Popped out of bed here in Sedona and grabbed my notebook and  my second chapter started expressing itself.  As soon as I get my book blog up and running I’ll be posting these snippets there but for now, a small taste.

this photo was taken just this last September on the Monkeyspoon porch

“I guess I’ll need to call the Urbana police soon” he said staring that long stare in to the expanse of the Atlantic ocean.

My father and I had many, if not most of our deepest conversations just like that.  Two Adirondack chairs side by side on the Monkeyspoon porch, both facing straight ahead at the sea.

Crossword puzzle in his lap; pen in hand.  My tan hands wrapped around a  coffee cup that had likely resided in that cottage for decades allowing countless of our ancestors to wrap and warm their own exactly as I was that chilly morning.

“Maybe give it one more day Dad?” I asked in futile resignation knowing that crisis had once again crashed in to another family vacation.  With my brother though, it had seemed neverending since his diagnosis all those years ago.

By the time we landed in that quiet porch summit, things like this had been going on for decades.  I was more annoyed than worried.  “He’ll turn up soon” I reassured my Dad as we attempted to move forward in to our beach day.

Inside, though, we both knew what a missing family member can mean.  We were way past the luxury of full denial by this time.

“Let’s see what happens today” he said and managed to give it one more fitful sleep before phoning the police and filing the report the next morning.

It was September 2010 and my brother John had been missing for a week.