There’s no way back to what I once was.
I take a long drag from the bottle, then suck on my cig. Same place as always, on the porch, staring out at the dark night.
Again wondering what the hell I think I’m doing here.
Maybe it’s time I admitted defeat. Take the kids back to their grandma and hit the road alone, until I find an answer—or the end.
Whichever comes first.
I can’t find Cole.
Mary is playing in the living room, I’m running late, there’s no sign of Octavia—shocker, yeah—and no sign of Cole.
No panic, I tell myself. Don’t you fucking panic.
He’s somewhere inside the house. Has to be. I’d left the two of them eating breakfast and went upstairs to shower the stench of cigarettes and booze-infused sweat off, got dressed and came back down. Took me, what, twenty minutes?
Less.
I check again behind the stairs, the kitchen, the entrance hall. Run upstairs, check the bedrooms and the bathroom.
Go back down.
Mary said she left him finishing his cereal in the kitchen and came to the living room to give some breakfast to her dolls who inexplicably migrated and live now downstairs.
Where the fuck is Cole?
My heart is hammering, jammed up in my throat. No way he would have gotten out, right? The doors are closed. Locked, too.
…I think. Did I lock them last night? After I left Octavia in the kitchen and went upstairs, after I returned to the kitchen later and broke out the booze and my smokes… After I spent hours drinking and smoking on the front porch, did I lock and check the windows like the police said I should do, like I fucking know I should?
Ah fuck. Fuck!
I throw the door open and ran out, stopping at the top of the three steps leading to the yard and staring wildly about.
No sign of Cole among the overgrown weeds.
Tearing through the living room, through the kitchen, I open the back door and jump out into th
e back yard, scanning the space.
“Cole!” I yell. “Goddammit, Cole! Where are you?”
I check the yard, but it’s not that big that a little kid can hide in it as I run up and down, raising hell. If nothing else, if he was crouching down, hiding for whatever inane reason, I’d have stepped on him and found him.
He’s not here.
I walk out to the front and start walking down the street. “Cole! Cole, can you hear me?” But he doesn’t answer, and nobody comes out. No dark-haired little boy.
No Cole.
What do I do? My mind blanks out. My phone. Need to get my cell phone. My legs tremble as I let myself back in the house.
Mary looks up. “Did you find him, daddy?”
Daddy. Can’t remember when she last called me that, when her eyes weren’t filled with anger or fear when looking at me—and I wish I could relish this moment, sit with her and ruffle her blond curls.
“Not yet, sweetheart.” I strive to keep my voice low. “Don’t worry, I will.”