I called him twice without an answer, then left a voicemail.
“Frank, Nathan’s missing. If you’ve heard from him, call me immediately.” By eleven,
Denise and I had called the police, provided descriptions of both boys, and explained where we’d already looked. At midnight, we sat together at my kitchen table.
“Has Nathan been acting strange?”
I remembered his Sunday exhaustion, long showers, and evasive answers.
“I thought he was just growing up.”
“Me too,” Denise whispered. “Cole’s been so secretive.”
I reached across the table and squeezed her hand.
“We’ll find them.”
Yet I couldn’t stop wondering how much of Nathan’s life I truly understood.
***
At 4:06 in the morning, Frank finally called.
“Where’s Nathan?” I demanded.
“They’re both here. Safe. My phone was charging in the workshop. I only saw your messages when I woke up.”
