It ends with a twist

Her hair was missing. He could not get this image out of his head. She had the most beautiful hair. He was sure every father thought this about their daughter. However, her hair was always perfect. It was smooth and shiny and this beautiful blend of blonde. He chose to believe that it was her natural hair color, but at this point, he didn’t remember. There was also a slight wave towards the bottom. She used to call them her “beach waves”. 

His vision started to blur a little. I guess it made sense that she ended up on a beach. She always loved spending time in the sun. Living so close to the water made it easy for her to keep her skin tan. He was sure this was a big reason for her leaving home. She had always wanted to live by the water. Although her waitress salary did not allow her to buy a house on the water, she was intentional about locating to a place within 30 miles of a seacoast. Much to his dismay, this took her hundreds of miles from his arms. 

He shuffled his feet forward and noticed how heavy the steel toes felt. After spending the last 50 years in black police boots, he never minded the weight, it helped him feel grounded. Now he wished he had worn his old worn white Nikes. It’s hard to break a habit. She was barefoot when they found her. Her red canvas Toms were found a mile down the beach. Since she was already almost 6 foot, she rarely wore shoes with a heel. It wouldn’t have surprised him if she had been walking the beach, holding the shoes. She would have always been barefoot, if she could have. 

As his cheek got kissed by a tear, he dropped his head. There is no one around that would inquire, but he still wasn’t comfortable being this vulnerable. I talked to her that morning. Had I told her I loved her before getting off the phone. He was sure he had. It was habit, but did he say it out of habit or out of love. Probably out of habit. I never thought that would be the last time I would say that to her. Now tears dropped around his shoes. They seemed to slow down right before they hit the ground, only to be violently broken apart. 

He needed to focus on something else to stop crying. With his head still bend, he looked at his primarily green L. L. Bean flannel. It was that time in October, when flannels and jeans are the perfect on some days and too warm on others. Today was the first of those perfect days. She had on a red tank top and jeans. He always ran a little warm, she always hated the days that started turning cold. He was certain that she must have also had a sweater or jacket on, but they were never found. She kept sweaters at work, home, in cars, and other people’s homes. She hated being cold and ensured that she never had to be.   

He picked his head up and ran his hands over his cheeks. He kept shaving, even though he didn’t need to. No one expected him to keep up his appearance. Old habits die hard. Her boyfriend also kept his face clean-shaven. He had never met him. Only pictures that he would see on her Instagram. She posted pictures for him to keep up with her. He never posted anything. If he was able to like things, he never did that either. His cop days taught him to always keep a low profile, virtually and physically.  

I wish she had kept a lower profile. Her height and hair made it difficult for her to blend into a crowd. She also had a personality that attracted strangers. She would walk into a store and walk out with a new friend. It was difficult not to be drawn to someone who was so full of life. She had this childhood awe and lack of fear. She never second guessed her decision to move away from home. Her free spirit was meant to soar into the sun across the waves of the sea. She never should have ended up in the sea. 

None of the pieces made much sense to him. He had connected with old colleagues for more information, but everyone seemed to be speaking from a script. There were still so many questions with no answers. But if the people responsible for getting those answers are unwilling to share, where else could he go? I wish I could hear from you. Tell me what happened that night. He had this thought multiple times a day. He had gone to her apartment days after it all happened. She had kept a diary since she learned how to write. He had expected her to keep this habit, even in her new location. But he didn’t find one. 

It looked like someone had been there before me. She kept everything so tidy. She loved keeping her closet organized by color and length. Red tank tops would have been the first item on the left. Instead, he found clothes on the floor, drawers left open, and an unmade bed. It had been a while since she had lived with him, but to change everything so quickly. It just didn’t make sense.

“Can I help you?” He considered if he had just heard this exact question a couple minutes ago. He wasn’t sure. He also wasn’t sure if this had been directed to him. He stared at the young girl cocking her eyebrow at him. 

“Umm…yes.” He remembered what he was doing. He was at his daughter’s favorite place. She would come here every time she was back home. She said it brought back simple childhood memories. He needed those memories right now. “I’ll just have the waffle cone with a twist.” Her favorite.