I hadn’t.
By Sunday, we were calling everyone he knew.
By Monday, we were calling hospitals.
His car was eventually found several towns away.
Locked and empty.
No Michael.
There were searches.
Flyers.
Phone calls.
False sightings.
Years of wondering whether every unidentified body on the evening news might finally give us an answer we didn’t want.
My mother never stopped waiting.
She died seven years ago without knowing what happened to her son.
And now a stranger had walked into my kitchen wearing Michael’s necklace.
I needed to know where he’d gotten it.
But I didn’t want to ask in front of Tyler.
Not yet.
I turned toward Noah.
“Tyler said you like old things.”
Tyler frowned.
“I did?”
“I thought you did.”
Noah laughed awkwardly.
“I guess?”
“I have something downstairs you might find interesting.”
Tyler looked confused.
“Since when do you have interesting stuff in the basement?”
