Page 48 of Grief & Glitter

I read it again, then again, cold sliding through my chest. Noah hadn’t called me Gid since we were kids. Ethan had been Gids, sometimes Giddy when he wanted to piss me off, but Noah had always shortened it differently.

Gid.

I was already calling Noah. It rang once, twice, three times. “Come on.”

A fourth ring, then voicemail.

“Noah, call me. Call me right fucking now.” My voice sounded wrong.

I hung up and called again. Nothing.

Ryan came downstairs. “What’s happened?”

“I don’t know.”

I showed him the message, and he paled.

I called Dad. He answered on the fourth ring, sounding half-asleep. “Gideon?”

“Dad, where’s Noah?”

Silence. “What?”

“Where’s Noah?”

“I don’t know. Home, I suppose. Why?”

“He sent me a message.”

“What message?”

I couldn’t seem to get enough air. “He said he was sorry.”

Dad was suddenly awake. “When?”

“I don’t know. Twenty minutes ago, maybe thirty. I didn’t fucking look.”

Ryan took the phone from my shaking hand long enough to put it on speaker.

“I’m going over there,” Dad said.

“I’m coming.”

“You’re hours away.” He was right. Six if we went through Canada, eight if we went south of Lake Erie, but either way, I was coming. I knew I needed to be there.

“I’m not losing another brother,” I said, but Dad had already dropped the call.

I stared at the phone. Ryan touched my arm. “I should’ve checked my messages earlier.”

“You didn’t know.”

“He doesn’t message me. He never fucking messages me.”

“I know.”

“I should’ve checked.”

Ryan didn’t argue with me again and pointed at the pile of coats, shoes, keys, protein bars, and bottles of water. He stayed while I called Noah six more times, pacing from the kitchen to the living room and back. I opened the message over and over until the words stopped looking like English. I’m sorry, Gid. I can’t keep doing this. Tell Dad I love him. At some point, he took the phone out of my hand because I couldn’t hold it steady anymore.