6. Noah - November
SIX
Noah - November
WHERE’S MY LOVE - SYML
My thumb hovered over my mother’s contact, dreading the call I couldn’t avoid. Our relationship was complicated, and she and my stepdad knew John almost as well as I did, making it even harder to face.
I had to give her credit—she handled single parenthood until I was ten, balancing it with a full-time job like it was second nature. Then she married my stepdad, who came into our lives after a messy divorce that left him with almost nothing. His ex-wife had taken most of his assets and even tried to get more after he remarried until she finally stopped coming around.
But it never made him bitter. From the start, he was kind and generous in a way that made it easy to love him.
Although my dad looked nothing like me and wasn’t my blood, he was my father in every sense of the word. He showed me what it means to have a man show up for you, even when he wasn’t biologically obligated.
I clicked call and waited, trepidation settling in my stomach.
“Hi, sweetie. It’s been a while since I’ve heard from you. Happy Thanksgiving,” she answered.
My parents lived just outside Seattle, but weeks ago, I told my mom I’d be staying home this year to spend the day with John.
“Hi, Mom. Is Dad there?” I asked, sinking deeper into the couch, curling my legs up beneath me.
“Rick, honey!” she called out. “It’s Noah. I’m going to put you on speaker.”
I exhaled slowly, the phone feeling like a lead weight in my hand. After a beat, I heard the soft shuffle of footsteps, followed by the calm, familiar tone of my dad’s voice.
“Hi, Noah. How are you?” I shifted on the couch, resting my forehead against the back cushion, bringing my knees to my chest.
“Hi, Dad,” I choked back the lump in my throat. “I’m… uh, not great.”
“What is going on?” he asked.
I continued, my words muffled by the couch cushions. “Something’s wrong… with John.”
“What do you mean?” my mom asked. “Is he hurt?”
“I… I don’t think so,” I stammered.
John had always been a master at blending in, his charm and effortless wit winning everyone over—especially my parents. When we first met, his relationship with his mother was strained, and he’d never known his father. His mom, a nurse, worked long hours, and the few times they were together—usually during summer breaks or when he wasn’t off at boarding school—she was distant, preoccupied, often too tired to connect.
He rarely spoke of her, and when he did, his tone would shift, revealing a vulnerability he usually kept hidden. The few times I’d been around his mother, I’d watch her correct him, belittle him, and make him feel small. But once John became a permanent fixture in my life, he quickly forged a relationship with my parents that filled the gaps left by his own. He became the son they’d never had, a bond that only grew stronger with time.
“What happened?” my dad asked, his tone soft.
“The… the FBI came to question me about him,” I admitted. The pounding of my heart echoed through my ears and made it hard to hear their responses.
“What could they possibly want with John?” my mom’s tone pitched higher, disbelief coloring every word.
“Good question,” I said. “They wouldn’t tell me anything, just kept asking where he is.”
“And where is he?” my dad pressed.
“I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him.” A heavy sensation pressed down on me. “At first, I thought maybe he was busy. But then two FBI agents showed up at my door, and now… I don’t know what the hell to think.”
“Language, Noah,” my mom scolded.
I scoffed internally. “Mom, I think I get a pass here.”
“Strange how?” my dad questioned.
“He’s… distant. Always traveling, always glued to his phone when he’s home. He’s constantly making excuses to leave. It’s like he’s somewhere else, even when he’s with me.” The silence on the line stretched, heavy and suffocating.
“I’ll look into it. I know he’s been traveling a lot for work lately. He was supposed to be on a business trip these past few days. I assigned him to a major client, so he’s been keeping busy.”
“I’m sure it’s simply a misunderstanding,” my mom said, though there was a faint hesitation in her voice.
“Yeah… maybe it’s nothing,” I muttered, the words feeling empty. I gripped the edge of the couch. “Dad, can you let me know if you hear from him?”
“Of course, sweetie,” my dad said, his voice as steady as ever.
I swallowed hard, gripping my phone like it might slip from my grasp. “Thanks,” I whispered before we said goodbye.
I shifted on the uncomfortable airport bench, my eyes glued to the stream of passengers trickling out of the secure area. Dotty hadn’t texted me since she sent her flight details before leaving Woodstone, and that wasn’t like her. Normally, she’d update me every step of the way—complaining about cramped seats or swooning over adorable babies.
But her flight had landed twenty minutes ago.
Maybe she was stuck waiting to deplane. Still, my stomach churned as I scanned the crowd for her.
Thirty minutes passed.
Then forty-five.
By the time an hour ticked by, panic had taken hold. Each text I sent went unanswered, the little delivered mark mocking me from the screen. When I called, it went straight to voicemail, the dull beep echoing in my ears as a cold sweat trickled down my spine.
I fumbled with my phone, my hands trembling as I dialed Dorian. My heart pounded louder with every ring.
“Pick up, pick up,” I muttered.
He answered immediately. “Hey, Noah. What’s up?” Confusion laced his voice.
“Dorian…” A wave of dread surged through me as I forced the words out. “I don’t know what to do. She’s not here.”
“What do you mean she’s not there?” His words came out tense.
“She texted me her flight details. It landed over an hour ago. I was waiting for her, but she hasn’t shown up. Her calls go straight to voicemail.” I inhaled quickly. “I don’t know what to do, Dorian. I’m ready to get in my car and drive to Woodstone.” In the background, muffled voices and the quick pace of footsteps echoed, amplifying the worry. “Am I overreacting?”
“I don’t think you’re overreacting,” he said. “Let’s figure this out first. Go home, and don’t open the door for anyone except Dotty. I’ll check with the airline, find out if she boarded. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear.”
“Okay… Thank you.” My voice cracked.
“It will be okay,” he said, as though he was trying to reassure the both of us.
An hour later, we confirmed the worst.Dotty hadn’t gotten on the plane.I was in my car, speeding toward Woodstone, the fear clawing at me with every mile.
My mind spun with questions.
Where is she? Is she okay?Why wouldn’t she get on the plane?
My grip on the steering wheel was so tight my fingers ached. Anxiety threatened to overwhelm me with every passing minute, and the space around me felt suffocating.
Dotty was missing. My best friend was missing. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop the fear.
I glanced at the empty seat beside me, a cruel reminder of her absence, and the ache deepened. She should’ve been there complaining about overpriced airline snacks, or how many movies we could go through over the long weekend.
Instead, there was nothing. No texts. No calls.
Just a void that screamed louder than anything else.