The Last Summer Photograph
Before — July 18, 2016
The last photograph of my daughter was taken at 6:42 p.m.
Lily stood at the end of the dock in a yellow sundress, one hand shielding her eyes from the evening sun.
Her eight-year-old brother, Noah, was beside her.
Behind them, Lake Briar reflected a cloudless orange sky.
At the time, the photograph felt ordinary.
Ten minutes later, Lily was gone.
Her sandals remained beside the dock. Her phone was discovered beneath her pillow, and the bicycle she used to ride into town was still leaning against the cabin.
My husband, Thomas, claimed he had seen her walking toward the lake.
I was preparing dinner inside.
Noah remembered hearing two girls arguing near the water, but Thomas convinced the police that our frightened son had imagined it.
Search boats crossed the lake for six days.
Divers inspected the reeds, underwater caves, and old drainage pipes.
They found nothing.
No body.
No clothing.
No explanation.
Thomas accepted the police theory that Lily had fallen into the water.
I never did.