text: It was dark inside the casket. Quiet. Cozy even. The priest reached up and lowered the head piece until the latch pin clicked for the last time. The organ’s draw went muffled. Snotty sniffles and tissued sobs. Familiar voices saying such nice things. The clacking of wedding bands on the glossy wood above. He still smelled like pipe tobacco and orange peels, the foxed pages of old storybooks, just like he always had. She would cling tight to one leg, and ride on his shoe down the long hall to his library. He'd laugh and call her a spider monkey. Daddy never let her do that. Daddy was never around. "Daddy is a piece of shit," Mommy would say. She would slump into him there on the buttoned brown leather sofa, the walls lined to the ceiling with leather bound books. He’d read aloud as long as she could stay awake. That was the deal. He’d let her smoke a plastic bubble pipe while he read about Bilbo, Snow White and Annabel Lee. The smells were a lullaby for her. Even in the enclosed silence now. She wrapped her arms around his leg, put her thumb in her mouth and fell asleep. *** John Logan Lindenbocker the Third was lost--and late. And on top of that, he’d just absconded from an ice cream truck hit-and-run. He took a hand off the yoke of his Tesla Plaid, powdered his nose with the little glass bottle hidden in Lizzy’s carseat, swerved into oncoming traffic and slammed the car into ludicrous mode. He locked his elbows, bracing himself. “Initiate warp drive,” he said, his eyelids opening to their anatomical limits. The baby gurgled as the digital numbers in the dash blurred and the car topped a hundred miles per hour. Viscous droplets of fudgesicle streamed across the bumper like sideways tears. He blew passed a line of cars before an on-coming semi blared its horn, forcing him back over into his lane. He had an obligation to make an appearance at the funeral. He’d already missed the probate, but the will was verified. He was rich--richer than Scrooge McDuck. “Your paw-paw always said I’d be late to my own funeral, Chickadee,” he told his daughter, searching her blankets for the bottle of cocaine. “Turns out it might be his.” Little Lizzy hiccuped and cooed as they crested the onramp bridge overlooking the freeway and slowed to a crawl. He looked into the distance. Mile after mile of glinting windshields--bumper-to-bumper all the way into the smoggy skyline. Hot liquid frustration welled up in his throat. The inside pocket of his funerary jacket buzzed. The banner said Mrs. Bossy-Boots . He’d been meaning to change it to Mrs. Bitchy-Boots. He slid the green button across the screen and put the phone to his ear. “Yes, I know. I’m late.” “Maddy’s missing.” “ Missing ? What do you mean? I just picked up the other little monster. We’re on our way now.” “The funeral is over. Everyone is at the graveyard, John.” Her voice was rushed, jittery. “You were supposed to be here. I thought you were here. I thought you had her.” “I don’t have her. I’m fighting traffic trying to find the place.” He switched hands. “I’m sure she’s just playing hide and seek or something. Graveyards are perfect for that kind of thing.” “I’m scared, John.” But he already knew that. He could hear it in her voice. “Oh God, why did I ever count on you. I should have never counted on you. What was I thinking?” “Look,” he said, regrouping his thoughts. “Remember the time she stole one of your pregnancy tests and filled in both lines with a marker and showed everyone in her first grade class?” “This is not a joke, John. We’ve looked everywhere for her. The pallbearers are carrying dad through the graveyard as we speak. I don’t know what to do here. Where are you?” He fought back feeling like a piece of shit. It was a super power. His super power. “Is this like the time I couldn’t make it to the hospital? Are you overreacting? Did you take your pills this morning?” There was a pause. He could feel her thoughts racing, scanning through every possibility. “No John, this is not like the time you missed your daughters being born. It’s not like the pregnancy test. It’s not like anything that’s ever happed before. There are hundreds of people here. There must be a dozen funerals today. There is a literal sea of white kidnapper vans. I’ve been weaving through labyrinths of florists, caterers and landscapers.” “Oh, and let me guess, you’re just certain she’s hog-tied in duct tape inside one of them,” he said sarcastically. Is that it? She’s probably playing hide and seek in the headstones, Kate.” “We’ve looked through half the cemetery. This place is massive. Your uncle Jack is panicked. I’ve never seen him like this before, John. He’s announced to the police and anyone else who will listen that--” “Police?” “Yes, the police. Jack’s telling everyone who will listen he’s giving your father’s beach house to whoever finds Maddy. The whole place is in total chaos. Detectives have cordoned everything off. They’re conducting searches of all the vehicles. I’ve never even heard of police actually doing their jobs like this. But I have a bad feeling she’s already gone, John. Like she's somewhere we can't get to.” Her voice went high pitched. He could hear the tears welling up. “That beach house is my entire inheritance!” he shouted. “I just wrecked the Plaid trying to get there on time.” “John, you missed the probate and the reading.” She was crying now. “Your father named his brother soul beneficiary. Everything is up to Jack now. He has the final say.” “Well I was supposed to get the house in Malibu.” “You are so selfish,” she was cry-yelling now. “I can’t even--why am I even--” The phone beeped three times and went dead. *** He floored it over a dirt patch and onto a frontage road, veering over a cattle guard onto a vacant state highway that lead him through vast farmlands of alfalfa. Tin windmills and rusty barbed-wire whizzed past. “We’ll find our own way, won’t we, little Chickadee? Everyone hates daddy. No one appreciates how hard he works. Well, Daddy deserves that beach house. It belongs to Daddy. We’ll get there and find Maddy. We’ll show them Daddy's not a piece of shhh-poopoo.” He looked down to see if she was awake. "Shhpoopoo," the little girl mimicked. A cloud of dust came into view above what appeared to be the mirage of a brown river. This is strong coke, he thought. Are those cows? “COOOOOWWWWWSSSSS!” He slammed on the breaks as the cows grew bigger and bigger engulfing his vision. He braced for impact, the second car wreck of the day. *** John woke sailing high above the river of brown cows. In the passenger seat, Lizzy cooed and laughed, slapping her tiny hands together. “That’s daddy’s girl,” he whispered through a bloody nose, and sighed with relief resting his head on the steering yoke. After a minute, he crumpled the airbag down, rolled the window down and stuck his head out the side window. The car was teetering like a see-saw on top of a dead cow. All he could hear was the clanking of tin bells and distressed mooing. He put the car in reverse and revved the engine hard. Nothing. the wheels spun endlessly in the air. He put in drive and juiced it again. Nothing. “Appears you’re high centered on one of my twelve-hundred dollar heifers,” a twangy voice said. He looked up at a white-haired woman wearing a cowboy hat saddled on a giant black horse. A small child wearing an eye patch and a pirate’s bandana hugged her around the waist and peered in wonderment with one unobstructed eye. He had a Sharpie beard and a gold hoop earring. John shook his head struggling to make sense of everything. “Twelve-hundred dollars?” he muttered. “S’right,” she returned. “Not counting the other twelve-hundred she was in the middle of delivering.” John looked down again. The head of a calf was protruding from the dead cow’s backside. “If you can deliver it alive,” she said. “I’ll only charge you for the one.” John swung his head around assessing the situation. “Daaa-da,” Lizzy said. “Is that a baby?” The cowgirl asked flatly. “Yeah,” John replied as if nothing were the matter. “She’s fine. She’s... just fine. She’s a trooper. Can I get you to take her for a moment,” he said unbuckling her carseat. The glass bottle fell to the floorboard. “You need an ambulance,” the woman said. “No, no. That’s not necessary. We’re both fine,” he said. “We come from a long line of... troopers.” The woman dismounted carefully with what must have been her grandson. John passed Lizzy through the window and made his way carefully out of the car. "I need to find my daughter," he said. "She's lost at my dad's funeral. The police are already there." "You need an ambulance." "We're really ok. Look, I'll pull this calf... out, and you help us get to Mesa Valley Cemetery." "That's just around the bend from here," the old woman said. *** He rolled up his sleeves and his forearms disappeared up to his elbows. He fished around for a moment. “Like this?” he asked, looking up at the woman. “Yes,” she said. “Get hold of anything you can and pull.” He did as he was told. The calf’s eyes were half open, still. It did not seem to be alive. He clenched his fists around what felt like legs, dug his heels into the dirt and heaved backward. Nothing happened. “It’ll take a might more strength than that,” the woman said. He readjusted his body and pulled with everything he had. The calf budged one rib at a time rippling out in slow motion. Finally its body slid loose all at once, and it hit the ground with a thud that would have knocked the air of it if it had had any. The calf immediately stumbled to a stand, wobbling on its new legs. It seemed to struggle not only to stay upright but also to see in the light of the world. Its eyes were still glossed over with a kind of fuzzy innocence. John couldn’t help but stare into them. They were so soft and ethereal, as if they reflected the light of some other world. As if the creature had carried something over with it, something ineffable. He dropped to one knee, mesmerized by the new born. And he felt a sense of something awkward well up inside him, something he’d never felt before. He wanted to protect this creature, to feed it and never leave it, and always make sure that nothing could harm it. He reached for his phone and found the screen shattered and the aluminum backing bent in the middle. He just wanted to share this moment with someone. Kate? Oh, God, Kate. If only he could call her and explain this to her. Make her understand how sorry he was for missing Maddy and Lizzy's births. For not being there today. For being an unrealiable piece of... “Looks like you’re having a moment there, cowboy. You want to finish the job first? Reach in there and pull out the afterbirth?” The cowgirl asked from atop her steed. John dropped the broken phone and turned toward the dead mother, his car still teetering on top of it. The umbilical cord lay sopping and gray on the dirt. Her eyes were half open, tongue hanging limp between yellowed teeth. He felt his heart drop. “Yes, I’ll do it,” he said, hardly able to think through this fog of emotions. Everything seemed so incredible. So beautiful to him in that moment. He reached a hand inside when the car suddenly shifted. The back end hit the ground, rolled backward and the front tires slammed against the dead cow’s body. A jet stream of hay-colored shit and afterbirth fired out of her backside. John screeched and tumbled backward over the dirt. When he finally stopped he just lay there, both defeated and awed. *** When he came out the cornfield, John was wearing a tattered bathrobe he’d robbed off a scarecrow. “Suits you,” the cowgirl said. He looked down at a giant embroidered rooster. “Yeah. Thanks.” He said. She’d fashioned him a sling pouch out of what she could salvage from his soiled shirt and fit little Lizzy snug against his back. The little boy appeared from behind his grandmother holding what looked like a dandelion. He grabbed her around the leg and clung there, resting his bottom on her boot. She took a few steps like that and the boy laughed. He held the dandelion out in John’s face. “Wish,” he said. “Wish?” John repeated. He squatted down to the boy’s level and took it. He thought a minute, then held it up, pursed his lips and blew. Fuzzy seeds went everywhere. Then the boy pulled the plastic sword from his shiny red sash and offered it John. “He-ur,” he said. “You kuh hab it.” “Even a five-year-old can see you’re in need of some serious assistance, mister,” the old cowgirl said. He slid the sword into the belt of his bathrobe and looked around for something he might trade and realized he was holding his car keys. Instinctively he handed them to the boy. “Don’t speed,” he said, and then he stood up and offered the woman a handshake. She sniffed at the air around him with a curled lip, gave him a slant-eyed look and reluctantly shook it. Then she limped over to her horse with the boy still clinging to her leg. In that moment, something clicked inside John’s brain. A high-pitched ringing flared to life somewhere far off and sped towards him as it got louder and louder. He’d seen Maddy do the same thing with her paw-paw a thousand times. The ringing got louder and closer until it seemed to come from everywhere all at once. It filled his head vibrating at penetrating decibels, threatening to destroy the world if he didn’t see what was right there in front of his eyes. “Oh my God,” he finally said. They turned to look at him. “Oh my God! I know where my kid is!” He threw his arms into the sky. “I know where my kid is!” He shouted. They stared blankly at him like the lunatic he clearly was. *** A yellow front-end loader with a shovel full of dirt revved slowly over the pristine grass between headstones until it was hovering over the open Lindenbocker grave. What remained of the crowd took several steps back. The shovel fell forward with a mechanical clank, and dirt spilled down into the hole covering the rose-laden casket. The dozer then backed up, swung around and lifted another massive shovel-load of dirt. Everyone seemed too shocked to cry. In the distance all around, police officers and people dressed in black searched behind gravestones, up in trees and along the foliage. No one even noticed the gallant cavalier, bathrobe-clad, riding horseback waving a plastic sword over his head. A single naked dandelion stem bowed from his chest pocket. He dismounted and adjusted the sling around his back where a tiny bald head poked up. “STOP! Stop everything,” he shouted, positioning himself between the grave and the shovel. “What the hell are you doing,” came a familiar voice, and Kate came running up to him. She took Lizzy gently out of the makeshift sling. "What the hell is wrong with you!" “Maddy’s in the--” he stopped himself. “Maddy’s in the what,” Kate screamed. “Where is my daughter?” John jumped into the grave and began pushing dirt over the sides of the casket, piling it against the walls until one end was entirely visible. He fumbled with the latch pin until it popped open. Everyone gasped. John stared for a long moment over the face of the man that lay there. There he was. Now no more. The man who fought to teach him virtue and success. John knew every line and wrinkle in his face, knew what each one meant when it creased with the emphasis of some emotion or another. A furrow of disappointment. The crow’s feet of a hearty laugh. He fell back against the wall of the grave, his breath heaving out in sputters. His eyes clenched shut, tears forcing their way out. Maddy crawled out over her paw-paw. “Hi, Daddy!” She said as if she’d just walked into the kitchen. John’s breath caught in his throat. “Oh, Maddy!” He whispered, and the sobs started again. He grabbed her and pulled her to him and she hurried her face in his robe. “Oh my God. I’ll never let you go again. Daddy promises.” She looked up at him. “Ok daddy. But why do you smell like shit?” A dozen sobbing faces looking down at them all burst into laughter at the same time. John looked half shocked and then laughed despite himself. *** When he came up out of his father’s grave, John Logan Lindenbocker the third was carrying his daughter on one leg.