It was uncertain.
It might not work.
But it was the only chance I had.
Part Two
I went to the bedroom and opened the closet.
Behind several winter coats, on the highest shelf, was a cardboard box I had not touched in years. I pulled it down, set it on the bed, and opened it.
Inside were camping supplies Margaret and I had used when we were younger: an old compass, a weather radio, waterproof matches, folded trail maps, and a satellite phone.
We had bought the phone years earlier for camping trips in remote areas of the Great Smoky Mountains and western North Carolina. We had used it only a handful of times, but I had never thrown it away.
Like so many objects in the house, it carried a memory of her.
I held the phone in both hands and silently prayed that it would still work.
