“Robot games,” he answered without looking up.
“Did you have fun today?”
He shrugged.
“Sorry I couldn’t go to the beach with you,” I said. “You know I have to work really hard on this trip, but once we get back home, we’ll have lots more time to hang out.”
“Homewhere?” Noah asked, his eyes wide and finally locked onto me.
“Back in California, bud. We talked about it, remember?”
He nodded, a frown on his face.
“But it won’t always be like this, I promise,” I explained, hoping he’d finally focus on me. “We’ll be able to do more fun stuff once we get back, once this trip is over.”
I sighed when I received zero response.
I’d been doing everything I could to help him navigate his emotions, but I felt like every attempt failed. I was following his therapist’s suggestions to the letter, giving Noah the consistency that would help him settle into his new life, and I kept hoping that eventually I’d see the boy I used to know again.
I didn’t fault Noah for feeling overwhelmed by life, though. I just wanted him to remember the way we used to be, and understand that I would always,alwaysbe on his team.
“Do you want to go back to the Kids’ Club? It’s open for a couple more hours tonight. Maybe you could play with your new friends?”
Noah shook his head. “No.”
I wondered if he’d even madeanyfriends, because whenever I peeked at the surveillance camera to check on him in the Kids’ Club, he was doing his own thing.
I thought I knew my son, but he felt like a stranger now.
This was supposed to be part of our healing: just hanging out together, breathing the same air, and leaving the floor open to conversation. His therapist assured me that being physically present was enough. It didn’t feel that way to me. The wall between us seemed to be taller than ever.
“Hey, you,” I called out to Noah.
He raised his eyes to meet mine, his little face illuminated by the tablet in his hands.
“I love you. Do you know that? A ton.”
“Love you too, Dad,” he replied, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe we can?—”
The video conferencing app on my computer chimed, signaling an incoming call. A furrow formed between my brows.
I gave Noah the “one second” finger and opened up my laptop on the table in front of me. The marketing team had updates, including a bunch of interviews they wanted to schedule during the trip and when we returned. I wound up so engrossed in our discussion that I barely noticed when Noah slipped away.
I divided my attention between the call and trying to spot him, but things got complicated, and I needed to completely focus on the projections my team was discussing.
I hung up and glanced around our suite. “Noe? Where are you, bud?”
He was at the age where he wanted privacy for anything bathroom-related, so I avoided barging in to check on him, but after a few minutes of silence, I needed to make sure he hadn’t fallen in the toilet.
I rapped in the door. “Hey, Noah? You okay?”
When I didn’t get an answer, I peeked my head in to find the room empty. “Noe? Where are you, bud?”
My heart started pounding; even though our suite was much larger than the average cabin, there weren’t a ton of places for him to hide. And he certainly should be able to hear and respond to me.
“Noah! Quit screwing around.”
I sounded angry. No, calm down.
