The next morning, Logan called again.
I answered on the fifth ring.
“Dad?”
His voice was cautious.
“Yes.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
“Where are you?”
“Somewhere quiet.”
“Are you safe?”
“I’m fine.”
“Why didn’t you tell us you were leaving?”
I looked through the window at a woman walking her dog along the sidewalk.
The dog stopped to sniff a patch of grass while the woman patiently waited.
“You knew I was leaving,” I said.
“No, I didn’t.”
“You heard Chelsea tell you I should stay in my room.”
“That isn’t the same as knowing you were going to disappear.”
“No,” I said.
“It isn’t.”
He exhaled.
“I came home the next morning and your room was empty.”
“My room was never really mine.”
“Dad…”
The word held irritation, confusion, and something that sounded like shame.
I sat down at the table.
