Every Friday, Cole had told Denise the same thing about our house.
Ezoic
And neither of us had checked.
Where on earth had our sons been sleeping?
I hung up and called Nathan.
Straight to voicemail.
Hey, it’s Nate. Leave a message or don’t, whatever.
I called again.
Voicemail.
Again.
Nothing.
My phone buzzed. A text from Denise.
Cole isn’t answering either!!!
I opened Nathan’s last text to me. From Friday night. Eight-forty-two p.m.
Mom, Cole and I ordered pizza. Don’t wait up. Love you.
I’d read it Friday night on the couch, half-asleep, watching a cooking show. I’d smiled. I’d sent back a heart.
Ezoic
I looked at it now. Love you.
I typed: Nathan, I know you’re not at Cole’s. Call me now.
I hit send.
Delivered.
Not read.
Denise came over at nine-thirty.
She lives four streets away. She didn’t drive. She ran. In her pajama pants and a Kentucky Wildcats sweatshirt and sneakers without socks. Her hair was in a messy bun. Her face was white.
