Chapter 1 - FORTY-ONE MISSED CALLS
“My dad really can’t wait another hour.”
Mark didn’t look up from his laptop.
I stood across from him in our kitchen in Dublin, Ohio, holding my phone and trying not to lose my temper.
Dad was seventy-nine. His cardiologist had scheduled a full day of testing at Riverside Methodist Hospital after several episodes of chest pressure and dizziness. My Honda was still at the repair shop after a transmission problem, and I needed Mark’s SUV for one day.
“He can’t drive himself home after the test,” I said. “I’ll bring it back tonight.”
Mark finally looked at me.
“Not my problem.”
For several seconds, I thought I’d heard him wrong.
“He’s my father.”
“Exactly. Your father.”
“Mark—”
“Call Uber. Call your sister. Figure it out.”
He returned to his laptop.
Something inside me went quiet.
“Okay.”
I booked a rideshare.
Dad complained about the price when I picked him up at his small brick house in Upper Arlington.
“You should’ve called me,” he said.
“You’re the patient.”
“I’m also capable of paying forty dollars for a car.”
I smiled because Dad had no idea Mark had refused.
At the hospital, nurses checked him in just before noon. His testing ran longer than expected because an earlier patient had an emergency.
Around two, Dad asked:
“Mark still helping you with all those house papers?”
“What house papers?”
He frowned.
“Never mind.”
Before I could ask more, a technician came for him.
I stayed until nearly eight.
When I finally got home, Mark and his SUV were gone.
A note sat on the kitchen island.
DON’T WAIT UP.
No apology.
No question about Dad.
I was too tired to fight.
I went upstairs and fell asleep in my hospital clothes.
At 6:43 the next morning, my phone vibrating against the nightstand woke me.
Forty-one missed calls.
All from Mark.
A voicemail waited.
“Sarah, call me. Now. This is serious.”
I called.
He answered before the first full ring.
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“Where’s Dad?”
“Still at the hospital. They kept him overnight for observation.”
Mark stopped breathing for a second.
Then:
“Don’t let him leave.”
I sat upright.
“What?”
“And don’t call the police.”
Cold moved through me.
“Mark, where are you?”
He ignored the question.
“Listen to me. Whatever anyone calls you about this morning, don’t answer questions until I talk to you.”
“What happened?”
His breathing became ragged.
Then he said four words.
“They found the car.”
I looked toward the empty side of the bed.
“What car?”
“My SUV.”
I waited.
May you like
Mark whispered:
“And they opened it.”
