blinks twice. “Are you up for a drive?”

That’s not what I expect him to say, and my brain spins. My grandfather. He’s taking me to see my grandfather.

I never really expected this moment. I thought I did, but as soon as Turk says those words, I realize I really didn’t. I picture the apartment where my grandfather will live. I imagine him taking me in his arms, hugging me tight.

I can’t share any of these words or feelings, because I cannot speak. I want Aisha to be here with me, I so want her to be here to see this, but I simply cannot wait another minute.

“Please,” I say, breathless. “Please.”