Out of The Blue

Chapter 13

Her response came through within seconds.

Morning, and I sure am. Though I haven't been fishing for at least a few years, so we'll see how things go.

It's all luck once the line is cast.

Then hopefully I get lucky 😉 You still picking me up around 6:30?

Yes ma'am.

Kk. See you soon.

While getting ready to go fishing didn't require all that much preparation, I'd learned over the past couple of weeks that Bowen was both unpredictable and overexcited in the mornings. Sliding out from underneath the covers, I pulled on a pair of sweatpants over my boxers and headed to his room, hopeful he'd cooperate and wouldn't put us behind schedule.

"Knock, knock," I said in a soft voice as I rapped my knuckles against his door. It was cracked open, so the movement caused the door to swing slightly, letting me peek into his room. "Are you ready for—"

My question got stuck in the back of my throat the moment I noticed his bed was empty.

"Bowen?" I asked, casting my gaze around his room to make sure I wasn't missing something. Like he had decided to curl up with Scout on the floor. But no, while my dog was asleep in his bed, the blankets on Bowen's bed were tossed to the side and he was nowhere to be found.

Not wanting to veer straight into a full-blown panic just yet, I considered that maybe he'd simply woken up early, and pushed open the door to the bathroom across the hall.

Nothing.

Heading downstairs, I checked the living room first, thinking he might've wanted to watch cartoons. Then I moved onto the kitchen—maybe he'd woken up hungry—before checking the backyard. All while calling Bowen's name repeatedly, with increasing worry, in hopes that he'd respond.

He didn't.

My stomach was in knots as I made my way back to the stairs, taking them two at a time. What the fuck had happened? Where was he? How had I lost a six-year-old in the middle of the night?

Mind racing, I ran a jerky hand through my hair as worst-case scenarios began to take root.

What if he'd started to sleepwalk? What if he was injured?

What if... what if he'd run away? What if I wasn't enough for him?

Shit.

My haphazard steps guided me back towards my room, knowing I had to call my folks and tell them what had happened. But as I did so, I saw that the door that had been closed tight since I'd arrived—Liam and Thea's bedroom—was ajar. A small amount of relief sprouted and when I pushed it open, the frazzled knot of worry in my chest began to slowly dissipate.

Bowen was curled into a ball in the middle of his parent's bed, his back to me, but I could see the bottom half of his stuffed penguin tucked tightly under his arm.

He was okay—physically, at least—and that's what mattered.

When I sank down on the bed beside him, however, it was clear he wasn't okay emotionally. Lines of tears, now dry, stained his cheeks, and his hands clutched at the sheets as though he was trying to grab for his parents. Wishing for them to come back. To be here.

"Bowen," I said softly, resting my hand on his arm. The contact was enough to rouse him from what was presumably a not-so-great sleep, and his eyes blinked open, confused and tired as he turned his head to look at me. I offered him what I hoped was a smile void of the concern coursing through me, and gently said, "Hey, Bowen. What are you doing in here?"