that?”
Her father sat his fishing pole aside and knelt beside her to watch the spider skitter away to safety. Gently taking her hand and turning her palm up, he explained, “That spider has tiny little hairs on the bottom of his feet that support him on the surface of the water.”
He tickled her palm and sent her into a fit of giggles.
“If fish had hair, would they float too?” she asked.
Sara relished her father’s patient answers to her never-ending questions.
“Well, honey, if fish had hair and floated, they would certainly be easier to catch.” He lifted her into his arms and held her close. “But, would you be willing to wear a coat made from fish fur?”
Sara wrinkled her nose, “Yuk, Daddy. That would smell terrible.”
“It wouldn’t smell terrible to the other fish, Squeaky. They would love the way you smelled.”
Sara giggled again.
“Do fish have noses, Daddy?”
Sara’s father hoisted her to his shoulders, retrieved his rod, and began walking along a well worn trail.
“Fish have very good noses, Sara. They can smell a tast y worm clear across this pond.”
He held her hands tightly and ducked under a tree branch.
Sara pulled her hands free and grabbed her father’s ears for balance.
“Do fish have ears, Daddy?”
Mike held tightly to his little girl’s legs to keep her from falling.
“Now you are just being silly, Sara. Can you imagine how goofy a fish would look with ears?”
Sara giggled and stretched her daddy’s ears out as far as she could.
“Horton hears a who!” she said in a gruff voice.
Mike set his little girl to the ground and took her hand to lead her through a grove of Aspen trees.
“And you must be Mr. FarFloogin of the Cloogin FarFloogins,” he recited.
Sara continued in well rehearsed theatrics, “In my world everyone is a pony, and we all eat rainbows and poop butterflies.”
Mike laughed out loud and tried to think of another line from a long list of favorite bedtime stories.
“ And now, cried Max, let the wild rumpus start.”
Sara pulled her hand from her father’s and crossed her arms across her chest.
“No, Daddy,” she said. “I don’t like that story.”
Mike stopped and mused over the change in his daughter’s demeanor.
“What’s the matter, Sara? ” he asked. “I thought that, ‘Where the Wild Things Are’, was one of your favorites.”
Sara stopped and puffed out her bottom lip.
“No,” she pouted. “A monster from that story lives outside and tries to come in my window at night.”
Mike pulled Sara into his arms and ran his fingers through her fine hair.
“Oh, sweetie,” he cooed, “Daddy will never let the monsters get to you . Daddy will always be here to keep his little girl safe.”
Mike sat at the edge of his bed in a small room at the Sightseer Inn. His eyes were closed, his shoulders slumped, and his head bowed.
“Daddy will always be here to keep his little girl safe ,” he whispered to himself.
thirteen
“Tell me every detail of how you snagged this girl.”
Jordan sat at the dining room table and picked at the dirt beneath his nails.
“She was broken down a mile or so north of town. When I got there, she was sitting in the front seat, listening to her music player.”
“Did any cars pass by while you were there? Did anyone see you with the girl?”
“No!” Jordan sat up a little straighter, “There was no one on the highway that afternoon. I wasn’t
Her father sat his fishing pole aside and knelt beside her to watch the spider skitter away to safety. Gently taking her hand and turning her palm up, he explained, “That spider has tiny little hairs on the bottom of his feet that support him on the surface of the water.”
He tickled her palm and sent her into a fit of giggles.
“If fish had hair, would they float too?” she asked.
Sara relished her father’s patient answers to her never-ending questions.
“Well, honey, if fish had hair and floated, they would certainly be easier to catch.” He lifted her into his arms and held her close. “But, would you be willing to wear a coat made from fish fur?”
Sara wrinkled her nose, “Yuk, Daddy. That would smell terrible.”
“It wouldn’t smell terrible to the other fish, Squeaky. They would love the way you smelled.”
Sara giggled again.
“Do fish have noses, Daddy?”
Sara’s father hoisted her to his shoulders, retrieved his rod, and began walking along a well worn trail.
“Fish have very good noses, Sara. They can smell a tast y worm clear across this pond.”
He held her hands tightly and ducked under a tree branch.
Sara pulled her hands free and grabbed her father’s ears for balance.
“Do fish have ears, Daddy?”
Mike held tightly to his little girl’s legs to keep her from falling.
“Now you are just being silly, Sara. Can you imagine how goofy a fish would look with ears?”
Sara giggled and stretched her daddy’s ears out as far as she could.
“Horton hears a who!” she said in a gruff voice.
Mike set his little girl to the ground and took her hand to lead her through a grove of Aspen trees.
“And you must be Mr. FarFloogin of the Cloogin FarFloogins,” he recited.
Sara continued in well rehearsed theatrics, “In my world everyone is a pony, and we all eat rainbows and poop butterflies.”
Mike laughed out loud and tried to think of another line from a long list of favorite bedtime stories.
“ And now, cried Max, let the wild rumpus start.”
Sara pulled her hand from her father’s and crossed her arms across her chest.
“No, Daddy,” she said. “I don’t like that story.”
Mike stopped and mused over the change in his daughter’s demeanor.
“What’s the matter, Sara? ” he asked. “I thought that, ‘Where the Wild Things Are’, was one of your favorites.”
Sara stopped and puffed out her bottom lip.
“No,” she pouted. “A monster from that story lives outside and tries to come in my window at night.”
Mike pulled Sara into his arms and ran his fingers through her fine hair.
“Oh, sweetie,” he cooed, “Daddy will never let the monsters get to you . Daddy will always be here to keep his little girl safe.”
Mike sat at the edge of his bed in a small room at the Sightseer Inn. His eyes were closed, his shoulders slumped, and his head bowed.
“Daddy will always be here to keep his little girl safe ,” he whispered to himself.
thirteen
“Tell me every detail of how you snagged this girl.”
Jordan sat at the dining room table and picked at the dirt beneath his nails.
“She was broken down a mile or so north of town. When I got there, she was sitting in the front seat, listening to her music player.”
“Did any cars pass by while you were there? Did anyone see you with the girl?”
“No!” Jordan sat up a little straighter, “There was no one on the highway that afternoon. I wasn’t
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