Page 8 of The Guilty One

“What did they say?” I ask.

“More of what we already knew. Tate put in for this vacation just last week, which leads me to believe whatever is going on, something caused this to happen quickly. Was there anything abnormal about his behavior last week?”

I pinch my bottom lip between my fingers, thinking. The text. If I tell them about the text, will it make me look suspicious? I swallow. “No. Not that I can think of.”

The detective hums. “Well, we’re still working through some theories and trying to get a timeline together of the past few days for him. I’ll be in touch as soon as we have any updates.”

Yeah, just like you were this time.

“Should we be doing anything?” Daphne asks. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

“Who is that?” the detective asks.

“Tate’s mom,” I say. “Daphne Thompson.”

“Good evening, Mrs. Thompson,” he says. “As of right now, as hard as it is, my best advice is the same I’ve already given Celine. Stay put, keep your focus on anything you might have overlooked the past week or so, and let us know if you hear from Tate. I know you want to do more, but the best we can do for Tate right now is putting our heads together and looking for a break in his usual pattern or behavior. Something caused him to take that vacation and something has caused him to go missing. Soon, we’ll break the story to the media, but we don’t want to risk the progress we’ve made by spooking anyone just yet.”

“Spooking anyone?” Daphne asks, her voice quivering. “You mean if someone has him held captive?”

“We don’t have any reason to believe your son is in danger, ma’am. We’re hoping to know more soon, and we’ll be in touch as soon as we do.”

Daphne doesn’t look pleased, but she says nothing else as I thank the detective and end the call. With a sigh, I join them at the table again.

When I do, Lane huffs. “They’re treating him as if he’s the one in the wrong here, not this criminal who stole his car.”

Mom reaches out, taking my hand and rubbing it with hers. “What can we do?”

Without looking up, I shake my head. “I don’t know. You heard the police. They don’t want us to do anything apparently. They told me earlier they’re going to use his phone to get data about his recent activities and they’re supposed to be looking up surveillance footage, but…” A puff of air escapes my chest. “That doesn’t feel like enough. We need to contact people. We need to search?—”

“We’ve been calling everyone who might know anything,” Daphne says, her eyes filled with worry. “I just don’t have his coworkers’ numbers, but you spoke with his boss, didn’t you?”

I nod. “Well, I talked to Dustin, the receptionist, not his boss, but why would he have taken the week off without telling me? That’s the thing I can’t make sense of. Why would he lie?” I look at both of his parents then, feeling guilty for asking but hoping they’ll have an answer.

They exchange a glance, though neither seems able to come up with a response that would make sense without making their son look like a liar.

I’m so angry with him, but I have no idea what I’m angry about. I’m worried and upset and furious that I’m in this situation—that I don’t even fully understand what this situation is. Where is Tate? Who was the man in the car? What in the world is going on?

Surely the police will figure it out soon. I want to believe it, but it would be a lie to say I don’t have doubts. Surely they’ll get answers, but…what if they don’t? What if I just never learn anything? What if Tate has just…vanished? What if I never see him again?

I need to do something. Anything.

A pang of sadness rebounds in my heart, and even surrounded by the people I love, I feel wholly alone.

“There will be some sort of explanation,” Daphne says, reaching across the table to stroke my arm.

“Of course there will,” Lane agrees. “He’s alright. He’s fine.” His words sound more like he’s trying to reassure himself than me. “He’s going to be back home in no time at all, you’ll see.”

“We need to search. Go to restaurants he likes or…places he goes. Something.” Even as I say it, I know it’s useless. My husband is a homebody. He spends his time with us. Aside from work, he goes almost nowhere else. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing. I don’t care what the police say.”

Mom scrapes her hand across her forehead like she always does when she’s thinking hard. “I agree. Daphne and I were just saying we should organize some sort of search party. We could canvas the neighborhood or…what are you thinking? ”

The truth is, I don’t know. The police haven’t given me any sort of instructions or guidance on how to handle this situation other than to sit here twiddling my thumbs as if I’m helpless. I’m alone and in uncharted waters, and I have no idea what any of this means or what I should be doing.

“I don’t know,” I say softly, dusting a tear from my cheek. I sniffle, brushing away another one as it falls. “They didn’t tell me anything except to wait to hear more from them once they go through his phone, just like you heard. They said to contact anyone who might know where he is, but we’ve done that. Tate didn’t have a huge circle. It’s just us.” I look around the room, knowing this is our whole circle. If I were to go missing, these are the people who would look for me too. “I just need to get out and drive. Look for him. I need to go.”

“Go where?” Mom asks.

“You shouldn’t be out on your own.” Dad’s voice leaves no room for negotiation. “I know you want to do something, but we need a plan. You can’t just go driving around without any idea where you’re going or why. It’s the middle of the night at this point. We’ll stay. To help with the boys or be here if you need to leave, but let’s be smart about this. You’re upset, and I know you have every right to be, but you’re not in a state to drive. You look ready to pass out.”

---