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Mom nods slowly, her gaze drifting down to the table.
No, no, God almighty, no.
My stomach twists into a knot, and my throat closes up. I want to run.
I don’t want to hear this.
I would rather shoot myself than hear this.
But for Mom and Dad’s sake, I don’t leave. I stay where I am and try to act like a man.
Like Adam.
At last, Dad looks me in the face. “They still haven’t found him.”
Relief rushes through me, and strangely enough, my first thought is, Thank God.
Because if they haven’t found him, he could still be alive. They don’t know.
“But it’s not a rescue anymore,” Dad says, a dark cloud passing through his eyes as they lock on mine. “It’s a recovery.”
Mom starts to cry again.
The words “rescue” and “recovery” seem so similar to me. For a second, I don’t register the difference. Then it hits me.
You rescue a person.
You recover a body.
I shake my head, feeling like I’m still trapped in a nightmare. “They’re giving up?”
Mom wipes her tears with the edge of her sleeve.
Dad takes a deep breath and meets my gaze again. I can see my pain reflected in his eyes. “This is the last day.”
The last day.
Those words make me want to punch a hole through the wall.
“No,” I rasp, shaking my head firmly. “No, they can’t give up.”
“They can’t look forever—”
“It hasn’t been forever!” I explode, slamming my hand on the table. “It’s only been three days—”
“The coast guard has done everything they can,” Dad says, his voice steady but shuddering underneath. “They said at this point the chances of survival are almost zero, and their efforts are no longer fruitful.”
“So they’re giving up,” I repeat, anger boiling inside me. “They’re giving up, and Adam is still out there. He’s still alive—”
“Jack—”
“He’s still alive!” I shout over him, rage flaring in my chest. “I don’t care what you say, and I don’t care what they say! He’s alive, and they’re doing nothing. They’re going to let him die out there!” I kick my chair and turn to storm out of the house.
Dad jumps up in a flash. His strong hand locks around my forearm, halting me right where I stand.
“Jack,” he says, that cloud of pain still heavy in his eyes, “we have to accept the truth.”
I stare at him, feeling like there’s another hand wrapped around my throat because I can’t speak. I want to yell in his face that he’s the one who has given up. Mom, too. They’re both giving up. They’re both sitting here mourning Adam like he’s already…
