Sarbay

By

Kathleen Stockmier

 Sarbay

It was one of those typical almost-summer days of late spring, when the

air is thick with humidity and dark clouds obscure the sun every 15 minutes or

so. When the sun did shine, it was unbearably hot and sticky, perfect weather
for a dip in the water and a bad sunburn.

Sarah and her best friend, Mary Jo, decided to skip classes like a lot of

other seniors and spend Senior Skip Day at the lake. This unofficial holiday,
celebrated a week before graduation, was a long-standing tradition at

Parkerville Memorial High School. Many of the 105 members of the class of

1968 were going to participate, even though the day off from classes was not

sanctioned by the Mississippi school system. They weren’t going to be the

first class in the high school’s 40-year history to break tradition.

Mary Jo was late picking up Sarah because she had to wait until her

mother left for work so she could pack the car. Sarah’s mother was deceased,

and her dad was out of town working on an offshore oil rig in the gulf. Her

dad’s sister, Nellie, lived with them and slept in a small bedroom off the
kitchen. She kept an eye on Sarah when he was away, but no one told her aunt

about the May 21st tradition.

Mary Jo’s mother was born and raised in the small town and was

familiar with the annual skip day and planned to take the car keys with her to
work, but Mary Jo had just the right words to say in order to keep them.

“Well, Mother, what if it’s raining when school gets out? How will I get
home if everyone is cutting classes today? You wouldn’t want me to get wet
and die from a lung infection, would you? Like Natalie Wood in This Property

is Condemned?”
 Her mother remembered that scene well, when the actress, playing flirty
Alva Starr, runs out into the rainy streets at night. They both cried while

watching the end of that movie.

“Okay, you win!” said her mother, Katherine, slapping the keys into her

daughter’s open palm. “But if I get a call from Mr. Bren….”

“You won’t, Mother. I promise,” she said, cutting her off. “Mr. Brennan

will not call you.”

A honking horn in front of the house ended their heated discussion, and

Katherine gathered up her purse, sack lunch and umbrella and walked outside

to her co-worker’s car. Mary Jo stood on the front porch and watched her mom

climb into Dorie Parker’s new Dodge. The two women had been friends since

grade school and worked as secretaries at a paper mill in nearby Boydton

County. They took turns driving to work because it saved them money on gas.

Mary Jo waved goodbye to the women from the screened-in porch and

waited until Dorie’s car was out of sight before scurrying to the kitchen to
make sandwiches. She slapped the peanut butter and jelly onto the bread,

grabbed a cooler from the hall closet and dumped the ice cube trays inside,

then filled the trays with water so they would freeze again. If her mother saw
empty trays in the freezer, she’d know right away that Mary Jo used them for

the Senior Skip Day outing and she’d be grounded for a month.
Sarah left her house that morning at her normal time, seven-thirty, and
walked down to the corner to wait for the school bus. Instead of boarding the

bus, the plan was for her to wait in the parking lot of the Methodist Church
across the street from the bus stop until Mary Jo arrived in her mom’s car. She

couldn’t take a chance of having Mary Jo pick her up at her house because
Aunt Nellie would suspect something.
Sarah looked at her watch. “Dang! It’s almost nine o’clock! Where is

she?”
And as if summoned, Mary Jo pulled into the church’s parking lot and

rolled down her window. “C’mon, girl, let’s go have some fun!”

Sarah smiled and grabbed her stuff and threw it into the backseat of the

’56 Ford. “Geez, I was starting to worry. People kept stopping by and asking
me if everything was all right, like I was running away from home or

something.”

“Aw, shake it off and get in.”

“You were supposed to be here at eight-fifteen! What took you so long?”

“Well, I had to wait until my mother left, and her ride was late, and I had

to convince her to give me the keys to the car because she thought I was going

to skip school and Mr. Brennan was going to call her, and then the car

wouldn’t start and …”

“All right, already!” Sarah said sarcastically. “Geez, sorry I asked.”

“Aw, Sarah, don’t act like that,” said Mary Jo, reaching for Sarah’s hand.

“Today’s gonna be a blast, you’ll see! And I bet that cute Curtis will be there!”
Sarah blushed and stared out the passenger-side window. Curtis Smith

sat behind her in Study Hall and was always asking her if she had an extra
pencil or an extra piece of paper to write on. One day, after asking for paper,
he dropped his notebook on the floor and blank paper scattered everywhere.

That’s when she put two-and-two together and realized that all those times he
was asking for something to use he was actually trying to start up a

conversation with her. The next day he was sitting on the other side of the
Study Hall room. She caught his glance once, and smiled. He winked in her
direction and she felt giddy.

The girls stopped at the Winn-Dixie grocery store and bought four root
beers, a bag of Granny Goose potato chips and two Hostess Cupcakes – the

yummy ones with the white swirl on top of the chocolate icing. They put the

bottled drinks in the cooler and covered them with ice, and Mary Jo placed the

sandwiches on top of the ice so they wouldn’t get smashed and the cupcakes,
too, so the chocolate wouldn’t melt. Everyone was scheduled to meet at the

lake at noon and it was not even ten o’clock.

“What are we going to do for two hours? Sarah asked. “We don’t want

to be the first ones there, you know.”

“I know, I know,” said Mary Jo. “Don’t freak out on me again. I was

thinking we could go over to that creek outside of town, you know, the one

that’s near the Gentry’s farm? And we could just lay out and tan until about

eleven-thirty. Wanna do that?”

“Sure!” replied Sarah. “Did you bring your movie star magazines?”

“Yep!”

“Your transistor radio?”

“Yep!”

“Your Blistex?”
“Of course.”
Sarah laughed. “I guess we’re all set!”

They giggled and turned up the radio full blast and sang along to Otis
Redding’s “(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay.”

Sarah enjoyed going anywhere with Mary Jo. The two girls met in first
grade, but Mary Jo was a year older because her fifth birthday came after the
start of school and she had to wait until the next school year to enroll. Neither

one had a sibling, so the girls felt a sister kinship.

From the highway, Mary Jo saw the row of high poplar trees ahead that

lined the dirt road on Will Gentry’s property and turned right. The short rain

shower earlier that morning had softened the dirt to a mild muddy state, and

she pressed harder on the accelerator so the tires wouldn’t get bogged down.
Sarah was afraid they were going to get stuck, but Mary Jo assured her they

wouldn’t.

“I’ve been down this road before when it was way worse than this!” she

said. “And it was at night. Talk about scary!”

Sarah knew that Mary Jo and her boyfriend had gone “all the way,” so

she assumed it probably happened somewhere off this road. Why else would

she be on this road at night? Heck, it could have been at this creek we’re going

to, she thought. She stared out the window at the tall poplars and imagined
them looking like monsters in the dark of night with the moon peeking

through every now and then. She had never been parking with a boy. Her

shyness kept her from even talking to them. Even after the paper incident with
Curtis, she never spoke to him. Now, they are about to graduate and she will

probably never see him again. Maybe today will be different.

The car’s tires dipped into the ruts in the road and Sarah diverted her
eyes from the green monsters and thoughts of Curtis and stared straight ahead,

extending her arm to the dashboard above the glove box to steady her jolted
body. Mary Jo eased up on the accelerator.

“I think the road to the creek is somewhere along here,” she said,
looking for a break in the trees ahead. “Yeah, there it is.” She turned left onto
another dirt road but it was in worse condition than the main road. “We might

have to leave the car here and walk down to the creek. It’s not far. I think the
car will get stuck if we go any further.”

Sarah had heard about the creek from others at school. It was a wide,

shallow creek with overhanging trees and a white sandy beach. She couldn’t

wait to see it. The girls stepped out of the car and their sandals sank into the
mire. Mud oozed between their toes.

“Damn it!” screamed Mary Jo, scooping out the mud between her big

toe with her finger. “These are brand new shoes!” She jerked the back door

open and grabbed the cooler, transistor radio, towels, blanket and beach bags

and handed a few items to Sarah to carry. They locked the car and trudged

through the soupy soil on the short path to the creek. About three-quarters of

the way, Mary Jo glanced over her shoulder toward the car and thought she

saw a man peering inside its windows. She grabbed Sarah’s left arm and
pulled her into the bushes.

“What the …?” said a startled Sarah.

“Shhhhh. Don’t say anything!” Mary Jo whispered, holding her index

finger up to her lips. “There’s a man down by our car. Let’s get into the thick

of these bushes and hide.”

Some of the bushes were bristly shrubs with prickles that made small
cuts on their bare legs, but the girls kept moving deeper into the thicket. They

stopped for a moment, crouched down and peered through the brushwood
toward the muddy road. They could see a man walking toward the creek

carrying a hunting rifle in his left hand. He stopped and scanned the area, as if
he was looking for something or someone, and took a long puff of his
cigarette. Then he flicked the butt with his fingers and continued walking

forward.
The girls were shaking and tears ran down Sarah’s cheeks. Mary Jo,

fearing that Sarah was about to squeal, grabbed her head with her right hand

and cupped her mouth with her left.

“Shhhhhhh,” she whispered into Sarah’s ear.

“I’m scared, Mary Jo,” Sarah mumbled.

Mary Jo pulled her hand away from Sarah’s mouth. “Listen to me,

sweetie. This is serious shit. That man has a rifle and could either rape us or

kill us – or both. We aren’t going anywhere any time soon.”

Sarah nodded and wiped her eyes. “You know, this reminds me of The

Twilight Zone show where the man is from the Old West and he leaves his

covered wagon and walks over a hill and sees a truck stop and cars on the

highway.”
Mary Jo looked at her with a puzzled glare. “What are you talking

about?” What made you think of that?” she whispered.

“I dunno. Maybe because he looked like that man.”

“Who?”

“That man on the road. He looked like that actor in The Twilight Zone.”
“Well, you got a better look at him than I did,” she answered.
“Mary Jo?”

“Yeah?”
“What if he’s not really gone and just hiding out there waiting for us?”

“Oh, don’t be thinking of things like that!” she snapped. “He’s probably
just hunting or something. He’s not looking to hurt any girls. Do you think he
got up this morning and said, ‘I think I’ll go down to the creek on Will

Gentry’s property and see if I can rape and murder a few girls?’ ”
Sarah uttered a half-laugh, half-cry reply. “No, I don’t think so. You’re

probably right. But can we at least go back to the car and ride over to the lake

now? It’s gotta be at least eleven. So what if we are the first one’s there.”

Mary Jo looked at her watch. “Yeah, it’s almost eleven o’clock. By the
time we get to the car and over to the lake, it’ll be close to noon. I think that’s

a good idea.”

Sarah looked at Mary Jo with a pouty face.

“What?” Mary Jo asked. “What now?”

“Well, before we go, could we at least talk about some kind of plan in

case he attacks us? Like, maybe we have something we could use to fight him

off?”

Mary Jo thought that made a lot of sense. “Yeah, maybe we could carry
the root beer bottles and hit him over the head with them. How does that

sound?”

“Perfect!” Sarah said, smiling now, her fear easing up a bit.

The girls walked slowly through the thorny bushes toward the road to

begin their short trek to the car. Sarah stepped cautiously through the mud
because her sandal broke during their mad dash into the bushes and she was
now barefoot. Up ahead, Mary Jo was walking much faster, talking to herself

about how she wished there was no such thing as Senior Skip Day and how
she could be back at home getting ready to watch As the World Turns at one-

thirty with a box fan blowing on her in the living room and not having to ask
her neighbor what happened on the show. She reached the car first and set the
cooler on the ground so she could unlock the door on the driver’s side. She

had held onto the keys so tightly while running through the bushes that one of
them punctured the inside of her right ring finger and was bleeding.

“Oh, great! That’s all I need!” she cried, throwing the rest of her things

into the backseat. Then she bent down to scrape the mud off her shoes with her

keys before jumping in.

“Dang! I hate this mud!” she screamed in frustration. “And just look at

my legs! They’re bleeding! My finger is bleeding! It is smoldering hot!

C’mon, Sarah, let’s get outta here!”

Sarah didn’t answer. Mary Jo stood up and looked back at the road

through the window of the open car door.

“Sarah? Where are you? Let’s not be funny now, okay? Come out from

the bushes.”

Through tear filled eyes, she surveyed the property and saw no one.
“You got me!” she yelled. “I’m scared now, okay? I’m begging you, Sarah,

please, please come out from the bushes.”

It wasn’t like Sarah to be such a jokester, she thought. Maybe she had to
pee? But surely she would have said something. Then Mary Jo got a horrible

thought. What if that man took her? And maybe he’s coming for her next?
She jumped into the front seat, locked the door and started the engine.
She honked the horn continuously for about five minutes, but Sarah didn’t

come. No one was passing on the main road, either. She hated to leave, but
going back to look in the woods didn’t seem like a bright idea.

The sun came out from behind a gray cloud causing an object to glisten
on the road. Several seconds later the sun was behind the cloud again and
Mary Jo could see clearly that the shiny object was a root beer bottle.

“What were we thinking!” she cried, beating the steering wheel with her
hands. “What were we thinking coming out here in the middle of nowhere all

by ourselves?” She backed the car onto the main road and drove over to the

Gentry farm, wiping her wet eyes as she steered the Ford. Mr. Gentry was on a

tractor in the field near the house. His wife was sitting on the porch swing,
holding her grandbaby.

Mary Jo drove onto the property and laid on the horn. She jumped out of

the car and ran toward the porch. “Mrs. Gentry! Mrs. Gentry!” she screamed.

“Call the police! A man took Sarah!”

Mrs. Gentry stood up and extended her free arm to embrace Mary Jo.

The baby boy started crying and Mrs. Gentry tried to soothe him, but Mary

Jo’s frantic shrill was loud enough for Mr. Gentry to hear over the tractor’s

engine. He ran toward the house and reached the door just in time to see Mrs.
Gentry handing the phone to Mary Jo to explain to the police what had

happened. She told the officer everything, too, even Sarah’s observation that

the man looked like an actor from The Twilight Zone TV show.
The Parkerville police and officers from nearby counties scoured the

creek and the surrounding area for miles. They found footprints on the road,
but the mud made it difficult to define a size or shape. “More than likely it’s a
work boot, about a size 12,” Sheriff Bo Hawkins told an anxious crowd

outside the Parkerville City Hall. “But that’s just a guess. We came up with
that after examining the size of the impressions and their depths. We asked

several officers of various sizes and weight to put on different kinds of

footwear to see if we could create a similar footprint, and that’s how we came
up with that. But, like I said, it’s just a guess.”

“Sheriff Hawkins,” a reporter from the Parkerville Daily News yelled

out. “Were you able to find anything else? Like a cigarette butt or car tracks?”

“Yes, we found several cigarette butts out there and we bagged them all.

But I don’t know what good that’ll do. Some looked to be really old; some

looked pretty fresh. They were homemade cigarettes, no brand name visible,
you know? There were no tire tracks or shell casings. It’s the darndest thing.”

The sheriff took off his gray felt hat and dotted his forehead with a

folded white handkerchief. “I’ll be real honest with you folks,” he said, putting

the hat back on and adjusting it on his bald head, “we don’t have much to go

on. That’s all I’ve got for today.”

The reporter spoke up again. “Sheriff, just one more question. Are there

any plans for the community to get involved? You know, like teams of people

to comb the area to try and find Sarah?”

One of the spectators yelled, “Yeah, sheriff, we’ve got lots of townsfolk

wanting to help out.”

The crowd started yelling questions all at once and Sheriff Hawkins had
to calm them down. “Here now!” he shouted, holding both his hands up in the

air. “Let’s be civil about this, okay?”

The crowd quieted. “Of course you can go looking for Sarah,” he said.
“The more the better. But if you find anyone, do not, and I repeat, DO NOT

confront this person. We have reason to believe that he could be armed and
take you down right there and your kinfolk with you. Just get to the nearest

payphone and call our station. We’ll take it from there.”

 The sheriff walked away and the crowd continued to talk among
themselves. They all agreed to meet in the basement of the First Baptist

Church and make plans. Their first search party set out within the hour.
Six weeks later they disbanded. Sarah and her abductor were nowhere to

be found and they all gave up. But for Mary Jo, it wasn’t as simple as

throwing up her hands and walking away. She was haunted by the abduction

and spent the next 15 years having nightmares and anxiety attacks because she
blamed herself for Sarah’s disappearance. Guilt and low self-esteem drove her

to drink.

***

It was hard for Mary Jo to live in Parkerville, but she had to stay with

her mother because she could not keep a job elsewhere. Married three times

and hired and fired by at least thirty employers since Sarah’s abduction, Mary

Jo was broke and alone with nowhere to go but back to her mother’s house.

She spent every day sitting in the swing on the front porch, drinking vodka,
smoking cigarettes and beating herself up emotionally until she passed out. On

warm nights, her mother latched the porch lock and left her in the swing to

sleep. On cold nights, she would drag her daughter inside to the couch.
Mornings were painful, so Mary Jo would take uppers to get through the

day, and then resort to her drunken self by evening. It was a cycle that
repeated itself day after day after day.
She found a photograph of actor Cliff Robertson in one of her mother’s

celebrity magazines and tore it out. The more she examined his face, the more
she drank until she convinced herself that the actor did, indeed, look like the

man who took Sarah. But the next day through bloodshot, sober eyes, she’d
deny the resemblance.
One warm and humid evening, her mother went to bed early because she

wasn’t feeling well, taking the car keys with her and placing them under her
pillow like she had done since Mary Jo moved back in with her. After several

hours of guzzling the end of her week’s vodka supply, Mary Jo jumped on her

bike and peddled over to the grocery store. Parkerville had passed a beer and

wine ordinance during the last election and the stores were now stocked across
the city. She could buy some alcohol there, but the hard stuff still had to be

bought in nearby Louisiana, which her mother did every week.

“You’re going to be the death of me, girl!” her mother shouted a few

months earlier as she was backing the car out of the driveway for the liquor

store. “You’ve got to slow it down or we’ll both be living on the street.”

Mary Jo tried to cope with less booze, but couldn’t quite make it happen.

She started relying on occasional uppers, which she received from her friend,

Joe, in exchange for sexual favors. But Joe got busted for selling drugs and
other drug paraphernalia and was serving time in a Mississippi correctional

facility. It would have to be beer tonight, she decided.

It was her first time to visit Carl’s Grocery store and the huge windows
allowed her a peek inside before actually entering. It was late and she could

see only one person – the checkout clerk. She dropped her bike near the door
and walked in, the bright fluorescent lights blinding her immediately.
Squinting, she could make out a tall display of sunglasses down the first aisle.

She grabbed a pair and put them on over her bloodshot eyes. The overhead
signs guided her to the beer cooler, which was surrounded by shelves and

shelves of wine. She grabbed a six-pack and laid it on the checkout counter.
The clerk was reading a car mechanic magazine and had his back to her. To
get his attention, she pretended to clear her throat. He put the magazine down

and turned around to face her.

“Will that be all for you?” he asked.

Mary Jo fumbled for the $5 bill she had in her jeans pocket. “Yes, that

will be all.”

He reached out his hand for the money and she noticed a tattoo on the
inside of his left arm. She gave him the cash and took off her sunglasses to get

a better look at the tattoo when he handed her the change. Written in fancy

flowing cursive in blue ink was the word “Sarbay” with a red heart under it.

She recognized it right away. It was Sarah’s nickname, her father’s sweet term

of endearment that was short for “Sarah Baby,” and it was the only name he

ever called her.

“Are you sure that’s the only thing you want to pay for today?” the man

asked with a scowl on his face.

Mary Jo looked around to see if he was talking to someone else. Her

mind was so preoccupied with the tattoo that she only heard a few of the

words he had spoken. Seeing no one else, she asked, “What? Are you talking
to me?”

The clerk let out a long sigh. She could smell whiskey on his breath.
“Do you see anyone else in here?” he asked in a sarcastic tone.
“No,” she muttered.

The man placed the palms of his hands on the counter and leaned in
toward her, his eyes piercing hers. “Okay, lady. I’m going to ask you this one

more time and then that’s going to be it for you. Do you understand?”
 Mary Jo put her head down and saw the sunglasses she was holding in
her left hand. Oh, shit! she thought to herself. That’s what he’s talking about!

Without looking up, she placed them on the counter and ran out the
door, hurling the six-pack into the bicycle’s wire basket and giving the bike a

running start before hopping on. Her chest was heavy and throbbed like a

bomb was ticking inside, causing her to cough. “Damn cigarettes!”

She was afraid to turn around to see if the clerk or a police car was
following her. She grabbed the beer, threw down the bike and ran up the

porch’s steps, falling into the swing like it was some magical safe zone where

she became invisible. She reclined there several minutes, catching her breath

and listening for the sound of a police car’s siren. Ten minutes later, she

reached down, grabbed a can of beer from the floor, sat up and punctured its

lid with an opener. The beer foamed up out of the hole and wet the top of her

pants. She quickly drew it to her mouth and sucked it in.

The temples of her head were throbbing from lack of alcohol and all
kinds of questions clouding her brain. Did she really see SARBAY on the

man’s arm? She finished off the other five beers and went to bed, hoping and

praying that when she awoke the next morning, it would have all been a
dream.

But it wasn’t. This time, though, she awoke with two purposes for the
day: to find out who that guy was in the grocery store – and to sober up. After
her mother left for work, she jumped into the shower and tried to wash the

cigarette smell from her body. She brushed her teeth and gargled with
mouthwash to get the alcohol off her breath, but she knew that would take

time. She remembered reading in a magazine that the smell seeps through the
skin’s pores. It repulsed her for the first time.
She combed her wet hair and stared at her 33-year-old face in the

bathroom’s mirror. It looked more like her mother’s. Vertical, deep lines rutted
her skin on both sides of her mouth and along the top of her lip, and the dark

circles around her eyes were enhanced with puffy bags. The white part of her

eyes was yellow like she was jaundiced.

Using almost an entire can of baking soda, Mary Jo scrubbed her

fingertips raw trying to get the yellow nicotine off of them. She saved just

enough to use on her toothbrush, but the rust-colored stains on her teeth

wouldn’t budge. There was a tooth missing on the upper right side of her

mouth and she didn’t even know how long it had been gone. The hair under

her arms had to be cut with scissors first before she could shave them, and her

legs looked like Mr. Rosenbaum’s, the football coach at Parkerville High

School that all the girls had a crush on when she was a senior. She wondered

why Joe would even want to have sex with her because she looked like a hairy
gorilla.

She drank glass after glass of water. She knew cleansing her body would

take longer than a day, but she was actually very thirsty so it was pretty easy at
first. With one of those glasses, she had to take two aspirin for her splitting

headache and was happy that there was no alcohol in the house or tempting
street drugs.
This must be what it’s like in rehab, she thought. No alcohol. No

cigarettes. Just you and God duking it out. “I hope you win, God. I hope you
win,” she said respectfully with her eyes looking upward toward heaven.

She stood naked in her mother’s bedroom in front of her full-length

Victorian-style mirror and gasped at the protruding bones and saggy skin. “So
this is what happens when you live an acidic lifestyle and drink your meals,”

she said out loud, looking more like a prisoner of Auschwitz than a
thirtysomething female in 1983 America.

Mary Jo knew it was going to be difficult for several weeks and she tried

to prepare herself for the rough road that she knew was about to begin –

shakes, depression, nightmares, fatigue and paranoia from her drug use. Those
were just a few symptoms of alcohol withdrawal that she knew about, and she

was determined to fight them all the way. She had to! It was either that or die.

She owed it to Sarah to sober up and find her kidnapper. Seeing that tattoo the

night before may have been a message from God Himself.

The front door slammed and Mary Jo heard footsteps walking across the

hardwood floors. She grabbed the scissors and hid behind the mirror, fearing

that the grocery store clerk had followed her home. She tried to hold her

breath because she was breathing hard and making a raspy sound, but it caused
her to cough. Oh, no! I’m dead for sure now! she thought.

The footsteps got closer. “Mary Jo? Is that you?” her mother asked.

“Mother!” she cried, as she came out from behind the mirror. “What are
you doing home in the middle of the day?”

Her mother’s eyes widened as she stared at her naked daughter. “What
are you doing without clothes on in my bedroom? Have you got someone in
here with you?”

Mary Jo laughed. “No, Mother. No. But I do have a few demons I’d like
you to help me get rid of. Let me get dressed and I’ll meet you in the kitchen

so we can talk, okay?”

 “Yeah, we can do that,” she replied, a bit stunned that her daughter was
now acting quite rational and asking for help.

“Oh, by the way, Mother,” Mary Jo shouted from her bedroom. “What
are you doing home right now?”

Her mother didn’t answer. Mary Jo continued to get dressed and asked

her again. A few minutes later she appeared in the doorway of her daughter’s

bedroom.
“I got laid off,” she confessed, throwing herself on Mary Jo’s bed and

sobbing.

Mary Jo shook her head in disbelief thinking about how she needed her

mother more than anything right now, and now her mother was going to be

available to help her get sober! She walked over to the edge of the bed and sat

down.

“Oh, Mother, I’m so sorry!” she said, stroking her leg. “But you won’t

have any problem finding another job. And until you do, you can collect
unemployment wages. You said they fired you, right?”

Her mother sat up and blew her nose. “Yes. It’s called something like

‘downsizing’ or some stupid word I’ve never heard before.”

Mary Jo put her arm around her mother. “Well, I think this is a godsend,

Mother. Let’s go into the kitchen and get some coffee. Boy, do I have a lot to
tell you.”
The two women talked for hours, rekindling their relationship that had

been on hold for a number of years for a number of reasons, and coming up
with a plan to scope out the man with the tattoo.

“I just know he lives somewhere around that creek,” said Mary Jo to her
mother. “We just have to get him there and then follow him home.”
Toward the end of their bonding and scheming time, Mary Jo felt dizzy

and nauseous, so her mother put her to bed, sleeping by her side the first night
and the next two weeks. By week three, Mary Jo was gaining ground on her

sobriety and almost ready to begin her investigation of the man behind the

counter at Carl’s Grocery.

It had been a month since she saw him in the store and wondered if he
was still an employee. That had been her fear the entire time she was

rehabilitating herself, that he would have gotten fired or quit and moved out of

Parkerville, so she made her mother change grocery stores from Winn-Dixie to

Carl’s and become a frequent shopper to keep an eye on him and his work

schedule. Mary Jo was consumed with knowing more about this man, hoping

he was her ticket to finding Sarah. But they did not know for sure from one

week to the next if he would still be there.

Two months into her sobriety, the day finally came to approach him.
Mary Jo and her mother had it all planned out – what she would wear, what

she would say and how she would act toward him. Her mother was to enter the

store first, take a cart and act like she was shopping. Ten minutes later, Mary
Jo would enter, her blonde hair cut like Farrah Fawcett’s, with wispy layers

around her face and curly locks trailing down her back, her body smelling like
Avon Pavi Elle, a red, tight-fitting dress with just a hint of cleavage, and two-
inch high heels.

All eyes were admiring Mary Jo when she entered – even the man
behind the counter with the Sarbay tattoo. She was thrilled to see him when

she came through the door and flashed him her pearly whites, compliments of
her mother’s sister who paid for her teeth to be whitened.
The plan was to buy a cooler, a Thermos, a six-pack of sodas, potato

chips, cookies, lunchmeat and bread – everything to take on a hunting or

camping trip. They hoped that during checkout the items would trigger a

conversation between Mary Jo and the clerk, and he would ask her if she was

going on a trip. Then she’d tell him she’s going hunting with her father, whom

she hasn’t seen since she was a small child, and brag about this fictitious man
as if he was a renowned game hunter whose safari trips had been documented

in magazines and newspapers worldwide. The image she created in her mind

for this man was actor Stewart Granger who portrayed Allan Quatermain in

1950’s King Solomon’s Mines, one of her mother’s favorite all-time movies.

Because of this so-called hunting trip with her father, she needed to learn

how to shoot, and Mary Jo would ask the man behind the counter if there was

a shooting range where she could learn before her father’s arrival in two days.

Their hope was that the man would tell her that he could teach her how to
shoot and, thus, get together for a lesson. May Jo would suggest Gentry Creek

as the spot for him to teach her. Her mother would be following in a car to

ensure her safety. It was an icebreaker that couldn’t fail, whether it was going
to be that day or another day down the road.

His eyes followed her as she went up and down every aisle in the store.
Finally, after about 15 minutes, she nonchalantly walked up and pushed her
cart behind a woman standing in his line. While waiting, she picked up a

movie star tabloid and began thumbing through the pages, pretending not to
notice him. She could feel his eyes on her, though, as he took things from the

woman’s cart ahead of her and rang them up. Mary Jo put the magazine back
on the rack and started rummaging through her purse, acting like she had all
the time in the world and that the universe really did exist just for her. She

pulled out a mirror and lipstick and started applying it to her puckered lips. He
dropped a bag of oranges and they spilled out onto the tiled floor.

She watched the oranges as they rolled around near her feet when out of

nowhere a hand grabbed her cart and a young man said, “I’ll take you at my

register, ma’am.” And just like that she was being whisked away to another
checkout lane. She had to think fast. It was a good thing that she and her

mother had a Plan B in case this scenario actually did happen.

“Oh, that’s so nice of you, but seeing those oranges fall on the floor

made me realize how much I’d like to buy a bag for myself. So I guess I’m not

finished shopping yet, but thank you anyway, sir.” And with that, Mary Jo

turned the cart around and steered it down an aisle toward the produce

department. She passed her mother along the way.

“Plan B,” she mouthed to her mother, who winked back an

acknowledgement.

Her cart, now carrying oranges, approached the man’s checkout lane

again, this time with no one in line. She walked right up to his counter and he
began taking her items out of her cart to ring up. She waited for him to talk

first.
He didn’t say a word while ringing up the cooler and the other items, so
she decided to talk first to get the ball rolling. She didn’t want to leave the

store with $30 dollars-worth of groceries that she didn’t need and not even
speak to the guy.

“Do you know where I could get some ice for my cooler?” she said with
a sweet drawl.
The man pulled the last item from her cart and began ringing it up. Then

he turned toward her. “Yes, ma’am,” he said smugly. “Try your freezer at
home.”

She let out a giggle. “Oh, silly me. I thought maybe one of your big

freezers in the back had some I could buy.”

“Naw, we don’t do that. That’ll be $29.38,” he said.

Mary Jo handed him three $10-dollar bills. Her breathing accelerated as

she anticipated seeing the SARBAY tattoo again as he reached for her cash.

But he took it with his right arm instead of his left where the tattoo was inked.

Frustrated, she took the change and threw it in her purse and began walking

out of the store.

“Do you need help out with that?” he asked.

A smile brightened her face. The teeth came out and she whirled around.

“Why, yes!” she said excitedly.

“You were my last customer of the day, so I can help you. If you don’t

mind waiting a minute, I just need to take this cash drawer over there to my

manager and sign out. Then my shift is over.”

This is even better, she thought. A one-on-one with this guy in the

parking lot? And no one standing around waiting for his attention? Thank you,
God, and all the angels who pulled this off for me!
“Oh, I don’t mind at all!” Mary Jo replied. “I’m not in any hurry.”

She watched him walk over to the office that was located high above the
aisles and climb a few stairs to hand the drawer to a curly haired overweight

man. Then he signed a paper on the clipboard and started walking her way.
She looked down and started fussing with her high heel.
“Okay, pretty lady, let me take those for you,” he said rather confidently,

taking hold of the cart and steering it toward the door.

But he was still on the wrong side of her. She needed to be on his right

to see the inside of his left arm. She pretended to find a penny in the parking

lot and bent down to pick it up. He didn’t see her stop and kept on walking.

She skipped a little to catch up with him, this time planting herself on his
right. As he lifted the bags of groceries into her trunk, she saw the tattoo as

plain as day: SARBAY.

“That’s an unusual tattoo,” she said boldly. “Is Sarbay a country I

haven’t heard of?”

He laughed, but it wasn’t a funny ha ha laugh either. It was a

condescending one. “No, it’s not a country.”

He might as well have said, ‘No, it is not a country, you stupid bitch,’

she thought.
Mary Jo didn’t like his demeaning response and decided to get right to

her mission at hand. She reached out and flipped his name badge toward her.

“Say …. Larry, is there a gun range in this town? I need to learn how to shoot
a rifle within the next few days.”

Larry’s eye widened at the sound of the word ‘gun.’ “Yeah, there’s a
range about two miles south of town, but I think it’s being renovated. Why do
you need to learn so fast? It takes weeks or months to train someone to shoot.”

“Oh, so you have experience with rifles, do you?” she asked, batting her
eyelashes. “Do you think you could show me? My dad is coming to town and I

haven’t seen him since I was a child. It’s one of those long-lost dad stories and
we are finally meeting each other. But he’s a big hunter and I want to impress
him. Is that something you would consider?”

The man shut the trunk and looked at her. He searched her face like he
was either admiring it or looking for signs of honesty or dishonesty. She

wasn’t sure, but it was uncomfortable and a bit scary.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he replied.

Deflated, Mary Jo blurted out, “I could pay you. How about a dollar a
minute? That’s sixty bucks an hour. Sound good?”

“Well, you drive a hard bargain,” he said. “Sure, I’ll do it for that. Sixty

bucks is more than I make in two days at this shit store.”

“Good then,” Mary Jo said, extending a hand to seal the deal. “Just tell

me when and where and I’ll be there. Oh, and you will supply the rifle, right?

Because I don’t have one!”

He snickered another one of his condescending sounds and she had to

bite her lip to keep from going off on him. “Of course I have a rifle! I’ve got a
whole arsenal. I would have to meet you on some land where we can shoot

and no one cares, you know what I mean?”

Mary Jo nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“How about the old Gentry land off Highway 45?” he asked.

She was puzzled. Did he mean the land near the creek or the land over
by the Gentry homestead that has been abandoned since Hurricane Camille’s
wrath in 1969?

“I mean that old creek where all the high school kids hang out,” he
added, like he was reading her mind. “Do you know where it is?”

Mary Jo could feel heat at the base of her neck spreading upward onto
her face. “Yes, she said calmly, tears welling in her eyes beneath her
sunglasses. “I have a pretty good idea where it is.”

“Good,” he said. “How about tomorrow at three o’clock? I get off at two
and I can meet you there.”

“See you then, Larry,” she said, getting into her car.

He started to shut her door and then stopped. “If we’re going shooting

tomorrow, don’t you think I should at least know your name?”

“Oh, sure!” Mary Jo replied. And without thinking, she blurted out, “It’s

Sarah.”

His eyes widened at the sound of Sarah’s name and he spoke like he had

had the wind knocked out of him. “Okay … Sarah. … see you tomorrow at

three at Gentry Creek.”

“I’ll be there! Thanks so much, Larry! You’re such a doll!” As soon as

those words left her lips she got a sickish urge to puke, but held it back from

coming up into her mouth.

All the way home her mind was reeling over that tattoo. The only tattoo

she had ever seen was her dad’s – a big ship anchor etched into the skin of his

upper left arm. He had gotten it in the Navy, like most soldiers who fought in
World War II.

She must have looked like a crazy woman talking to herself while she
was driving. “Was this Larry guy a Viet Nam soldier? Is that how he knew
about tattoos? But he had to have had it inked within the last 15 years or so.

And where did he get it? New Orleans, maybe? It’s not like there’s a shop on
every corner!”

Her mind was so preoccupied with the tattoo that she didn’t even realize
she had driven home. She sat in the car, her hands still on the steering wheel,
her eyes staring at the closed garage door. “I can’t wait to tell Mother!” Then

she started laughing hysterically. “Oh good grief, I left mother at the store!”
She put the car in reverse and drove back to the grocery store’s parking lot.

After watching Mary Jo drive away, Larry Connors jumped into his

pickup truck and drove home. He, too, was consumed with thoughts about his

recent encounter.
***

The root cellar smells of human waste and nicotine. The small kerosene

lamp is flickering, low on fuel and emitting a smell that does not blend well

with all the other odors in the air. The lamp is Sarah’s signal that it is time for

Larry to come home. Every day he puts just enough kerosene in the lamp to

keep it glowing until he returns. If he is mad at her, he punishes her by taking

the lamp with him, leaving her in darkness for long stretches of time.

This dank, dark hole in the bottom of an old barn has been Sarah’s living
quarters since her abduction. It has been Larry’s refuge from society and a

hideout from the law since going AWOL from the Army when he refused to

deploy to Viet Nam. He slept in the windblown barn for months before he
discovered the door in the floor that opened into the root cellar. Originally

built and used by Will Gentry’s parents in the early 1900s, the barn had only
half of its roof and no south side, courtesy of high winds from three
hurricanes, forcing Will Jr. to erect a sturdier barn with an updated root cellar

on a nearby property near the homestead.

Larry dug the root cellar deeper so he could walk around in it, and also

extended its width. Large log shelves that used to hold carrots, potatoes and
turnips now hold a mattress and drawers overhead for clothing. He reinforced
some of the dirt walls with wood slats from the barn’s exterior, and at least

half of the earthen floor. The other half is cold, damp, dark dirt caused by too
much humidity and poor ventilation.

In the winter when Larry is home, the cellar door is slightly open for

more ventilation because a metal barbecue grill is dragged in from one of the

barn’s stalls and lit for warmth. There is no running water, but the old Gentry
well nearby still produces a plentiful supply. A sit-down potty chair with legs

from an old folk’s home serves as the toilet. But it’s Larry’s responsibility to

empty it and wash it out, and sometimes he goes days without doing either.

The condition of the root cellar is ripe for insects and rodents, which Sarah

fights off sometimes in the darkness.

No electricity means no cooking, so Larry brings take-out meals from

restaurants and keeps a cooler stocked with ice from Carl’s Grocery to keep

drinks and perishables cold. It is rustic living, but he’d rather be there than the
swampy forests overrun with Viet Cong or behind bars in the U.S., where

punishment for deserters during a time of war could mean life in prison.

The only human voices to reach Sarah’s ears since being held captive
have been the shouts of the initial search party members, Larry’s drunken rants

and sexually aroused grunts, and the first cries of life from her daughter. She
was allowed only a glimpse of the beautiful red-headed baby before Larry
wrapped her up in a cup towel and whisked her up the short stairs of the root

cellar to the world above, with Sarah crying, pleading and screaming from her
hell hole below.

The milk that dripped from her breasts was a daily reminder of her
daughter, whom she feared dead or possibly living with strangers. The
uncertainty haunted her for months and months. How could any man do that to

his own flesh and blood? she wondered. He has no problem killing animals,
but a human being? His own child? Surely, he would spare her life and leave

her on someone’s doorstep!

If there had been something sharp in the root cellar, Sarah would have

killed herself after her daughter was taken away. She wouldn’t eat or get out of
bed for weeks. Larry’s cruel remarks and threats to eat and ‘snap out of it’ just

fueled her depression, and she sank deeper and deeper into despair. He decided

to force-feed her baby food to keep her alive, but living without her child and

living with a monster wasn’t worth living at all.

But then one spring morning a breath of fresh air entered the cellar

disguised as the sound of robins nesting in the top of the PC pipe that

ventilates the hole. That same day, Sarah smelled what she thought was the

fragrant white blossom from a Magnolia tree. The flower’s scent was similar
to her mother’s Estee Lauder Youth Dew perfume, and she decided that her

mother must be talking to her from heaven. The aromatic air stirred up warm

memories of being loved and cared for in a clean and happy environment
before her mother’s death when she was just six years old. But it also stirred

up strength. She rose from the filthy mattress more determined than ever to
find a way to leave her place of torment.
With no calendar or TV or radio since becoming a prisoner, she reviews

the number of rocks in the corner of the bed area to determine how long she’s
been in the hole. They total 30 – a rock for every spring and a rock for every

winter means she’s been there 15 years. It took her six months to think of a
way to keep track of time without Larry knowing. She knew he would suspect
something if he found a piece of wood with strike marks on it. So twice a year

she throws a rock in the corner of their bed area. It blends right in with all the
dirt and filth that makes up her squalor pit.

There are no mirrors, but Sarah knows her once beautiful red hair is

turning gray from the strands pulled out by her hairbrush. Because there are no

sharp objects in the cellar, like scissors or knives, she and Larry are still alive.
She is certain one would have killed the other if there were. The food he

brings home from numerous fast-food places and restaurants comes with

plastic utensils, but one night several weeks ago a worker with Spaghetti A-

Go-Go accidently left a large, stainless steel tablespoon inside the carton of

pasta. She grabbed it up quickly and put it in her pocket. She slept with it the

first few nights while contemplating a safe hiding space, but finally decided

that the rocks in the corner would shield it well. It didn’t take her long to

realize that the spoon was her ticket out.

After Larry leaves for work, Sarah pulls back the wooden boards that

line the back wall of damp dirt and digs upward toward the barn floor. Using

the spoon, she scoops away the pliable soil and discards it by patting it on the
other dirt walls or the floor. She also wraps it up in sacks from restaurants that

have been thrown away in the trash. When Larry takes the trash to the dump,
little does he know that some of the cellar’s dirt is being tossed out, too.
Sarah discovered quickly that digging dirt above one’s head is not easy,

even when it’s moist. It trickled down into her hair and dirtied her clothing,
causing her to use way too much of the well water that Larry brings in every

day for drinking and sponge bathing. Day two of her escape quest went
smoother and she was quite proud of herself. She wrapped her head in an old
towel and took off all her clothes. Clean-up was as easy as shaking the towel

and sponging off her skin. She keeps a watchful eye on the kerosene lamp to
make sure it’s not running out before she it’s time to line the boards back up

and sponge off. Larry is always on time. He gets off work at two and is always

home by two-thirty with food, unless he has to work an occasional Wednesday

night. Sometimes he goes out after his day shift – God knows where. She
never asks. He never tells.

On the day of his gun lesson with Mary Jo, he arrived home at his usual

time carrying a bag of fried chicken, French fries and cold sodas. He put them

on the small wooden table he fashioned out of barn slats and started taking the

items out of the sack. He looked over at her lying on the mattress and shook

his head.

“Come over here, girl, and eat,” he said in a stern voice. “Ain’t much of

you left to keep alive and I don’t want to be diggin’ a grave today.”
Sarah was tired and her shoulder and back hurt from reaching above her

head and spooning out dirt. She eased herself up from the bed and walked over

to the table. He sat down in a lawn chair and snarfed down his chicken. He
watched her slowly take out the chicken from the bag and wince with pain

while putting it to her mouth.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he shouted. “You look like shit and
you’re acting like an old lady. Is that chicken too heavy for you to lift?”

She didn’t answer him. She wanted to cram the drumstick down his
throat and choke him, but decided to walk over to the bed with her food.

“Guess I just slept on my arm wrong,” she said softly. “It’s nothin’.”
 “It better be nothin’,” he chimed back.
She watched him get up from the chair, toss his chicken bones in the

trash and put more kerosene in the lamp, which he doesn’t usually do for the
late afternoon and evening. His normal routine is to light candles to save on

the pricy kerosene.

So that’s it! she thought. He’s in a hurry to get somewhere. He never

brushes his teeth before going out! He’s meeting a woman!

***

Mary Jo could not steady her hand long enough to put on her eye

makeup, so her mother had to apply it. She couldn’t decide if it was symptoms

of alcohol withdrawal or just plain being scared out of her mind about meeting

this Larry creep back at the site of Sarah’s abduction.

Her mother grabbed her hand and placed it on her cheek. “It’ll be all

right, hon,” she said, looking into her daughter’s eyes. “You have more

strength in you than I ever had at your age. If this guy is really the one who
took Sarah, I know you’ll find a way to get her back. Just don’t say or do

anything without thinking about it first. Use your good instincts and street

smarts. You’re father would be so proud of you for doing this.”

“Oh, Daddy,” she sighed. “He really was fearless, wasn’t he, Mother?”

“Yes, to a fault, dear. He’d be alive today if he hadn’t decided to walk

back into that store after seeing that gun in that man’s hands.”
It was true. Had he kept on walking to his car instead of going back

inside to warn the store clerk, he’d be alive today. But it wasn’t in his
character to turn his back on anyone. The man was heading inside to rob the

store, and her father knew it. Both the clerk and her father were shot.
 “Hard to believe he’s been gone 20 years, eh?” her mother asked.
Mary Jo’s lip puckered. “I miss him so much.”

“Now don’t get all weepy or the mascara will run! Chin up, sweetie!”
her mother ordered.

Mary Jo took a deep breath. “Okay, I can do this. Larry’s just a man. A

creep, mind you, but just a man. And he doesn’t know who he’s messing

with!”
“That’s my girl!” her mother replied, giving her daughter a power hug.

“I’ll follow you until you exit the highway and wait for you at the Gentry

farm. If I don’t hear from you by five, I’m coming to get you.”

Mary Jo agreed and kissed her mother’s cheek.

The two women got into their cars, drove to Highway 45 and turned off

at the exit leading to Gentry Creek. Mary Jo had not been to the creek since

Sarah was abducted, and fought back tears as she traveled the long dirt road

lined with poplar trees. It felt like she was in a time warp or in a scene from
Rod Serling’s The Twilight Zone. Nothing had changed. Nothing. Not the

height of the trees or the mushy road. This time, though, she was older and

smarter.
Up ahead she could see the break in the trees that signaled the short road

to the creek. Her heart raced and she could hardly breathe. She took in several
deep breaths and released them slowly through her mouth. It helped her
anxiety. When she turned onto the road, she saw a green pickup truck halfway

down. She pulled up behind it and removed a notepad and pencil from the
visor to write down the license plate numbers. She put it in the glove box and

locked it. Everything was going as planned.

 ***
Larry was at the creek setting up a firing range by placing empty bottles

on a sawhorse he stole from a construction site. He, too, was feeling a little
sickish thinking about that day 15 years ago when he abducted Sarah. He had

stalked her for a year, ever since he left the oil rig where he worked for her

dad, Phil Jenkins. The two men had a father-son relationship that Larry had

yearned for all his 18 years of life, and he shared in the pride that Phil felt for
his beautiful daughter every time he showed her picture or talked about his

sweet Sarbay.

Larry was smitten with Sarah’s photographic smile and flaming hair. He

felt like he knew her long before he swept her up on that muddy road and

dragged her to the root cellar. While working on the rig, he dreamed of

becoming her husband and raising children together, but when the military

came looking for him at his workplace, Sarah’s father gave him a head’s up,

abandoning all of his dreams of having that idyllic life with his daughter. Larry
took what little money and belongings he had and set off on foot hitchhiking

to Parkerville, but stopping first at a seedy tattoo joint on the coast to get his

arm inked with her name. For an extra $20 bucks, the owner of the tattoo
parlor, an anti-war hippie, created a bogus identity for him to use for

employment.
Sarah cried non-stop the first night in the cellar. Her wailing tested
Larry’s nerves, making him doubt his decision to kidnap her in the first place.

She fought his advances with kicking and scratching his exposed skin. With
her arms flailing in all directions and her feet bucking like a bronco, she was

like an untamed horse out of control. When her foot connected to his balls, his
reflexes kicked in and he hauled off and punched her in the face. She
immediately cupped her nose with her hands and tears streamed down her

arms. He grabbed her and held her tightly to his chest, apologizing over and
over and calling her his sweet Sarbay, but she wasn’t buying any of that sweet

talk, squirming and wrestling out of his arms and kneeing him in his tender

testicles. He cowered over and she fled to the dirty mattress and covered her

head.
Living with Sarah was a daily battle until their daughter was born five

years ago. That’s when Larry stopped pressuring her for sex. He wasn’t going

to get rid of another child that was his flesh and blood. He was tired of the

guilt and how it turned Sarah into a cold-hearted person. But it was too late to

do anything else. He couldn’t let her go. She’d have him arrested and he’d go

to prison. He couldn’t kill her. He loved her. Living underground would have

to do until one of them died. He promised her no more sex and no more

babies.
***

Larry was excited about meeting up with this new Sarah woman who

wanted to learn to shoot a rifle. He hadn’t felt that way in a very long time. He
was beginning to think that his Sarbay had ruined his sexual desires until the

new Sarah showed up at his grocery store counter. He had just about finished
lining the bottles atop the sawhorse on the other side of the creek when she
yelled to him.

“Yoo-hoo, Mr. Larry! It’s me, Sarah! I’m ready for my lesson,” shouted
Mary Jo from across the water.

Larry waved and yelled back, “Stay there. I’ll come across to you. It’s
not deep.”
He waded across the water and met up with her on the sandy beach. She

reached out and shook his hand and he was turned on by the touch of her soft
skin. He grabbed her other hand and spread her arms wide to get a better look

at her shooting attire – an over-sized khaki shirt and khaki pants tucked inside

knee-high riding boots. Mary Jo pranced around so he could see the front and

the back.
“Wow,” he said, pretending to admire her getup. “You planning to wear

these clothes when your daddy comes calling? A safari, guy, huh?”

Mary Jo turned on her phony flirtatious voice and took off her

sunglasses. “Yeah, how do I look?”

Larry held back a laugh. “Well, just fine if you’re in Africa. Around here

we just wear jeans and a pocketed vest. But I’m sure your father will have a

greater appreciation for the clothing he’s used to, being a big game hunter and

all.”
Mary Jo couldn’t tell if he was serious or just making fun of her. It

sounded like he was suspicious, but there was no way he could know that it

was all a ruse. “Well, okay then. Can we start?” She reached into her pocket
and pulled out three $20 dollar bills and handed them to him.

Larry stuffed the money in his pants and walked over to a tree truck
nearby where he had placed two rifles. He gave her a lecture first about the
firearms, what kind they were and how they worked, explaining all their parts

and exactly what they do. He reminded her that they were dangerous weapons
and should be carried a certain way.

She acted like she was interested, but she really wasn’t. She hated
handguns and rifles of any kind, and she hated being talked down to by this
loser guy.

After he was finished explaining everything, he turned her body toward

the targets across the creek. He walked behind her and put his arms around

her, taking in the sweet aroma of her perfume and freshly washed hair. He

raised her arm with the rifle in it and showed her where to place the other to

steady the aim. She pulled the trigger and hit a bottle.
He knew instantly that she would start jumping for joy with the rifle in

her hand and he grabbed the barrel and pointed it down while Mary Jo hooted

and hollered and pranced about like a kid at the State Fair who had just won a

big teddy bear.

“Can you believe that? Can you seriously believe that? My first time to

shoot a gun and I hit the target!”

Larry was impressed, but not with her rifle etiquette. “Now don’t get all

excited about one shot. You just got lucky,” he said. “Next time, try to
remember not to jump up and down with the rifle in your hand. Your daddy

would not be impressed with a person who abuses the rules of such a

magnificent firearm.”
He was right, thought Mary Jo. That was childish. She couldn’t wait to

show him that it wasn’t just a fluke.

“Now, take a deep breath, steady yourself, aim for the target and fire,”
he said.

She did – and hit another bottle.

Baffled, Larry wondered if she already knew how to shoot and was

playing him.
 “Are you sure you never shot a rifle before?” asked Larry.
“Of course I’m sure!”

“Well, it doesn’t look like you need much teaching. Here’s half your
money back. I’ve got other things to do than to stand out here and show you

something you already know.”

“Now wait, Larry,” said Mary Jo. “You’ve got this all wrong. I just

might be one of those who were born with good aim, I don’t know. Do we
have to go? Can we sit and talk? I brought some lemonade.”

Larry lied when he said he had other things to do. He just couldn’t figure

out this new Sarah. Maybe she was attracted to him. He didn’t know, but he

was going to find out.

“Okay, I have a blanket in the trunk. I’ll be right back,” he said, taking

the rifles with him.

Mary Jo reached into her tote bag and pulled out a Thermos of lemonade

and two plastic glasses. She and Larry sat under one of the trees that lined the
creek and she could hear the water rushing over the rocks.

“It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” asked Mary Jo.

“Yeah. You sure you ain’t ever been here before?”

“No, I didn’t even know it existed. Are you from Parkerville?”

Larry hesitated and put his head down. “Naw, I’m from New Orleans.”
“Do you live in town or do you live around here?” she asked.
He was uncomfortable with the question and paused for a moment

before answering. “I rent a room in town. It’s all I need.”

Before she could ask any more questions like where the room was

located, he got up and said it was time to get going. He walked her to her car
and they shook hands.
“Thanks, Larry. You’re a good sport!”

“I appreciate the extra cash,” he said, and got into his truck.
Mary Jo backed her vehicle out first and turned the car in the direction

of the highway. From her rear-view mirror, she watched his truck back out and

travel in the opposite direction. She slowed down and kept her eyes on his

green truck. And then, poof! It was gone.

“There must be a road down there that I don’t know about,” said Mary

Jo to herself. “I’ll have to check that out when I know he’s at work.”

And with that idea came a big smile. “Sarah Baby, it’s just a matter of

time,” she said smugly as she turned onto the road leading to the abandoned

Gentry farm to rendezvous with her mother.

***

Mary Jo couldn’t sleep all night thinking about driving back to the

creek, driving down that unknown road and finding Sarah holed up in some
mobile home or camper. She knew the Gentry property had not been sold, so

no new homes had been built. She had heard there was talk of someone

wanting to purchase the property, but Larry didn’t look like he had a pot to
piss in. There’s no way he could afford all that land, she thought. She

fantasized about finding Sarah locked in a mobile home, peering out the
window as Mary Jo is banging on the door. She thought of ways to get her out
– throwing rocks at the window or ramming her car into the trailer’s side.

No, that might hurt her, she thought, and then we wouldn’t have a car to
escape in. What if she’s chained up? What if she’s been beaten and raped and

doesn’t even know who I am because she has been so traumatized? What if
she loves this stupid bastard and won’t leave?
Too many questions and too many upsetting outcomes caused Mary Jo

to rise from her bed and take a sleeping pill.

Sarah couldn’t sleep either. While Larry snored next to her, she was

excited that her days in the root cellar might be ending by mid-morning. If her

calculations were right, she had less than a foot of dirt to dig through until she

reached the barn floor. Once her hand poked through the open hole, she could
break off a space large enough to wiggle her small body through. The only

problem would be crawling up and out. Once her feet left the metal folding

chair, she would have to use her feet and toes to grasp the mud wall to pull

herself up. Then she would run like hell. That is, if she could still run.

Thunder awoke both women from their sleep the next morning. Mary Jo

shot out from under the covers and ran to her mother’s room. She crawled into

bed next to her and they cuddled while listening to the rain.

“Not a good start to a day when we’ve got to travel down muddy roads,”
said Mary Jo. “Think we could borrow Uncle Bruce’s Jeep?”

Her mother yawned. “Oh, I guess we could ask, but you know he uses it

for his work. He’s kinda fussy about that vehicle. But we could ask.”
Her mother rose from the bed and walked over to the wall phone in the

hall and dialed his number. She left a message on his machine and a minute
later he called her back.
“Well, fancy hearing from you, sis. How long has it been?” Bruce asked

his sister playfully. “A year?”

“At least I remember your birthday every year, sweet brother,” she said

sarcastically. “That’s more than I can say for you.”

 They talked for a minute or two and caught up on things going on in
their lives. He was glad to hear that his niece was still sober and said he would

be happy to loan them his Jeep. He would have to borrow her car to get around
during the day and would be over in an hour to trade out vehicles.

Mary Jo drew her bathwater while her mother made breakfast. Neither

one was chatty, chalking it up to nerves and lack of sleep. They ate and got

dressed, then sat down at the kitchen table to go over the plan before the Jeep
arrived.

Her mother spoke first. “Do you want me to ride with you to find this

road behind the creek or do you want me to meet at the rendezvous point again

in my car?”

Mary Jo fiddled with a paper napkin, tearing off tiny pieces and placing

them in a pile while she talked. “Well, let’s think about that. If you are over by

the old Gentry farm, what good would that do if I needed you? I think we’ll be

better off pulling this off as a team. You need to ride with me. There’s more
power in numbers that way. If we find Sarah and Larry finds us with her, it’s

three against one.”

Her mother smiled. “That’s exactly what your dad would say, hon. You
are really expecting to find Sarah, aren’t you? But what if you don’t? How are

you going to feel about that?”

Mary Jo shrugged her shoulders. “I haven’t even considered that. But I
won’t know unless I pursue all angles, right? I won’t give up. That guy knows

something. I just know he does.”

“Well, then, let’s get going,” her mother said. “We have until two

o’clock to make this happen. That’s when Larry gets off work.”
 ***
Sarah stayed in bed until she heard Larry fire up his truck and pull away

from the barn. She grabbed a piece of bread to put in her empty stomach and
ate it while gathering up everything she would need for her escape. She folded

her tattered cotton sundress, which she would wear once she was outside the

cellar, and placed it inside a cup towel with two other pieces of bread, and tied

the ends of the towel to keep its contents secure. She had no idea how long
she’d be out in the woods before someone found her so she poured two cups

of cold water from the cooler into a small Thermos and tied it around her neck

with a long vine that she had pulled from the wall of dirt. It was thin, but

sturdy, and made a solid knot. She tied it again.

Step two was taking the cup towel that held her dress and tying it to the

part of the vine that was at the back of her neck, making sure the distribution

of weight between the towel and the Thermos dangling between her breasts

was evenly distributed so the vine wouldn’t snap. She was naked and ready to
start digging.

Sarah felt strong, clear-headed and focused, digging frantically with the

tablespoon until she saw a ray of light seep through a small hole. It was like
digging out of a dark tunnel. She wedged herself tightly in the small crawl

space, her butt on one side, her legs somewhat extended across to the other
side, and her arms reaching up and busting away the packed dirt around the
hole until it was large enough to hoist her body through. With her legs spread

across two of the mud walls and her toes firmly depressed, she heaved her
body upward and poked her head through the hole. With closed eyes, she filled

her lungs with the magnolia-drenched air. It energized her body and it was all
she needed to propel the rest of her body upward.
Her arms came out next. She planted her elbows firmly onto the barn’s

floor and thrust the rest of her body up and out of the hole, crawling through
unidentifiable wet rubble on the barn’s floor until her feet emerged. She rolled

over on her back and stared at the overcast sky through the barn’s blown-out

roof and smiled.

“Thank you, God, for the strength to survive,” she said.

Her thankful words no sooner left her lips when it began to rain. She

lifted herself from the floor and hurried over to the north part of the barn that

still had a roof so she could put on her dress. After using the cup towel to wipe

herself off and fluff the dirt from her hair, she began her walk to freedom.

***

Mary Jo knew how to drive a stick shift so she was behind the wheel of

the Jeep as it plowed down the wet road lined with poplar trees. She and her

mother were silent in the car until they spied the short road to the creek.
“How far passed the creek road do you think he turned left?” asked her

mother.

“Not far. We’ll turn on the first road we see,” replied Mary Jo.
The rain was coming down in sheets and the Jeep’s windshield wipers

weren’t going fast enough and Mary Jo’s visibility was becoming limited. The
windows were also starting to fog inside and her mother reached over and
wiped them with a towel she found on the backseat.

“It’s somewhere around here I just know it,” said Mary Jo, squinting to
see out the window.

She drove cautiously on the soggy ground for fear of getting stuck and
saw a break in the trees up ahead.
“There!” her mother yelled, pointing to the road. “Turn there!”

Mary Jo steered the Jeep onto another muddy road but there was nothing
up ahead but a skeleton of a barn.

“I think that’s the Gentry’s old barn, the one that Will’s dad built at the

turn of the century,” said her mother. She looked around at the acres of barren

land and shook her head. “There’s nothing else out here! Just some old
weather-beaten eyesore they just left to decay on their land.”

Mary Jo let out a deep sigh. “Looks like the road stops here, too. There’s

no sign of life anywhere, not even a cow or pig or ……..what was that? Did

you see that, Mother? It looked like a child running into the woods!”

“Are you sure? It could have been a deer.”

“I’m sure, Mother! Believe me, deer don’t have long hair! And it had

clothes on! We’re going after it.”

The two women piled out of the Jeep and walked swiftly into the
wooded area. “Hello, anybody here?” shouted Mary Jo, stepping through the

thick brush surrounded by huge oaks. “We’re not going to hurt you,” she said

sweetly. “Do you need help? Because we can help you! I’m Mary Jo and this
here is my mother, Katherine. Please let us take you where you need to go. It’s

wet and you’ll get sick.”

The pouring rain suddenly turned into a light, steady shower and the
wind died down slightly. Sarah stepped out from behind a tree, tears streaming

down her cheeks. “Mary Jo?” she cried. “Mary Jo Pearson?”

Mary Jo’s eyes locked with Sarah’s and she recognized them instantly. It

was a scene she had played out over and over in her head and in her dreams.
But instead of running to Sarah, Mary Jo fell to her knees sobbing
uncontrollably, burying her face in her hands. Her mother ran over and lifted

her up from the ground.

Sarah stood motionless watching her friend cry and then darted toward

Mary Jo with her arms wide open, tears running down her dirt-smudged face,

her wet, tangled hair dripping down her back and her body shivering from the

dampness that was falling from the trees. She reached Mary Jo and hung on
tightly.

“I knew you’d come, Mary Jo. I knew you’d come,” she cried in her

friend’s ear.

Mary Jo could hardly talk. “Do you know how much I’ve missed you?”

she mumbled.

“Not as much as I’ve missed you,” replied Sarah. “You have no idea

what I’ve been through.”

Mary Jo’s mother reached for Sarah’s arm and then embraced her. “Let’s
get you home, Sarah,” she whispered in her ear. “We’ve got a homecoming

party to plan.”

***
Sheriff Hawkins was just one week from retiring from the Parkerville

Police Department when he and three other officers walked into Carl’s
Grocery and put the cuffs on Larry Connors. Sarah’s abduction literally broke
his heart for the past 15 years, and his cardiologist told him that the human

body’s worst enemy can sometimes be the psyche.

“I know you blame yourself for not finding Sarah,” the doctor told him

during his last visit, “but it’s killing you. Your blood pressure is too high, you
drink too much, you eat too many burgers and fries and you don’t do anything
but sit on your butt in that damn chair at work and stew over this loss. Guilt

can’t be cut out with a knife like cancer. You’ve got to find peace with this
demon inside you.”

Sarah’s father hadn’t faired well, either. Phil Jenkins quit the oil rig and

spent all his money on private investigators. He was all alone now. His wife

was dead, his sister, Nellie, was in a home for the aged, and his daughter was
missing and presumed dead. He took a job at the paper mill to pay the rent on

his apartment, spending his evenings watching television and drinking beer.

Many lives were going to change now with Sarah back in town.

There weren’t enough motel rooms in Parkerville for all the press who

flocked to town to cover the story of the young girl abducted in 1968 who dug

her way out of a root cellar after living underground for 15 years with a

demented fool. Newspaper and television reporters, radio personalities, book

publishers – you name it – they all wanted a piece of the pie.

Sarah’s father talked to only one newspaper right after his daughter’s

disappearance and he didn’t want anything to do with any of the current

newshounds that were invading Parkerville. The male reporter got information
wrong in the 1968 story, misspelled words, misquoted him and swore he

wouldn’t refer to her nickname, Sarbay, which he did. This go-round with the
press would be different. He wasn’t going to be harassed by reporters again.
He stayed in his apartment near the paper mill in the next county and took a

leave of absence from work.

At a time when Parkerville should have been building more hurricane

and tornado shelters, out came hundreds of magazine articles describing root
cellars and “How to Build Your Very Own Cellar Storage System.” Sales
skyrocketed.

Larry Connors’ family members came forward and voiced their side for
a tidy sum of money to a tabloid rag known for its unsavory storytelling. No

one knew what to believe about this AWOL loser and kidnapper, even from

his parents’ mouths.

With Sarah’s whole life being written and talked about around the world,
she took comfort in knowing that there was one part of her that the world did

not know – that she had a daughter while in captivity. Had she done so, there

would have been a million five-year-old little girls who were adopted around

the globe being coached by their adoptive parents and claiming to be the one.

With all the reporters in the city, Sarah took refuge in Mary Jo’s house.

It was sort of like being back in the root cellar, only with friends. All the

blinds were down and the house was dark. She couldn’t go outside because

there were helicopters overhead and reporters waiting to pounce on her,

hoping she’d say something their TV station or newspaper could use and get

credit for having the “scoop” of the day from Parkerville.

A consultant drove up from New Orleans to coach Sarah about how to

represent herself in public – what to wear, what to say, what not to say, etc.

“All this attention will quiet down in a few months and the media will move
on to something else that’s bigger and hotter, like a major weather catastrophe
or the murder of some starlet in Hollywood,” said the consultant, a buxom

blonde who wore fake fingernails and too much makeup. “They can’t stay
here forever. After the trial, you’ll be home free,” she said.

A psychologist that was assigned to her in the hospital came by weekly

to visit Sarah. Big time lawyers wanted to represent her in court for no fee at
all. They knew the media exposure would bring clients in much faster than an

advertisement in the Yellow Pages.

Sarah’s dad came to see her a lot, but hated the mob outside Mary Jo’s

house and began calling on the phone instead of visiting in person. “We’ll

have our time together when all this blows over,” he told her during his last

visit.
She called her Aunt Nellie at the convalescent home, but she didn’t

know who Sarah was and hung up.

The paper mill in Boydton County wanted Mary Jo’s mother to return to

work, only this time as an assistant to the president of the company. They

thought of her now as somewhat of a hero, and assured her that she would not

be bothered by the press. So she happily returned to her former employer, but

only if her friend Dorie could be her secretary. They agreed.

Sarah and Mary Jo spent every waking minute together, but they didn’t
talk much about Sarah’s time in the root cellar. They spent more time talking

about everything that’s happened in the world since she was taken

underground, like the landing on the moon, VCR machines, actor Ronald
Reagan as their president, Pac-Man and the deaths of Jimi Hendrix and Jim

Morrison. She was happy to hear that As the World Turns was still on TV.
They watched it every day.
After weeks of being inside the house, Sarah’s health improved, her

confidence grew and her body healed. The only obstacle to overcome now was
the upcoming trial and the grief of her daughter. She decided to confide in

Mary Jo that Larry took her baby from the root cellar right after birth and
returned empty-handed.
“But that doesn’t mean she’s dead, Sarah! I never gave up on you and

you’re not even related to me!”

Sarah hugged her dear friend and then looked her right in the face. “But

what can I do now? It’s been five years. If she’s dead, she’s dead. If she’s not,

she wouldn’t know me or want to leave her adoptive mother for me. That

would be so hurtful!”
Mary Jo shook her head. “That’s all true, but how can you go your entire

life not knowing where she is?”

“But I don’t even know where to start,” she cried.

“I do,” said Mary Jo confidently. “We can ask Sheriff Hawkins. He can

be trusted to keep his mouth shut. Let’s give him a call.”

“No, no, no! I don’t know!” pleaded Sarah. “

Mary Jo got up from the couch and grabbed her cigarettes off the top of

the TV and lit one. She took a puff, exhaled the smoke up into the air and
looked straight at Sarah with confident eyes. “You will never be whole again

until you find out where she is.”

Sarah crouched down into the couch’s soft cushions and folded her arms
defiantly. “Okay. Call him.”

Sheriff Hawkins was at their front door 10 minutes later.

“I was just about to call you ladies to set up an appointment with you
when I received your call,” said the sheriff as he entered Mary Jo’s living

room. “I’m afraid I have some disturbing news, depending on your definition
of the word disturbing, that is.”

The women’s eyes widened with anticipation. “Well, then,” said Mary
Jo, pointing to a comfy chair, “have a seat. We’ve got a lot to talk about.
Would you like some iced tea?”

“No, ma’am, just some water will do.”

Mary Jo walked to the kitchen and brought back a glass of iced water.

She set it down on the coffee table in front of the sheriff. She joined Sarah on

the couch.

Sheriff Hawkins took a sip of the water. “Well, there’s no simple way to
say this – Larry Connors is dead. He had been on suicide watch since arriving

at the facility, but that’s not what killed him.”

Sarah and Mary Jo were hanging on his every word. “What did kill him

then, sheriff?” asked Mary Jo.

“A gang of thugs, as best we can tell,” he replied. “There’s no proof, but

he was stabbed multiple times. Hell, he could have asked the gang members to

do it for him. Everyone in the prison knew he wanted to die.”

Sarah sat quietly on the sofa. As much as she despised Larry, she didn’t
wish him dead. Her feelings surprised her.

“So that’s it, Miss Sarah,” said the sheriff. “This is the end. No long

drawn-out trial. You won’t have to testify about every little thing that he did
and how you felt about it.”

“Thank you for letting us know, sheriff,” said Sarah.

“Now, just what do you ladies want to talk to me about?” he asked.
Sarah told him about her baby girl that was born five years ago and how

the newborn infant was taken from the root cellar by Larry. She asked the
sheriff if he could investigate the birth and look into city records to determine

if a baby had been abandoned anywhere in the city or the surrounding

counties.
The women swore him to secrecy and he accepted his new charge. He

said it might take some time to find the little girl if she wasn’t adopted through
an agency, but he’d use his slick detective senses and see what he could do.

They thanked him and then they both took a long nap.

Mary Jo woke up around four and was out of cigarettes, so she decided

to venture out and fight off the media dogs to feed her nicotine urge. She
stepped outside onto the screened porch to see who was out on the street. The

throng of reporters that once engulfed every piece of their real estate was now

down to just two, and they got out of their cars and came toward her.

“Hey, there, Miss Pearson, how are things going with Sarah? Did she

hear about Larry yet? How’d she take it?”

Mary Jo wasn’t about to go any further with this low-lifer. She

unhooked the screen door and walked down three steps to the sidewalk.

“Look, I just want to go to the store and get a pack of cigarettes. I have
nothing to say to you.”

She kept on walking toward the corner convenience store and they

stopped following her. She turned back and saw them banging on her front
door. She knew Sarah wouldn’t let them in and kept walking. “I’ll deal with

those scum suckers when I get back,” she vowed.

Ben Nelson ran the corner store and knew everyone in town. He smiled
at Mary Jo when she entered and immediately reached for a pack of her brand

of cigarettes and laid them on the counter.

“Hey, Ben.”

“Hey, Mary Jo. How’s it goin’?”

 “Pretty good this week. The mobs are thinning out.”
“Sarah back on her feet?”

“Yes, thank God. She is a tower of strength compared to what she was
two months ago.”

“Everybody wants to see her, Mary Jo. I know that sounds a little bold

of me to ask, but we’d like to throw her a party. Do you think she’d be up to

that?”
Mary Jo opened her cigarettes and asked Ben for a light. She inhaled the

Marlboro and exhaled into the store’s air space. “I don’t know, Ben. She could

use something. I certainly understand how high the curiosity is out there on the

streets of Parkerville, but she’s a person, you know? With feelings. I also

know there are people who genuinely care about her. But how do you define

who is who? I don’t know. Let me ask her if she’s up to it. It will be entirely

up to her.”

Ben reached down below his counter and pulled up a huge glass jar
filled with money. Tens, twenties, even hundred dollar bills were stuffed

inside. On the outside of the jar was a handwritten sign affixed with tape that

said “The Sarah “Sarbay” Jenkins Fund.” Mary Jo’s mouth dropped.
“I had to keep it under the counter because it looked tempting for

robbers,” said Ben. “Stores and businesses all over town are collecting money
for her future. Now do you think people are just curious or really care? They
care, Mary Jo. We’ve all collected more and last count was fifty thousand

dollars.”
Mary Jo’s mouth dropped. “I had no idea, Ben.”

All the way home, Mary Jo thought about the money and the party. It
wouldn’t be so bad for Sarah to see how much she is loved and that she has
friends living outside the walls of the Pearson home. She was a little excited

about it, too. It had been awhile since she had fun. She also wanted everyone
to see that she wasn’t the town drunk anymore.

It took a lot of convincing, but Sarah agreed to the party, but Mary Jo

didn’t tell her about the money. They ordered dresses from a catalog and hired

a hairdresser to fix their hair and makeup. The party was going to be held in
the Parkerville Memorial High School gymnasium and everyone was invited –

except the press. All photo cameras and movie cameras had to be checked at

the door so no footage could get leaked to the media. But that didn’t stop them

from being outside the gym, and it took a little finagling to get Sarah inside

without them seeing her.

It was like a pep rally, homecoming and prom all rolled into one event.

The party brought out the best in the people of Parkerville, and Sarah smiled

all evening, but cried uncontrollably when they gave her a check for sixty-five
thousand dollars.

Her father walked up and asked her to dance after they awarded the

money. In the spotlight of the gym floor, he held her shaking body in his arms
and kept her on her feet as they shuffled to Joe Cocker’s “You Are So

Beautiful.” She was happy that she had not forgotten how to dance. Curtis
tapped her dad’s shoulder and asked him if he could have his turn on the floor
with Sarah. He gave Curtis her hand and Sarah’s jaw dropped when their eyes

met.
“You’ll catch a big fly in that mouth if you don’t shut it,” he joked.

Sarah started laughing and the deejay played “I’m Never Gonna Let You
Go” by Sergio Mendes. The crowd oohed and aahed. Sarah’s body broke out
in goosebumps when he started whispering in her ear.

“I’ve loved you since we were in grade school,” he said softly. “I was
devastated when you were taken, and I never stopped looking for you. I bet I

was in that damn barn a hundred times and it breaks my heart that you were

right below my feet and I didn’t even know it!”

She put her head on his shoulder. “You weren’t the only one, Curtis.
Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“I know. Your dad told me that, too. Spending time with your father

while you were gone really helped us both cope with everything. We got to be

really good friends.”

“That was so kind of you to look out after him. I worried about him the

whole time I was gone.”

The song was over now and the crowd was clapping and cheering. He

asked if he could see her again.

“Yes,” she replied timidly. “Yes, you can.”

Curtis called her every day. Sometimes twice. They spent hours on the

phone. A month after the party, Mary Jo arranged for ten of their high school
girlfriends to come over to her house about two o’clock on a Saturday. The

plan was for them to come in two cars and wear fancy red dresses and brunette
wigs. When they arrived, one of the girls took her dress off and put it on Sarah
and covered her red hair with her wig. The guise was to throw off the press,

who would count ten girls going into the house and ten girls going out. But
with all of them dressed in red and all of them brunette, it was hard to tell

them apart. It worked like a gem.

 The driver of Sarah’s car took her to the park on the other side of town
to meet up with Curtis. He said he had something really important to tell her

and to meet her over by the swing set. She imagined him getting down on his
knees and proposing to her with a huge diamond ring.

Her heart raced as she stepped out of the car. She just knew he would be

able to hear it. Embarrassed and blushing, she walked over to him and he

kissed her on the cheek. Then he led her to the park bench and put his arm
around her.

“I want you to know, sweet girl, that you and I were always meant to

be,” he said softly. “You may not have thought that in high school, but I did.

And I always knew I’d see you again.”

Tears filled Sarah’s eyes. She started to say something, but he stopped

her.

“I was lonely without you. I worried about you. I prayed for you with all

my heart. And then one day I realized I had to find someone to give that love
to.”

Sarah’s face was lifeless. He’s married?

He touched her chin and drew her face toward him. “Now, wait. It’s not
what you think. Just listen, okay?”

Sarah nodded.
“It’s not so uncommon now for single men to adopt a child, so I filled
out all the paperwork and went through all kinds of psychological tests and

waited to hear if I was approved. There was no guarantee that I would get a
white child, and that didn’t matter to me at all. There was no guarantee I

would get boy. And that didn’t matter either.”

 Sarah squirmed in her seat trying to figure out just where Curtis was
going with this. So what if he has kids? she thought.

He grabbed her hand tightly. “So when I heard that a newborn, red-
headed baby girl had been left on the steps of the Main Street Fire Station, I

just knew she was the one for me.”

Sarah sat frozen, tears streaming down her face, her eyes fixed like she

had seen a ghost. She opened her mouth and uttered, “How long ago was that,
Curtis?”

Curtis was choked up and could barely talk. “She’s five, Sarah. She’s

five years old. And Sheriff Hawkins found out that she’s your daughter. Larry

left a note in his cell explaining where he took the baby, so I know she’s

yours.”

They both stood up and held each other for several minutes crying in

each other’s arms with joy. “What’s her name, Curtis? Did you give her a

pretty name? And when can I see her?”

“Her name is Sarbay, and she’s right over there,” he said, pointing to a

beautiful little girl with long red hair sitting on a swing and waving her hand at

them.
***

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