I updated the police and called Denise.
At 4:37 a.m., Nathan walked through my front door.
“Where have you been? Do you have any idea what you’ve put us through?”
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Two months! Where have you been spending your weekends?”
He lowered his head. His eyes were swollen from crying, and sawdust clung to his hair.
Then I noticed his jacket.
Michael’s old brown work jacket, with the torn pocket. I hadn’t seen it in three years.
“Oh, Nathan. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Grandpa’s selling the house. Cole and I have been helping him save Dad’s things.”
“What things?”
“There’s something Dad started making before I was born. I wanted to finish it.”
Nathan explained that he and Cole had spent their weekends working in Frank’s workshop. Frank knew the boys were lying to their mothers.
“I begged him not to tell you,” Nathan admitted.
