But what did I expect? Did I really think that I’d just flown halfway around the world to bump into them standing at a pay phone the second I got off a plane? The odds against that happening were astronomical. But what were the odds of them being somewhere in this airport? Those odds had to be better. There had to be thousands and thousands of people here. And, since the airport in Phuket was closed, wouldn’t this be where my parents would go to catch a flight home? Maybe the odds had shifted in my favor.

I didn’t know how big the airport was but I had to somehow make my way around the whole thing. My family might be sitting in three of the hard plastic seats, waiting for a flight or a chance to call home. I stopped just walking and started to look. Each face, each person was one more chance. Aisle by aisle I walked, letting my eyes linger on every person, in the seats, huddled together, or stretched out on the floor. These people were just like us—tourists—and they might have come from the same resort in Phuket.

Up ahead my attention was grabbed by a large white banner, more like a sheet, with the word “HELP” crudely written in big black letters. Help was what I needed. Maybe somebody there could help me. I kept looking at the people as I passed by but worked my way toward that counter.

As I got closer I noticed that the counter was flanked by a gigantic bulletin board. On it were dozens—no, hundreds—of handwritten messages. I read the first: “Tammy and Brent are fine. Looking for our friend Suzie—call home and leave a message. Leaving on 7:30 flight to Tokyo.”

Almost all of the notices listed names of people who were being looked for, or just told people that somebody was fine, alive. There were messages in different languages—besides English, there was French, German, Italian, Swedish, and some languages that had strange letters or scripts that I didn’t recognize.

“Can I help you?”

It was my turn.

“My parents…my brother…I’m looking for them.”

“What are their names?” the man asked.

“My parents are James and Ingrid Brooks, and my brother is Sam.”

“How old is your brother?”

“He’s twelve…almost thirteen.”

He made a few notes and then started flipping through a thick stack of papers. He stopped at one page and ran his finger down the list.

He looked up. “I don’t see them,” he said. “That doesn’t mean a lot, though.”

“What does it mean?”

“This is a list of people who have come through this airport in the last two days. It was updated about an hour ago. What part of Thailand were they in?”

“Phuket.”

He shook his head. “There aren’t many people here from Phuket yet. They’re still being cared for on the island. How did you get here?”

“I flew.”

“From Phuket?” he asked.

“My family is in Phuket. I just flew in from New York.”