Page 47 of The Doctor's Truth

I won’t lie—this kid thing? I wasn’t sure how it was going to work. But I’m actually enjoying it. Otto is a cool kid, and I’m feeling good about myself, like maybe I made a small but important difference in this kid’s attitude.

It feels really good to help him out.

Diego launches into a conversation—and, damn, the kid can talk—and I listen and nod for a bit as I dive back into my ice cream, freezing my tongue.

My phone buzzes. It’s Kenzi:

[text: Kenzi] How’s Otto?

I text her back a picture of the ice cream cones.

[text: Me] Chilling.

She sends a thumbs-up emoji.

I finish off my cone and then toss it. Diego finishes an overlong description of the Transformers movie.

Otto has been in the bathroom for—what. Five minutes? Ten?

I decide it’s time to check in.

I duck inside. The immediate change from cold to hot is smothering. I go to the men’s room and knock on the door.

“Hey, buddy. How’s it going in there? Going number two? That’s cool—you know, sometimes it helps if you hum. Relaxes the muscles—”

The door swings open, and a grown man glares at me.

“Oh. My bad. Is there a little boy in there?”

The line of his mouth thins. “What do I look like?”

He exits, and I glance in. Single stall…no sign of Otto.

When I get nervous, my blood pressure drops. I get scary calm. I can feel it now, my blood turning to ice, that soul-leaving-my-body sensation. I look around the ice cream shop, but there’s only one other customer here. There’s a girl behind the counter, texting, and I approach with a smile. “Hey. How’s it going?”

Her eyes lift, and I see her do “the look”—a prowling scan down my body—and she suddenly loses interest in her phone. “Can I help you?”

“Have you seen a little boy running through here? Yea high, pink backpack?”

She shrugs. “You’re a dad, huh?” She bites her lip. “Do you need a babysitter? I can give you my number.”

“You’ve been a lot of help. Thanks.”

I move quickly out of the shop and scan the area. Nothing but picnic benches and a dusting of snow on everything.

The weather is brutal, and there’s hardly anyone around, but I stop everyone I see and ask if they’ve seen a boy that fits Otto’s description. Finally, a woman lets me know she saw a kid with a backpack walking down Main Street on his own.

How far could he have gotten? I race down the street, looking everywhere. I try not to think about the cars rolling by. Or the slippery ice on the sidewalk. Or the freezing water on the docks across the way. I try not to let my mind run to the worst-case scenario.

Shit. Fuck.

Otto is nowhere in sight.

I bite the bullet. I have no other choice. I pick up my phone and call his mom.

“Hey,” I say, “so you’re not going to like this—”

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