Two years ago
Growler and I got escorted out of the Mann. The guard said he had to lock the gate. We’d searched for my dad and Tom for over an hour. Tom had met us there so he was probably long gone.
“Do you think my dad got a ride home with Tom?” I asked Growler.
He huffed. “Shit, I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Wait, if he did, that would suck. My dad has the keys, dude.” My high had worn off, and I was close to flipping out.
“Should I call my mom?” Growler asked.
“No! Shit. She’ll freak.” His mom almost didn’t let him come, and the only reason she gave in was because a parent would be with us.
The parking lot was dotted with a handful of cars; the crowds were long gone. My dad’s SUV was still there. I was hoping he’d be sitting in the car waiting for us, but the car was dark.
“Call him again,” Growler suggested.
I tapped in Dad’s name, and my phone rang until his voice mail came on. I didn’t leave a message that time. “Voice mail.”
“Do you think we should call the police?”
“The police? Holy crap, Growler, what the hell do you think happened?”
He winced. “I don’t know, but it’s after midnight and we can’t find them. He hasn’t answered his phone all night. What if he can’t answer? You know?”
My head spun. My father was fine. He wasn’t in trouble. There was no way. He was fine. “Shut the fuck up, Growler. Okay? Just shut the fuck up.”
He did.
Over the next twenty minutes I called Dad’s phone ten times, all with the same frustrating result. When the workers and guards started coming out to their cars, I suggested that we hide in the woods next to the lot. I didn’t want anyone asking questions.
From behind a huge tree, Growler and I watched the last employee leave. The lights inside the Mann dimmed and faded to black. Luckily, the parking lot remained bright.
“I need to get home, man,” Growler said. “My mom has already texted me twice. I told her we stopped to get food and it’s taking forever. I can’t hold her off much longer.”
I held up a finger to make him stop talking, and I called home. Oscar was there. He would answer. Maybe Dad was home. Oscar picked up after five rings. “Hello?”
“It’s Vance. Listen. Is Dad home?”
“What?”
“Go check if Dad’s in his bed!” I barked.
I heard his bed creak as he sat up. He huffed in my ear as he made his way to Dad’s room. “Not here.”
“Shit,” I mumbled to myself. “I can’t find Dad. Check your phone. Did he call you tonight?”
“Wait, Dad is missing?”
“Asshole, yes, I just told you that. Did he call or not?”
Oscar exhaled loudly. “I was just sound asleep, Vance. Don’t get mad at me.”
I screamed, “Did Dad call or not?”
“No.” And then he hung up on me.
I pulled my phone away and glared at it.
“What did he say?” Growler shouted.
“Nothing! He hung up on me.”
Growler shook his head. “Well, you called him an asshole. So…”
My phone lit up and rang. It was a call from home. Maybe Dad just got dropped off by his buddy, and he left his keys for us somewhere. “Dad?”
“No. Now shut up and listen to me. Dad is probably passed out somewhere on the property. You two have to go look for him,” Oscar said.
“You shut up and listen to me. Growler and I already searched the whole effing place. Twice. Got any other brilliant ideas?”
We breathed into each other’s ears.
He whispered, “I’m scared, Vance.”
What? He’s scared? How frigging annoying could he be? Why should I comfort him? I was stuck out there; he was home. “Shut up! You’re so selfish. This isn’t about you. I’m the one here! Why can’t you help me for once? Why do you always get to be the baby?”
And then I hung up on him.