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I sat next to him while we waited. After a few seconds passed, he cleared his throat and started to sing softly.
I’d only been to church a few times, but I recognized the hymn immediately. They’d sung it at my granddad’s funeral two years earlier.
Abide with me; 'tis eventide.
The day is past and gone;
The shadows of the evening fall;
The night is coming on.
* * *
I wasn’t there when they told my parents.
By the time Officer Willis drove back down Blacks Creek, it was well after midnight.
My body had been photographed. Evidence—including my cell phone, a cigarette butt, some candy wrappers, and a partial tire track—had been cataloged and tucked into plastic bags.
A tech wearing booties, a mask, and a hair net had carefully pulled down my jeans and underwear to insert a long swab between my legs.
That was the part that finally made me look away. It had to be done. But I didn’t want to remember seeing any of it.
I felt weirdly grateful when he pulled my purple-striped underwear back up, careful to re-button my jeans, afterward.
My parents weren’t at the station anymore when Officer Willis let us inside the still-humming office. A couple of men were being hauled through the reception area in handcuffs, and a woman was standing at the counter, holding her head in her hands while she sobbed incoherently.
Officer Willis, who looked bone-tired, still took the time to write a report of what had happened. A female officer entered the room at one point to tell him that the missing persons report had been canceled and that a press conference had been scheduled for first thing in the morning. A detective from homicide, someone named Kittleson, would take over from here. He needed to be brought up to speed as soon as possible. The license plate was still a dead end.
Officer Willis nodded. A few minutes later he emailed the report for Detective Kittleson, printed off a copy to be filed, and turned off the light to his office.
When he got into his patrol car, I didn’t follow him. Instead, I headed down the main road, then the side streets, until I got home. Miles no longer meant anything. And at this point I knew the way.
As I passed through an overgrown lot at the edge of my neighborhood, a large fox appeared from the brush, carrying some small rodent in her mouth.
She froze.
“Hey,” I said, crouching.
She flattened her ears against her head and sniffed the air. Still holding onto the rodent, she crept forward with her head turned toward me, giving me a wide berth. When I stood up, she made a little muffled yip then scurried into the cover of a lilac bush.
* * *
My parents were asleep when I finally slipped into the house through the crack in the back door.
My dad was sitting on the couch, his head leaning at an uncomfortable-looking angle against the wall on account of the too-short backrest. My mom slept with her legs curled up against her chest on the cushion beside him, her head against his leg.
Like most kids of divorced parents, I’d secretly fantasized about all kinds of scenarios that would bring them back together. Or at least bring my dad back to Idaho. I’d never been very good at it. It was easier to imagine them apart than together. Both of them were happier. And my dad’s girlfriend was actually pretty nice.
Apparently this was what it took.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling the sadness and love expand in my chest.
My mom whimpered in her sleep, then sat upright on the couch in the dark room. “I can find her,” she cried, her eyes still shut. “I’ll find her.”
My dad reached for her hand. “It’s okay, Mari,” he murmured and readjusted his head against the back of the couch. “Just sleep. Keep sleeping.”
She obediently lay back down on the couch, still holding onto his fingers tightly.
