“You got it.” Costa runs his hand through Sam’s hair and gives him more broth. “So, I heard something about a plan?”
I take a breath. “Yes. I’ve been trying to figure out why it’s been so tough to get this vision power. We’re all focused on seeing Toby, right? So much of death tripping seems to be hooked into emotion and…ties, connections. I think that we might have a better chance if we tried at the last place Toby was.” I pause while this sinks in. “At the Bishops’ cabin up north.”
Costa keeps lifting the spoon to Sam, and I wait out the quiet while the idea settles.
“I don’t know,” Costa starts.
“I can’t imagine either of you wants to go back there, but…do you see that this might work?”
Sam finally speaks, “It’s up to you, Costa. What do you think?”
He clears his throat and swallows hard. “I…I think it’s a good idea.” He is on the verge of crying, but he stops himself. “I have some of Toby’s things at my place. I’m going to bring those up. It could help.”
“That’s good,” I say. “It’s a great idea. Pictures, clothes, toys…anything of Toby’s. The more familiar things at the cabin, the better. Doesn’t that just feel right? We’ll go up there, let Sam heal completely, and try again. If we’re all in the right frame of mind, we’ll have a better shot.”
Costa nods, his eyes shining with tears. “Thank you. It’s really smart. Death tripping really is about mood.”
“It’s going to work. It will.” I know I’m right about this. I have to be. “Sam, just rest some more, and I’ll pack us up. Costa, get your stuff, and we’ll meet back here in a few hours.”
Sam groans. “Work. I have to work. My parents—”
“I talked to your mom. She gave me the key to the cabin and her car.”
“I don’t want to know what you said to her.”
I smile. “No, you don’t.”
Sam swings a leg off the bed. “I can help pack.”
“No, you can’t,” I say firmly. “You stay in bed until we roll you into the backseat of the car, okay?”
Sam sighs but agrees. “I’m so useless.”
“You’re anything but.” Costa pats his hand. “I’ll be back.”
I help Sam finish the rest of the broth and then insist that he sleep a little more. He’s too tired to protest, so I tiptoe around his room and gather clothes for him before heading to my place to do the same. I look up the cabin location online, and it should take us just under three hours to get there. Whether it’s a rational thought or not, I feel the need to leave as soon as possible. As much as I love Watermark, we’re all suffocating here right now.
Costa scowls when I inform him that I’m driving, but I’m not the thrill seeker out of the bunch. The last thing I’m up for is Costa drag-racing north. He pouts while we help Sam into the backseat. While I’m a big believer in always wearing seat belts, I relent this one time and agree that Sam is better off lying down across the seat and being comfortable.
“If we have an accident and he dies”—Costa winks—“we can just start this detoxing fun all over!”
“Shut up,” Sam grumbles as he falls against the leather seat.
Felicia and Micah handed over a luxury SUV, and I won’t deny that it’s a treat for me to get to drive a fully loaded car. The GPS befuddles me though. Costa finally gets irritated with my inability to properly enter the address in Willow, Maine, and he slaps my hand away. As I’m pulling out of the driveway, he starts blasting music.
“We’re not listening to Bret Michaels!” I insist. “It’s not happening.”
“Technically, this is Poison. But fine.”
“Corby,” Sam says hoarsely. “Corby.”
Now, it’s my turn to slap Costa’s hand. “Put on Matt Corby, or I’ll find a way to kill you for real.”
“Okay, okay. Sam’s the boss.”
Sam pulls a blanket over himself. “I hate Springsteen.”
Costa laughs. “Close your eyes and rest, buddy.”
