hard at first. Dogs. Helicopters. Volunteers. Men with clipboards asking me the same questions until the words stopped sounding real.
“What was he wearing? Did he know to stay by the car? Could he have wandered off?”
After a while, the search lost some momentum. Then the few other customers lost interest. Then it became a file in a drawer.
I wanted to turn around. I didn’t.
I stopped driving Route 9 after the first anniversary. I could not breathe on that road. I couldn’t see a rest stop sign
