Page 97 of Don't Tell Me How to Die

It was a Tuesday morning, and I was making my own tea, when I got a text alert. I checked my phone. It was from my son.

Where’s Dad?

Kevin was my early bird, usually up at dawn. Katie was just the opposite. It was a daily challenge to pry her out of bed on school mornings, but this was summer vacation, so most likely she’d sleep till noon.

I texted back.

I refuse to text someone who is only 50 feet away.

Kevin, who may be the family’s next lawyer, came back with a rebuttal.

And yet you just texted me. Makes no sense. Try again. Where’s Dad?

Kitchen. Come down.

He came bounding down the stairs.

“Good morning,” I said.

He looked around. “I thought you said Dad was in the kitchen.”

“You misunderstood. It’s one of the shortcomings of typing instead of talking. What I was trying to tell you was that the person who knows where to find your father is in the kitchen, and she’s a big fan of verbal communication.”

“Ohhh,” he said, smacking his forehead. “No problem.” He looked down at his phone and read what he had just texted. “Where’s Dad?”

He smiled, and I melted. He was a complex kid. The complete package on the outside, but a snake pit of insecurities below the surface. Katie would charge through life the way I did. But Kevin was going to need a lot of help. Of all the people I would leave behind, I ached the most for abandoning my son.

“Your father is swamped at work. He didn’t make it home last night, so my best guess is he crashed on the couch in his office.”

“I texted him ten minutes ago. No answer.”

“It’s seven forty-five. He may be at the construction site. Watching them build this trauma center is his favorite part of the job. I think he’s becoming addicted to men in boots.”

He gave me another gorgeous smile.

“Tell me what you need,” I said. “There’s always the remote possibility that I can help.”

“Zach and his father are going skeet shooting on Saturday. They want to know if Dad and I can come.”

“You see that? Icanhelp. I’ll ask him when I call him.”

“Go ahead, Mom,” he said, not moving. “I’ll wait while you help.”

I called Alex’s cell. No answer. I left a voicemail.

“When he calls you back, tell him to text me,” Kevin said, grinning like he’d just proven his point.

I showered, dressed, and tried Alex again at eight fifteen. Still no answer. At eight forty-five, just as I was leaving for work, his assistant Regina called me.

“Maggie, is Alex there?”

“No. I thought he spent the night at the hospital.”

“If he did, he didn’t sleep in his office,” Regina said. “I tried his cell, but no answer. Then I paged him. Nothing. I finally went out to the parking lot. His car is not in his space, so I thought maybe he’s still at home with the ringer turned off.”

“He hasn’t been home all night.”

“Maybe he went out to breakfast somewhere,” she said. “He had an eight o’clock meeting scheduled in his office with Harold Scott and Joe Stuart, but he didn’t show up, and he didn’t text either of them to say he’d be late.”

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