Page 144 of When There Was You
His anguished cries hang in the air, each another blow to my bruised heart. Hemi lumbers to all fours and rests his head on his Butch’s thigh.
I rub Butch’s back in slow, smooth strokes, over and over.
I’m here. I love you. I’m sorry.
Slowly, his sobs cease, his breaths shuddering as they normalize.
It’s dark outside, impossible to guess the time, but not yet near dawn. My brain screams questions for which there are no answers. Have the police found Emmy? Has anyone spotted her from the photos we provided? From the community search team? From the flyers getting made and distributed? Where was she taken? Is she hurt? Hungry? Scared? Is she with Darlene? What if they can’t find her?
What more can we do?
Butch stands. “I’m going to get some water,” he says hoarsely. “Want some?”
“I’ll get it for you,” I offer.
He waves me off and walks toward the kitchen. I hear him open a drawer, shake what sounds like pain relievers from a bottle, and use the sink. He returns with two glasses, setting them down on the coffee table.
I take a few token sips.
He reclines on the sofa, silently beckoning to me to join him. He cradles me against him, and I sag as his arm closes around my chest. We remain wordless, but his breath floating past my ear provides the proof of life I need—and a smidgeon of hope.
Then again, hope is dangerous.
We don’t leavethe cabin—hoping, praying, waiting for the phone to ring with news that Emmy’s been found. The absence of her little footsteps, giggles, and tea parties attended by stuffed animals surround us like ghosts.
Gus, Jerri, and Liz cycle through at intervals, bringing food we barely touch, offering hugs, and fighting tears. No one knows what to say in these circumstances. No words exist in the English language to provide solace for this atrocity.
We turn on the television…but find it depressing, not distracting. The silence without it deafens. How can quiet be so loud?
Butch relieves some of his stress by pummeling the punching bag in the garage. Splitting more wood and stacking it high for wintertime. Throwing a tennis ball for Hemi to chase. During those times, I stand vigil by the phone.
There is nothing more agonizing than sitting around, idle and helpless, knowing Emmy is out there…scared, in trouble, worse. And yet we are relegated to it, chained here, impotent.
Sixty-Nine
Seventy-four hours after Emmy disappears, the phone rings—a shrill, jarring sound in a household turned mute. Butch pounces on it and I bound to his side.
Will this be the call to tell us she’s alive and well…or that the unthinkable has happened?
He lets out a loud whoosh, eyes tearing, and gives me only a few head nods until the call ends.She’s alive.
His beautiful eyes finally meet mine. “Emmy’s been found. Unharmed. In South Dakota.”
My hands fly to my face. “Thank God,” I rasp.
His chest heaves as he processes. “Darlene took her,” he confirms, “and she’s now in custody. Taking her across state lines made it a felony, and she could serve a lot of time for that.”
We hold each other tightly as relief streams down my face in the form of tears.Thank you, thank you, thank you.
“When will she be home?”
“She’s on her way. They’re flying her.”
“Oh, Butch…”
“I know, baby. Iknow.”
My voice catches. There’s relief, but also…remorse. “I’m so sorry.”
