Chapter 4
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Two weeks. It had been two weeks since her email. Two weeks since I replied to her email, and nothing. Not a post card, not a
text message, not an email, nothing. Twice I have picked up the phone, prepared to call the chief inspector at the San
Francisco PD and report her missing, but each time I had to remind myself that Sara is perfectly capable of taking care of
herself, and if anything happened she would have told me right away.

But...what if she’s hurt and can’t contact me?

That’s ridiculous and I need to stop. It’s just very difficult not to jump to conclusions in the absence of any meaningful data with
which to analyze. I just need to hear from her to know that she’s okay.

I was just tired. Exhaustion is always a contributing factor when it comes to irrational behavior and thoughts. Two high profile
cases, back to back, and I haven’t actually been home in two days. But that was about to change.

Pushing through the door, I was met by the at once anxious, and then fallen face of my canine comrade in arms. I’ve begun to
believe that Hank has taken all of this even harder than I. He’s been moping around for weeks, and he actually growled at me
when I tried to throw his blanket into the wash. But then of course, I never imagined that my dog would have a security blanket.

It was Sunday, and therefore no mail, so after an extended shift, the only thing I wanted to do was crawl into bed and pretend
to sleep until the next shift. Thankfully the sitter had been taking care of Hank until an hour before my arrival. The plan was
that I would be home by then, but plans rarely seem to work lately, and I was caught up in one of Catherine’s little tirades, so I
missed Hank’s return after two days. After two days, I expected a better homecoming, but even I have to admit that I am a poor
substitute for the one he truly misses.

After crouching down to greet my faithful, if not enthusiastic friend, I notice the light on my answering machine blinking. It
instantly struck me as odd, because almost no one called that number anymore. I had only kept the landline to use with the
TDD phone for calls with my mother, and I just hadn’t removed it following her passing.

Once Hank trotted off to go back to his bed and his blanket, I got up and went to the answering machine. Before I hit the
playback button, I made sure to dial up the volume again. We normally kept the volume shut all the way off, because the only
calls we typically got on the landline were sales calls, and who wanted to be disturbed from sleep by those.

"BEEEeeeeeeep… Gil, I hope you check the machine… Anyway, I'm sorry I didn't send you anything when I got here,
but I got caught up. After I put the post card in the mail, I realized it had been two weeks since our emails. Your reply is
still on my computer, I think it's turning into a book…" She chuffed into the phone, and I could hear other voices in the
background.

"I ran into an old acquaintance at Berkeley, and he invited me to help with something out in L.A., so that's where I am.
I'm sorry if you were worried, but I just got caught up in this thing. You know how that is…" Sara's voice became muffled
for a moment, and he could tell that she had spoken to someone else with her hand over the phone. "Okay, I gotta go… Post
card's in the mail, and I'll finish the email…eventually. I love you, always. Bye."

The sound of her voice relieved a huge weight from my heart. The tone of her voice gave it wings. Sara sounded…happy. As
tired as I was before playing the message, it did not stop me from listening to it over and over again. And it was good to see
Hank wagging his tail as her excited voice echoed off of the walls of our home.

Three days of making sure I was home when the mailman arrived wasn’t easy to explain. Especially when I had to leave in the
middle of one of the inane meetings Conrad is so fond of calling, but it was a necessary evil. The voice message was a
welcome gesture, but I needed something tangible to hold onto. I needed to feel that post card in my hands.

When Hank and I saw Henry walking toward our house, we both picked up our pace to meet the man. I cannot imagine that
Hank knew Sara’s post card would be there, since I am sure he was just looking for the dog biscuits, but I liked to believe that
he was just as anxious for something from her as well.

As we approached the Postal Service worker, Henry held out the post card and waved it at me. “Looks like she’s on the move
again, Dr, G.”

He handed me the post card and bent down to scratch at Hank’s ears as I pretended not to notice the dog biscuit he slipped
into his mouth. I thanked the friendly man for the mail and called Hank to follow me into the house. I was not about to read her
post card on the street, in front of another man and my entire neighborhood. No, I needed privacy to gaze upon her words.

Once inside the door, Hank jumped up onto me and became quite insistent that he needed his water, and it was more than
obvious to me that he was not willing to wait. I stuffed the card into my shirt pocket and set about to take care of the needs of a
most impatient canine.

Sitting down at my desk, away from the sounds of slurping water, I took in a deep breath and tried to clear my head before
reaching for the post card. With my eyes closed, and my pulse beginning to ramp up, I put on my glasses and prepared to
gaze upon her words. With one more deep breath I got ready to open my eyes.

I opened my eyes and grabbed for the card stuffed into my pocket. First thing I saw was the familiar post card style with the
name of the city in big outlined print, with photos interspersed within the print and the phrase; Greetings from… However,
flipping it over, I found a far more welcome sight.
The smile on my face was impossible to suppress. It would appear that my earlier conclusion about her state of mind had been
confirmed. Sara really did appear to be happy, and better than that, she seemed to be making fantastic progress.

As I got ready for bed I placed it on the nightstand beside her picture, where the other postcard and a printout of her email
rested. My nightstand was quickly becoming a little shrine, but I felt it was important to keep these things close to me. I needed
to see them before I could close my eyes to sleep. I needed to see them when I opened my eyes every day. Since she wasn’t
physically beside me, I needed to at least have a part of her close to me.

However, with my head resting on the pillow, my eyes looked on her enthusiastic words once more, and for the first time in
weeks, I was able to drift right off to sleep. My dreams were filled with visions of Sara in the snow of New England, her knit cap
snug over her ears, her scarf wrapped tightly around her neck and tucked into that ridiculous pea coat, and the steam
escaping from her mouth as she smiled broadly.
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