“Did you see him?” I shook my head. “No. But the run’s mouth, the jogger’s mouth. It makes sense.”
“It’s just a note from his phone, though. You think he’s just been down there this whole time? Hiding in a sewer?”
“Maybe,” I said. “But... well, I don’t know.” “But?” “I don’t want to worry you, but there was a bad smell.
A really bad smell down there.” “That could’ve been anything,” he said.
But I could see the fear on his face. “I know, yeah, totally, it could be anything.”
“I never thought... I never let myself think—” And then his voice caught.
The cry that finally came out of him felt like the sky ripping open.
He sort of fell into me, and I held him on the couch. Felt his rib cage heave.
It wasn’t only Noah who missed his father. “Oh God, he’s dead, isn’t he?”
“You don’t know that,” I said. But he kind of did. There was a reason there had been no trail and no communication: He’d been gone all along.
He lay down and I lay down with him, the two of us barely fitting on the musty couch.
He kept saying what do I do, what do I do, his head on my shoulder.
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