I was beginning to think that old sheriff wasn’t a man of his word because a few days went by, and there was no talk of my dad. On the news they kept showing our house and the sheriff talking to reporters. The grandmother didn’t let me watch any of it, but I found a newspaper in the trash basket and read the story.
There was something about a man named Graham Walker who had been charged with shooting at a sheriff’s deputy and that he was somehow involved in my disappearance. I didn’t understand much of it, but the important thing was that they didn’t write a word about my dad. It was like it was our secret and nobody could know and I think it was because if they did, my dad would have to be dragged in front of the cameras or something, and I know he wouldn’t like that. And you couldn’t drag that stuff out of me if you tied a hundred horses to me and tried.
I had to go to a doctor and get checked out, and he asked me all kinds of personal questions. It wasn’t that big of a deal. Then after a couple days they let me go into the backyard and play because most of the news cameras had left. A few days later the grandfather took me on the hill on his tractor, and he even let me drive it. It was about the most fun thing I’d ever done.
We came up to the big water tower that had
Dogwood
written on it and we stopped and the grandfather let me down. There was a man standing at the bottom of the tower, and I recognized him right away and started running toward him.
My daddy. I know he wasn’t my real daddy. But he was my daddy. And I was giggling just to see him. He moved toward me and then got down on one knee and took something from behind him and put it on the ground. I just about died because it was the prettiest little white puppy I had ever seen.
I fell on the ground and that little puppy came over and licked me on the face and then we rolled around on the ground and the fresh-cut grass got in my hair and it was just about the closest thing to heaven this side of the pearly gates.
I jumped up and grabbed Dad around the neck and hung on. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Sometimes that’s the only thing you can say to your daddy.
“I told you when the time was right, you could have a dog,” he said. “Time’s right.”
“I love him,” I said. “What’s his name?”
“It’s a her. She doesn’t have one. They say the person who loves a thing the most is the one who should name it. So go ahead.”
The puppy had waddled over to the grandfather and was gnawing on his shoe and both of us laughed at that. I threw out a bunch of dog names like Shep and Whitey, but none of them seemed to fit.
“Take your time,” Dad said. “You don’t have to decide right now. Noodle on it.”
I turned back to him. He was kneeling on the ground, and though he had always looked a little sad to me, he looked really sad and happy at the same time. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
He nodded.
“Why can’t you stay? They’ve got a lot of room.”
He took me in his arms and hugged me so tight I thought I was going to bust. Then he pushed me back so I could see into his eyes. “Remember when I told you about when I was a kid and we’d tie a string on the leg of a june bug?”
I nodded and the tears started.
“I knew someday I’d need to let the string go. I did the best I could, and we had a lot of fun out on the road. But it’s time for you to fly, little girl. These people here love you a lot and they’ll take care of you. You can go to school. Have sleepovers with your friends—”
“I don’t want sleepovers. I want you!” I buried my face in his chest.
He patted me on the back again and again. “I know you do and I want to stay. You don’t know how hard it is. But I won’t be gone, really. You have me in your heart. And I have you. I’ll always have you in my heart, June Bug. Don’t you forget that.”
I tried to stop my crying, but it was too hard. It wasn’t until that puppy came over to me and started licking at my bare leg that I laughed through the tears.
We played a little more, and the grandfather asked him a few questions about the sheriff and what they’d worked out with the law. And then I knew it was time. Dad stood up and shook the hand of the grandfather.
“I want to thank you for what you did,” the grandfather said.
“Thank you for loaning me your granddaughter,” Dad said. “She did more for me than I ever did for her.”
“Where will you go?” I said.
He looked off into the distance at the interstate that snaked through the valley. “I don’t know. I was thinking of heading west.”
He got this big grin on his face, and I knew who he was thinking about. “Why don’t you take me with you? It’s not fair.”
“June Bug, there’s a lot of things I don’t understand about life. Why one person dies and the other lives. Why people do hurtful things to innocent people. If I could keep you with me the rest of my life, I would do it. But in my heart I know this is the best, and you’re just going to have to trust me.”
I nodded because in my heart I knew he was right, but sometimes your heart and the rest of you don’t go in the same direction.
He picked me up in his arms one last time and swung me around so that my hair flew out and the puppy started barking and the world started spinning and it felt like home. It just felt like home.
The grandfather put me on the tractor and we drove away with that puppy in my arms and the best dad anyone ever had standing on the hill. We moved into the trees and I lost sight of him, and when we got down to the clearing, I looked back and he was gone. Just like that.
About a week later, I went to the mailbox with Papaw. There was a box sitting on the ground with my name on it and we carried it back to the house and opened it. Inside were all my journals and stuff from the RV and about everything I ever had of any value. Along with it was a picture of the two of us standing in the sand by the ocean, smiling. And packed up inside the box were a bunch of medals. I didn’t know what they were for, but I thought they were pretty.
There was also a letter inside addressed to Leason and Mae Edwards. When Mamaw opened it, she grabbed her mouth and said, “Have mercy.”
“What is it?” I said.
“John sent a letter and a check. He says it’s for you to go to college.”
“That’s enough to
buy
a college,” Papaw said, and he laughed and shook his head.
I took the letter and looked at his handwriting. It was my dad’s, no doubt. I wondered how he had gotten all that money and if it came from the box under the parking lot at the reservoir.
I had my first sleepover with Jennifer at the end of July. It took me a long time to work on Mamaw because she liked to have me close to her almost all the time. Jennifer’s mama made us s’mores and let us sleep in a tent just out the back door and watch a movie on a TV we plugged into an extension cord at the side of the house. After Jennifer went to sleep and it was quiet, I crawled out and looked up at the stars and picked out the Big Dipper. Dad had taught me to do that.
They lived next to the interstate, and I heard the rush of semis going past and the whir of tires. I closed my eyes and it took me back to those days on the road. There’s something about living in a house that’s cozy and warm that you don’t get in living out of an RV. But I guess if you’re with people you love, it doesn’t matter where you live.
I’ve seen some pictures of my mama, but I’ve never met her. Mamaw says she doesn’t think she’ll ever come back, but I wish she would. I’d like to see her and get to talk with her and ask her dumb questions.
I don’t see his dad, Mr. Johnson, much. He doesn’t have to drive somebody else’s truck because he has a new one. And Papaw said his mortgage is paid off, and I think that would make my dad happy to know.
Mamaw and Papaw take me to the big brick church, and I have this Sunday school teacher who asks me to read the verses each week because the other kids stumble over the words. The pastor is a good friend now, and he said he would baptize me when I’m ready.
Not a day goes by that I don’t think about him. I’ll see an old truck pass with an arm out the window and my heart will quicken. Or in some Walmart parking lot I’ll see an RV with worn tires and curtains drawn and think of our life. Sometimes when I’m playing with Roma—that’s what I named my dog—I’ll look up at the water tower and think about what it would be like to see him sitting there looking down on me, laughing as I play or when I tie a string to a june bug and follow it around like he did.
He comes to me in my dreams and my dreams are never enough. I wonder if he’ll be in the audience when I’m in school and singing at a Christmas concert. I wonder if he’ll watch me graduate or get married. I don’t think that will ever happen, but if it does, I’d want him to be there and maybe walk me down the aisle.
At night sometimes, when I’m in bed and under the clean covers in the back bedroom, I’ll close my eyes and reach out a hand toward him. And I’ll wonder if he ever does the same for me.
I wonder what made him such a good father if he never had children. I wonder if he’s started a new life with Sheila. And I wonder if he’ll ever forget me. I don’t think he will because he said he wouldn’t. And he always kept his promises.
Some people know every little thing about themselves. Not me. And I don’t need to anymore.