Don't Forget Me

02

"What?" I dropped the box of cookies and grasped for the paper. He messed everything up? "Do you know what he means?" I asked my mom, the note shaking in my hand.

She looked as confused as I felt, her dark blue eyes full of fear.

"Let's call him," I suggested.

Mom grabbed her phone from the counter and dialed. I anxiously strummed my fingers on the counter as we waited for him to pick up.

"It went straight to voicemail," she said, more fear growing in her expression.

"Try again."

She dialed again, only to end up with the same result.

Mom slumped on a chair as I ran upstairs to their bedroom, scared about what I might find. I took one step inside and my stomach dropped. Their room was a mess. His dresser drawers hung half open, their contents ransacked. I ran to the closet to see if his suitcase was still there, but it was gone. The safe was open as well, but instead of looking like a mess, it was empty. He took mom's jewelry? What would he need diamond necklaces for?

I stormed out of my parent's bedroom and tore down the stairs. Mom was still sitting in the kitchen, staring at her phone in shock.

My heart twisted in my chest as I continued down the hall and into Dad's office. Maybe there was some hint in there about what was going on.

I rushed to his desk and yanked open a drawer, then another and another, searching for something, anything, that would give me a clue about what was happening. The problem was, I had no idea what I was looking at. It looked like a bunch of bills and receipts.

I rifled through the papers on his desk, searching for his laptop in the mess. But it wasn't there.

What was going on?

It didn't make sense. Hadn't he landed a huge account? Why would he suddenly run?

The note said he was sorry about messing everything up. But what had he messed up? Was that what John had texted him about?

I pulled out my phone to try calling my dad. Maybe he'd pick up for me, if not my mom.

This had to be some kind of joke. He wouldn't just up and leave us. He loved us.

His voicemail greeted me. I hung up and called him again, but he still didn't answer.

I called him again, and again, and again, until my hands were trembling. When his voicemail picked up the last time, instead of immediately hanging up and redialing, I listened to his cheerful message. "This is Paolo. Sorry I can't come to the phone right now. Leave me a message and I'll get back to you. Ciao." I fought back tears, an ache forming in the back of my throat as I waited for it to beep.

"Where are you, Dad?" I asked with a shaky voice. "What's this note supposed to mean? What did you mess up? What's going on?" My voice broke, a sob escaping at the thought that he really may have left us. "Why is it better we not know?" I hung up, not having anything else to say since all I wanted to do was cry and scream at the same time.

Where was he? How long did he plan to be gone? Why had he cleaned out the safe? He hadn't acted any different this afternoon when he got home from work. Had that been his plan all along, to pretend like he was going to take us out for a night of fun before abandoning us? To make promises for the future, like getting me a car and coming to my big concerto performance next month...only to run away? My gaze went back to his desk. Peeking out from under a piece of paper was his phone. It was sitting right there. It felt like my dad had kicked me in the chest. We had no way to track him. He didn't want us to find him.