We just closed a case earlier this week that won’t let me go. The sight of that small, broken, and violated body in a farm field north of Greensboro, North Carolina, is one that will stay with me forever. Just like many others before.
It gets to you: this job, the predators, the innocent victims, the level of depravity, and lack of humanity. It eats at you. Which is why taking an occasional few days away is so important. Time to rebalance all the ugliness in the world with some beauty and the company of loved ones.
That is the plan for the upcoming long weekend with Sawyer. An hour-and-a-half drive to Daniel Boone National Forest, setting up the tent at the campsite, and then three days of nothing but the sound of nature, fishing, hiking, and hanging out with my girl.
Sawyer isn’t new to camping, which is why the size of her suitcase annoys me. She knows better, having joined me on camping trips since she was just five years old. My daughter was always a bit of a spitfire, her fearlessness something that terrified me as much as it made me proud. This past year she went from a fifteen-year-old tomboy to a sixteen-year-old young woman.
Let’s just say it’s an adjustment for a father. Where before she was happy as a clam hanging out and watching Sunday football on the weekends she was with me, now she’s more interested in hanging at the mall, endlessly chatting with girlfriends, and leaving her makeup all over my damn bathroom because ‘the light is better.’ At least she still got excited when I asked if she wanted to go camping with me for the weekend.
“Starbucks is coming up on the right,” she reminds me when we head out of town.
I respond with a grunt, but still pull into the drive-thru. I don’t even bother ordering; I never get it right anyway. Instead, I move back as Sawyer leans across my body, spouting off what sounds like an entire Italian menu to get a couple of measly coffees that takes them almost ten minutes to make.
The caffeine hits the spot though. One thing I’ll say, they know their coffee. Dark, rich, with a hint of bitter, and a whole lot of punch.
“Better?” my smart-ass daughter grins over the rim of her foamy, frou-frou drink.
“Much,” I admit.
Four hours later, when I finally cast my line in Cave Run Lake, I’m feeling even better. I look over my shoulder at our campsite, where Sawyer is hanging in one of the folding chairs reading a book. She wasn’t even that upset to discover cell phone reception here is spotty at best, and she wouldn’t be able to chat on her phone all day long. Thank God she loves reading and snapping pictures because, apparently, fishing no longer holds appeal.
This is the kind of quality family time I remember from when I was younger, before life took a drastic turn. I tried to find it again when I met Sawyer’s mom, Becky, but she never was one for camping, definitely not outdoorsy, and the few attempts we made ended in disaster.
So did our marriage, eventually. In the end, we weren’t compatible at all. She didn’t like the amount of time I spent on the job, and I didn’t like the amount of time she spent with her fitness instructor. It could’ve been ugly, but I don’t think either of us had the heart to invest that much energy. We’ve gotten along a lot better since our divorce, which works out well for everyone, our daughter included.
“Good fish, Dad,” she mumbles around her last mouthful.
It’s our second night here and I finally managed to land a couple of nice-sized smallmouth bass. Enough for a meal. Sawyer likes my beer batter fried fish, so I made that while she was in charge of the roasted veggies.
“Have some more,” I tell her, grabbing for the cast iron pan holding two more fillets, lifting one on my plate.
“I’m full. You finish them,” she says, as she gets out of her chair. “I’m gonna fetch some water for dishes.”
I watch her grab the bucket we use for that purpose and head down the trail. There’s a water tap by the outhouse on the other side of the inlet we’re on. It’s the only place you’ll occasionally see other people, which is why I suspect Sawyer so easily volunteers to get water.
I quickly finish the last two pieces of fish and walk down to the lake to rinse the pan when my phone rings in my pocket. The number on the display is familiar, and with it comes a feeling of dread.
“You’re lucky you caught me where I have some reception,” I tell Matt.
“Fuck, man, you know I wouldn’t call unless it’s an emergency.”
“I know. What’ve you got?”
“More cases than teams. I just sent Lampert, Punani, and Byron to Delaware this morning, and now I get a call about the abduction of a ten-year-old boy right outside his home in Frankfort. I’m stuck in Cincinnati, I’m gonna need you on this, Mitch. A neighbor watched the kid get off the school bus on the opposite side of the street. He started crossing the road when an SUV stopped in front of him, blocking the neighbor’s view. When the vehicle drove off, the kid was gone.”
“How long ago?”
“We’re already two and half hours behind,” he tells me, and I curse under my breath.
The memory of the last victim, about the same age, is still too fresh in my mind. He hadn’t been gone that long either. By the time I pack up, drive home, and drop Sawyer off at her mom’s, it’ll be dark out.
“Give me three hours,” I tell him before I hang up and run back to the campsite.
When Sawyer returns a few minutes later, I’ve already taken down the tent.
“Let me guess, duty calls?”
I bristle at the words I so often had tossed at me by her mother. It’s the first time I’ve heard them from my girl and it stings even worse. I drop the tent poles with a clatter to the ground.
“Yes, a ten-year-old boy already missing for more than two hours. Do you know what can happen to him in only a couple of hours? A child stolen right outside his house. I see the fucking damage done by sick perverts every goddamn day.”
I don’t even need to see the tears start rolling down my daughter’s face to regret every goddamn single word that came flying out of my mouth. There’s no amount of soul-deep fatigue that justifies taking it out on her.
“Jesus, Pumpkin,” I mutter, walking up to her to apologize, but she neatly ducks under my arm.
“Come on, then. Let’s get packed up,” she says, grabbing the poles off the ground and shoving them in the bag. I’d rather she kneed me in the nuts.
Thirty minutes later, she’s beside me, quiet, as we leave the campground behind.
“I’m sorry. I can’t even tell you how wrong I was to lay that on you.”
She turns her face to me.
“I’m sorry too. It wasn’t fair of me to say that thing about duty. I was being a brat.”
I grab her hand and kiss the back of it before she easily slips her fingers between mine.
“Nah, this was on me. Sometimes it just gets to me.”
“I know, Daddy, and I’m sorry for that too.”
Christ, don’t know how I got this fucking lucky.
“Love you, kiddo.”
“Love you more.”
We don’t say another word until I drop her off at her mother’s place, but the entire drive her hand firmly holds on to mine.
THREE
Opal