thumbs-up while sitting in a go-kart and a chubby-cheeked baby girl, a pink ribbon clipped to a tuft of fine blond hair, was cradled in th e arms of the detective’s wife.
Bagg’s entire life changed when his daughter was stolen away. He’d dealt okay with the divorce and , although it hadn’t been his idea, he hadn’t f ou ght it. There had been plenty of fighting already. He was pretty sure his wife had slept with one of her coworkers , and that was something you could never take back. Maybe they’d been in crazy mad love when they’d first married seven years before the divorce, but if someone asked Bagg about the love of his life, he’d immediately think of his daughter, Morgan.
Morgan Bagg was almost five years old and just about to finish Pre-K when she went missing. Bagg learned that when a parent stole away a child in New Jersey , it wasn’t called kidnapping, but it sure felt like it. That summer was going to be perfect, with weekends spent at Sesame Place, and the joint-custody arrangement gave them a full week together in August. He’d collected tourist brochures in diners to plan the best week ever. Trips to a wave pool, the shore, and a real cave. And they’d catch movies any night they weren’t too worn out.
Bagg had coached Morgan’s soccer team, which was a little like herding puppies up and down a miniature field. Morgan had wanted to play again, especially after she and her teammates had been given trophies at the team pizza party following the last game.
The trophy was still on her bedroom dresser at Bagg’s apartment. Bagg knew it was there , although he hadn’t looked at it in more than five years. He’d stayed in the same apartment so she could always find him, but Bagg couldn’t go back in to that room. He kept the door closed but would sometimes stop outside and just lay the palm of his hand on the wood door. Once, when he’d gotten drunk off a bottle of cheap gin while watching an old black and white movie on television, Bagg had lumbered down the hall and pressed an ear to his daughter’s bedroom door.
He’d stood propped against the door, tears running down his stubbly face, the gin bottle dangling from one hand. Bagg had held his breath and listened as hard as he could. And from what seemed a million miles away, Bagg had been certain he ’d heard the ocean. Waves breaking over a sa ndy beach and seagulls squawking, bickering above.
Bagg’s legs had gone weak and he’d struggled to keep his ear to the ocean as he slid down the door. He had sat there crumpled on the floor listening , gin pooling around the seat of his pants as the bottle slid from his grasp.
“Where are you? ” Bagg had whispered, but there had been no answer and he ’d eventually fallen asleep, taken away by the ebbing tide.
There, in a puddle of juniper scented alcohol, Bagg had dreamed. Dreamed his ex-wife had shown up with their daughter as scheduled. After help ing with dinner, Morgan had lain on top of her father during the next two cartoons then brought up the same dozen reasons bedtime w asn’t as important as the next show.
As it had always been with his daughter, time slipped away practically unnoticed. Then came that quiet time just after the cat had fallen asleep but the hamster had not yet awakened to activate his maddening squeaky wheel. Teeth had been brushed after a last chance on the potty, followed by the fluffing of pillows and the tucking of blankets. This was a broken home, which made the rituals all the more important.
“I have a brand new story, ” Lennon Bagg told his little girl, as he sat on the edge of her bed, somewhere near her pudgy and scuffed knees encased in the too - small footy pajamas. Despite some squeezing and sucking in of breath, these jammies had not been replaceable. So what if she could no longer zip them anywhere near her chin?
“I don’t want a new story, ” Morgan said, sounding a little worried that her dad m ight not be teasing. “Our story is
Bagg’s entire life changed when his daughter was stolen away. He’d dealt okay with the divorce and , although it hadn’t been his idea, he hadn’t f ou ght it. There had been plenty of fighting already. He was pretty sure his wife had slept with one of her coworkers , and that was something you could never take back. Maybe they’d been in crazy mad love when they’d first married seven years before the divorce, but if someone asked Bagg about the love of his life, he’d immediately think of his daughter, Morgan.
Morgan Bagg was almost five years old and just about to finish Pre-K when she went missing. Bagg learned that when a parent stole away a child in New Jersey , it wasn’t called kidnapping, but it sure felt like it. That summer was going to be perfect, with weekends spent at Sesame Place, and the joint-custody arrangement gave them a full week together in August. He’d collected tourist brochures in diners to plan the best week ever. Trips to a wave pool, the shore, and a real cave. And they’d catch movies any night they weren’t too worn out.
Bagg had coached Morgan’s soccer team, which was a little like herding puppies up and down a miniature field. Morgan had wanted to play again, especially after she and her teammates had been given trophies at the team pizza party following the last game.
The trophy was still on her bedroom dresser at Bagg’s apartment. Bagg knew it was there , although he hadn’t looked at it in more than five years. He’d stayed in the same apartment so she could always find him, but Bagg couldn’t go back in to that room. He kept the door closed but would sometimes stop outside and just lay the palm of his hand on the wood door. Once, when he’d gotten drunk off a bottle of cheap gin while watching an old black and white movie on television, Bagg had lumbered down the hall and pressed an ear to his daughter’s bedroom door.
He’d stood propped against the door, tears running down his stubbly face, the gin bottle dangling from one hand. Bagg had held his breath and listened as hard as he could. And from what seemed a million miles away, Bagg had been certain he ’d heard the ocean. Waves breaking over a sa ndy beach and seagulls squawking, bickering above.
Bagg’s legs had gone weak and he’d struggled to keep his ear to the ocean as he slid down the door. He had sat there crumpled on the floor listening , gin pooling around the seat of his pants as the bottle slid from his grasp.
“Where are you? ” Bagg had whispered, but there had been no answer and he ’d eventually fallen asleep, taken away by the ebbing tide.
There, in a puddle of juniper scented alcohol, Bagg had dreamed. Dreamed his ex-wife had shown up with their daughter as scheduled. After help ing with dinner, Morgan had lain on top of her father during the next two cartoons then brought up the same dozen reasons bedtime w asn’t as important as the next show.
As it had always been with his daughter, time slipped away practically unnoticed. Then came that quiet time just after the cat had fallen asleep but the hamster had not yet awakened to activate his maddening squeaky wheel. Teeth had been brushed after a last chance on the potty, followed by the fluffing of pillows and the tucking of blankets. This was a broken home, which made the rituals all the more important.
“I have a brand new story, ” Lennon Bagg told his little girl, as he sat on the edge of her bed, somewhere near her pudgy and scuffed knees encased in the too - small footy pajamas. Despite some squeezing and sucking in of breath, these jammies had not been replaceable. So what if she could no longer zip them anywhere near her chin?
“I don’t want a new story, ” Morgan said, sounding a little worried that her dad m ight not be teasing. “Our story is
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