“Dylan Welch,” she said. “I hope he’s alive and well.”
“Why?” I asked. “I mean, I know you saved his life once. But I figured that was just like me looking for him.”
“How so?”
“It’s the job. It isn’t you.”
“Well, itwasn’tme.” Rhonda opened her purse again and removed a piece of paper—a printed-out email, dated three weeks ago, from Dylan Welch to her. The subject line readDaisy.“My feelings about him changed when I got this.”
I read it.
Dear Ms. Lewis,
I hope you don’t mind, but I got your email address from a mutual friend. I know I shouldn’t be writing you, and no one knows I am. (Please don’t tell!) But I just want to say how deeply sorry I am about your daughter’s death. To be honest, I’ve been spiraling ever since Daisy passed—drinking too much, using drugs. Hurting people. Over the summer, I even stalked an old girlfriend like a psychopath. I’m not looking for excuses. That was wrong. It was one of a metric ton of fucked-up things I’ve done in my life. But ofall of them, Daisy’s death is the worst. Or it feels the worst to me, at least. I wish I could make it up to you, but there’s no way to make up for a loss like that. I am hoping I might be able to do something to make sure that it doesn’t happen again.
I’m so sorry.
Dylan
“He’s the only one to apologize,” she said. “I don’t mean that ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ bullshit. I mean an honest, sincere apology. So many people involved in that fucking company, and he was the only one.”
I looked at her. “You got this email after you saved his life.”
“Yes,” Rhonda said.
“But he doesn’t mention it,” I said.
“Honestly,” she said. “I don’t think he recognized me that night. He was a mess, and so was the girl who brought him in.”
“So he didn’t know you had helped him.”
“Nope. There was no quid pro quo. He just felt bad,” she said. “He wanted to share that with me. And it’s funny, because of all the higher-ups at Gonzo, I probably blamed him least for Daisy’s death.”
“But he’s the CEO.”
She shrugged. “In name only. He was never in court, sticking up for their warning labels. And as far as I know, he didn’t have much to do with the branding of the drink or the formula or anything like that.”
“He’s a figurehead.”
“Exactly,” she said. “And you know…when he was at Optima and we were reviving him, he seemed like kind of an idiot.”
“He is.”
“Yeah, well. Leave it to the idiot to be the only one with a conscience.”
“Is it okay if I keep this printout?”
She nodded. “That’s why I brought it.”
“Because you wanted me to see…what?”
“That he’s worth looking for.”
I folded it up and put it in my purse. “Thank you,” I said. “I needed that.” I meant it sincerely.
She drank her tea. I drank my coffee. This conversation was going in a very different direction than I’d assumed it would go. “Who was the mutual friend?” I asked.
“The one who gave him my email address? I have no idea. Obviously, we travel in very different circles. I figure he just went through whatever channels he had to track me down.”
