PART 4 – A Sharp Whistle Cut Across the Lake, and I Finally Stopped Waiting for My Family to Decide What Mattered

The whistle sounded again.

I raised my head and searched the water.

There was movement farther away, near the area where several boats were passing.

I couldn't identify anyone clearly.

I was exhausted.

My breathing had become uneven, and my arms felt heavier with every movement.

But I kept swimming.

I looked toward the dock once.

My mother was standing beside my father.

Trey was still there.

The orange life jacket remained on the boards.

I could see it even from the water.

I wanted to scream at them.

I wanted to ask how they could stand there.

Instead, I turned back toward the whistle.

Another blast.

Then silence.

I tried to listen.

The lake was full of noise.

Engines.

Voices.

Music from the shore.

Children shouting.

It was a holiday afternoon, and almost everyone around us still seemed to be enjoying themselves.

That was one of the hardest things to understand.

The world had not stopped because my daughter was missing.

I took another breath.

I searched beneath the surface again.

I couldn't see anything useful.

My hands moved through the water.

My eyes burned.

I came back up and wiped my face.

I was crying, although I hadn't noticed when it started.

I called Cassie's name.

Nothing.

Then I heard my father again.

"Jill! Come back!"

I turned toward him.

He was standing near the end of the dock.

His expression had changed.

He no longer looked annoyed.

He looked frightened.

But I couldn't tell whether he was frightened for Cassie or frightened about what would happen next.

I didn't care anymore.

I needed help.

I needed people who weren't going to make excuses for Trey.

I needed someone who understood that a child had fallen into open water.

I moved toward the sound of the whistle.

The person signaling seemed to be farther away than I had first thought.

I struggled to keep my direction.

Every time I lifted my head, the waves shifted my view.

I tried to use the dock as a reference point.

Then I remembered Cassie's life jacket.

The orange one with her name written inside.

I had checked the straps before we left home.

I had made sure the buckle worked.

I had told her to wear it.

I had trusted that if she was with another adult, that adult would understand why it mattered.

I had trusted my own brother.

That thought hurt almost as much as the fear.

I reached for the surface again.

My lungs demanded air.

I looked around.

There was still no sign of her.

I wanted to believe that she was somewhere close.

I wanted to believe she had managed to stay afloat.

But I couldn't see her.

And every second that passed made the silence harder to bear.

I took a deep breath.

Then I went under again.

The water was green and dark.

I couldn't see anything beyond my own hands.

I came back up, gasping.

"Cassie!"

My voice broke.

I screamed her name again.

This time, I didn't look toward the dock.

I looked toward the whistle.

Someone was signaling from that direction.

And I was going to reach them, because I could no longer depend on the people standing behind me.

Click here to continue reading: PART 5: A Fifteen-Year-Old Stranger Saw What My Own Family Refused to See