What the hell was he doing here, in the middle of the woods, searching for a needle in a haystack? He loved being a cop. Keeping order and helping people out. But as much as he enjoyed being out in the woods, he had never envisioned his job would entail searching for missing kids.
A quick chug of water and he took off. He came to a massive boulder and hiked up it. At the top, he could see the bay below, the suspension bridge, and the ocean. He turned one-eighty and surveyed the landscape. On the other side of the boulder, the hillside dropped off dramatically. A significant-sized vernal pool had formed in the depression below. The odds of finding the James boy out here seemed low. At the time of his disappearance, this entire area had been covered in ice and snow. Dragging a body up here would have been nearly impossible while trudging through two feet of snow.
His belly rumbled. He sat on the boulder and took off his backpack, reached inside, and pulled out a sandwich. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and took the sandwich out of its plastic baggie. It reminded him of the first time he’d hiked with Isla. They’d been juniors, and he’d been somewhat of a loner at Shepherd’s Bay High. He’d not played sports, nor had he joined any of the student organizations. So it had seemed unlikely that he and Isla would end up as a couple. Being lab partners in chemistry had brought two completely different kids together.
Their first date had been an October hike up one of the local hills. She was not a hiker, but she managed to keep up with him. When they reached the top, they sat on a boulder similar to the one he was sitting on now. He’d packed sodas and Italian sandwiches, and they ate in silence while staring out at the ocean and the explosion of fall foliage around them. It felt natural to be with her, not at all forced. Surprisingly, this was his first date. While other juniors bragged about having sex and partying on weekends, he chose to hike trails and fish streams and nearby lakes.
After lunch, they picked up their wrappers and headed back down. Funny that he remembered how Isla talked nonstop in his father’s pickup on their way home. She spoke about all her hopes and dreams, about going off to college and then maybe trying her hand at acting. He said hardly a word the entire time, enjoying the sound of her voice and how excited she got when she spoke. His own family had always been stoic and somber, although no less loving. He chalked it up to his New England and Swedish heritage.
His cell phone chirped, jarring him out of that pleasant memory. He reached in his pocket, pulled out the phone, and answered it. Human remains had been found.
KATIE
MY FATHER CAME AND SAT WITH ME THIS MORNING IN THE LIVING room. Said he cleared his busy schedule in order to keep me company. Lucky me. It makes absolutely no sense that I should like having him here next to me. Ever since I was a little girl, he has always made me feel special. He used to pick me up in his arms and swing me around, calling me his little crabby girl, because I loved collecting crabs in my yellow bucket whenever we went to the beach. He used to give me piggyback rides all the time and took me sledding in the winter. Most of my best childhood memories are of time spent with him.
I curl the blanket under my chin and snuggle my head against the pillow. I do this while he takes out his guitar and strums a few tunes from his repertoire: Elvis, Roy Orbison, Buddy Holly. I love when he sings me these old songs. And he has a really good voice. Most of these songs I know because of him.
Something about him looks different today. From worry? Concern? He typically radiates confidence and charm. I can’t ever remember him raising his voice or becoming visibly upset. Despite all the problems in this crazy family and my mother’s frequent complaints about him, my father lives each day as if it is his last.
Needless to say, I have a complicated relationship with my father. I love him to death but understand the kind of person he is. He’s never been someone we could rely on,