Deep Wood

She reels faster. A largemouth bass bursts out of the water, flapping and twisting on the end of her line.

Norah beams proudly. “I got one. Daddy, I got one!

“Yes, you did, baby girl. And he’s a fatty.” I catch the line in the air and bring the fish into the boat. “Grab the line. I’ll get the cooler.”

I hand the line off to Norah and fetch the ice-filled cooler, dragging it to the center of the boat. When I turn back around, Norah’s staring off toward the bank, holding up her fish like she’s showing it off.

“What’cha doing, sweetheart?”

“Showing my fish to the boy,” she says. “He’s cheering me on.”

I scan the bank. “Where is he? I don’t see him.”

She shoots me a strange look. “He’s right over there—” She turns back to the shore and frowns. “I guess he ran off.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I shake off the odd feeling, cut the fishing line with my pocket knife, then give the fish a few hard smacks on the back of the head to kill it fast. After cutting the gills and bleeding it out in the water, I submerge the bass in ice inside the cooler. “Now we just have to make a quick stop at the store and then have ourselves a nice fish dinner.”

I start the motor and take us back to shore where my truck’s parked. We load up the fishing supplies and the cooler, hitch the boat to the trailer, and then head into town. At the market, we pick up fresh herbs, olive oil, and assorted veggies for grilling. Norah insists on getting a peach pie for dessert, and I insist we grab a cherry pie, too, because why the hell not? We get gas at the station next door, then start the drive back to the cabin.

Norah rests her hand on my thigh and says, “I had a really nice time today, Daddy.”

I squeeze and rub her hand. “I had a nice day, too, baby girl.”

It occurs to me that every day could be like this, if we wanted it badly enough. The cabin is practically a house at this point. What’s to stop us from making it into our home? I could start my own real-estate consulting firm, or shift gears completely and do something different. Norah could get an online degree in whatever field sparks her interest. We could build a nice little life together, Norah and me, up here on the mountain.

A figure slinks out of the trees beside the road. A small doe or a young moose. I brace my foot on the brake, ready to stop the truck. But as we drive past, I swear it looks more like a person waving. A boy with dark, messy hair...

“Is that the kid you saw?” I ask Norah.

“What kid??

??

“The kid by the road.”

“I didn’t see anyone by the road,” she says.

Again, the back of my neck breaks out in pins and needles. I shake off the uneasiness and chalk it up to the twilight playing tricks on me.

The sun’s just beginning to set when we reach the cabin. I help Norah unload the groceries onto the porch.

“I’ll start food prep,” she says. “You grab the charcoal and get the grill up and running.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I fetch the bag of charcoal briquettes from the garage and bring them around to the back porch. Dropping the bag by the grill, I call to Norah through the open window, “Baby, I need matches.”

She doesn’t respond.

“Baby?” I call again. No answer.

I enter the kitchen through the back door. There’s a half-sliced eggplant on the cutting board, but no knife.

No knife, and no Norah.

“How did you find me?” she says from the living room, her voice thin and brittle.

My whole body goes rigid, every muscle pulled taut.

“Come on, Nor,” says a guy’s voice I don’t recognize. “Haven’t you ever wondered how I always seem to know where you are?”