you met, is my sweet nine-year-old. Dylan’s my stubborn fifteen-year-old.”
Javier smiled.
“I think he’s just going through a stage. No track practice today, so you can meet him in a minute when he comes home. I think Emily’s at a birthday party.”
Twenty feet away, on the workbench, Adam’s cell phone vibrated.
Adam said, “You know that thread factory on Clark?”
“Yes, I’ve seen it.”
“I know the guys who run it. I could talk to them about a job.”
Javier froze. “You mean a full-time job?”
“Why not? I’d recommend you.”
Javier smiled. “I would be very grateful.”
Both men heard a siren and turned toward the street. A sheriff’s patrol car stopped in front of Adam’s driveway. Shane Fuller jumped out, panic on his face. “Adam, I need you to come with me right now.”
“What’s wrong?”
Shane struggled for breath. “Emily.”
“What?”
“She’s been in a wreck.”
Javier watched as Adam ran to the car with Shane and jumped in the passenger side. The car sped away, lights flashing, siren blaring. Javy could think of just one thing to pray. “Dios, vaya con ellos.”
As the cruiser rounded the corner onto Westover Boulevard, Adam caught enough breath to speak. “Talk to me, Shane!”
“The Martins picked Emily up after school.”
“Yeah, the party. What happened?”
“Their SUV was hit by a drunk driver at a four-way stop. On Emily’s side.”
Adam stared vacantly at Shane and removed his sweaty cap.
“Nathan went to get Victoria. It doesn’t look good, Adam.”
Adam put his hands over his face and leaned forward. “Oh, God, help my daughter. Please, Lord! Please help my little girl!”
The patrol car pulled up to Phoebe Putney Memorial Hospital’s emergency room entrance.
Adam ran in the door. He heard voices to his right and saw Victoria, two nurses and a doctor standing by her. One nurse had her arm around Victoria. Adam dashed down the hallway. When she saw him, she collapsed against his chest.
Two others stood nearby, heads bowed—Captain Caleb Holt and another fireman. Holt’s white shirt was bloodstained.
Adam held Victoria. Beyond the hospital staff he saw Nathan and David, now joined by Shane.
No one looked Adam in the eye; no one offered words of hope.
Their body language screamed a message he couldn’t bear to receive.
“I want to see her,” Adam said.
They led him toward a room with medical equipment scattered in frantic disarray. He saw what seemed to be a mannequin from a children’s clothing store.
The sheet had a few red spots on it. Adam hoped it was someone else’s blood, someone else’s little girl. Then he saw, carelessly thrown on the floor, a sheared, bloodstained, blue polka-dot sundress—the same one she’d worn five days ago when she’d asked him to dance. A sheet partly covered the body.
Other girls must own the same dress. It doesn’t have to be Emily.
Victoria wept as she leaned over what was left of her daughter. Adam, still denying it, finally saw the little girl’s face. In that moment the weight of the world fell on him.
The doctors had to be wrong. Adam reached to feel her pulse. He waited for just one heartbeat, a single twinge of movement, a blip on that vacant screen, any hint of life. But though he pressed his fingers harder and harder on her wrist, he got nothing back.
No. No. No.
Every bone in Adam Mitchell’s body melted. He began sobbing.
His little girl was gone.
Chapter Thirteen
Adam Mitchell would wake up from this nightmare.
He had to.
Pictures of Emily and dozens of colorful bouquets surrounded a small white casket. Every seat in the church was filled with uniformed officers, friends, and family—all wishing for some way to dull the Mitchells’ grief.
Part of Adam appreciated the church folk. Part of him didn’t want to appreciate anything related to church because church was God’s thing and God had taken his daughter.
Three days had passed, and Adam Mitchell had
Javier smiled.
“I think he’s just going through a stage. No track practice today, so you can meet him in a minute when he comes home. I think Emily’s at a birthday party.”
Twenty feet away, on the workbench, Adam’s cell phone vibrated.
Adam said, “You know that thread factory on Clark?”
“Yes, I’ve seen it.”
“I know the guys who run it. I could talk to them about a job.”
Javier froze. “You mean a full-time job?”
“Why not? I’d recommend you.”
Javier smiled. “I would be very grateful.”
Both men heard a siren and turned toward the street. A sheriff’s patrol car stopped in front of Adam’s driveway. Shane Fuller jumped out, panic on his face. “Adam, I need you to come with me right now.”
“What’s wrong?”
Shane struggled for breath. “Emily.”
“What?”
“She’s been in a wreck.”
Javier watched as Adam ran to the car with Shane and jumped in the passenger side. The car sped away, lights flashing, siren blaring. Javy could think of just one thing to pray. “Dios, vaya con ellos.”
As the cruiser rounded the corner onto Westover Boulevard, Adam caught enough breath to speak. “Talk to me, Shane!”
“The Martins picked Emily up after school.”
“Yeah, the party. What happened?”
“Their SUV was hit by a drunk driver at a four-way stop. On Emily’s side.”
Adam stared vacantly at Shane and removed his sweaty cap.
“Nathan went to get Victoria. It doesn’t look good, Adam.”
Adam put his hands over his face and leaned forward. “Oh, God, help my daughter. Please, Lord! Please help my little girl!”
The patrol car pulled up to Phoebe Putney Memorial Hospital’s emergency room entrance.
Adam ran in the door. He heard voices to his right and saw Victoria, two nurses and a doctor standing by her. One nurse had her arm around Victoria. Adam dashed down the hallway. When she saw him, she collapsed against his chest.
Two others stood nearby, heads bowed—Captain Caleb Holt and another fireman. Holt’s white shirt was bloodstained.
Adam held Victoria. Beyond the hospital staff he saw Nathan and David, now joined by Shane.
No one looked Adam in the eye; no one offered words of hope.
Their body language screamed a message he couldn’t bear to receive.
“I want to see her,” Adam said.
They led him toward a room with medical equipment scattered in frantic disarray. He saw what seemed to be a mannequin from a children’s clothing store.
The sheet had a few red spots on it. Adam hoped it was someone else’s blood, someone else’s little girl. Then he saw, carelessly thrown on the floor, a sheared, bloodstained, blue polka-dot sundress—the same one she’d worn five days ago when she’d asked him to dance. A sheet partly covered the body.
Other girls must own the same dress. It doesn’t have to be Emily.
Victoria wept as she leaned over what was left of her daughter. Adam, still denying it, finally saw the little girl’s face. In that moment the weight of the world fell on him.
The doctors had to be wrong. Adam reached to feel her pulse. He waited for just one heartbeat, a single twinge of movement, a blip on that vacant screen, any hint of life. But though he pressed his fingers harder and harder on her wrist, he got nothing back.
No. No. No.
Every bone in Adam Mitchell’s body melted. He began sobbing.
His little girl was gone.
Chapter Thirteen
Adam Mitchell would wake up from this nightmare.
He had to.
Pictures of Emily and dozens of colorful bouquets surrounded a small white casket. Every seat in the church was filled with uniformed officers, friends, and family—all wishing for some way to dull the Mitchells’ grief.
Part of Adam appreciated the church folk. Part of him didn’t want to appreciate anything related to church because church was God’s thing and God had taken his daughter.
Three days had passed, and Adam Mitchell had
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