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.”
“Put Nathan on.”
“Laura, let me explain.”
“After I speak to my son, Frank.”
Seconds passed before Nathan took the phone.
“Mom?”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Is Cole all right?”
“Yes.”
“Then why
