A three-year-old girl shook her little hand in the air at a quiet cafe on the side of the road. A soldier at a table a few tables away saw her and gave her a piece of candy without even thinking about it. Around four in the afternoon, there was a lot of noise in Miller’s Diner.
People were talking in hushed whispers, and forks and knives were pounding on the table. Families set up booths, truck drivers drank coffee together, and an ancient jukebox played softly in the corner. Daniel Whitmore, a sergeant, sat at the counter and stirred his black coffee without even thinking about it.
He had just gotten returned from being sent away. He had been practicing controlled sight for years, and he was so adept at it that he could see objects across the room that most people would have missed. The waiter heard a man who was very loud say that he was the girl’s father.
She was just three years old. Her gorgeous pigtails framed her pale face, and her eyes were darting around quickly, which made her look concerned. Then, out of nowhere, she raised one small hand, put her thumb in her palm, and wrapped her fingers around it.
People all throughout the world know this symbol of danger. Daniel’s heart raced, but he kept his cool on the outside. He shifted his weight on the stool and appeared to be searching his pocket for something.
He grinned and gave her a piece of butterscotch candy. “Hey, baby.” Do you want any candy? The man smacked the girl hard on the cheek immediately away.
Everyone jumped when they heard the noise in the diner. He cried, “She’s allergic!” “Don’t get involved.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened, but he knew better than to make matters worse. He stood up and proceeded to the door to use the pay phone to contact the sheriff.
“Possible abduction.” The Miller’s Diner. He said, “I need backup fast,” in a low voice as he peered at the man. Police cars came to a stop outside in just a few minutes.
Sheriff Tom Harlan came in with a rifle. The man maintained calm as he took things out of his suitcase, like his driver’s license, birth certificate, and papers for custody. Things were still the same.
Emily Anders’s dad was Michael Anders. A few folks got well and started eating again. Sheriff Harlan looked troubled, but the regulations were clear.
He didn’t have a good reason to keep the guy. Michael smiled as he got ready to go. But then Emily grabbed the sheriff’s arm and spoke something with lips that were shaking:
“That’s not my father.”
The room got quiet.
People in the crowd were whispering to each other. Sheriff Harlan’s intuition told him something was wrong, but he didn’t have a lot of legal choices. He continued in a calm voice, “Mr.
Anders, we need you to come to the station with us for some routine questions.”
Michael was nervous, but he said yes. Daniel said he would provide a witness statement, even if he didn’t want to. Emily stayed close to the sheriff and didn’t want to be near the man she said wasn’t her father.
They read the papers that Michael had given them in the police station. The papers were great; only a professional could find any mistakes. Michael chatted calmly about being a single father while Emily sat peacefully with Child Services and drew on a piece of paper.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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