It had been weighed down with a brick and a plastic bucket.
When the wind caught it a second time, I saw metal bars underneath.
I crossed the yard so quickly that one of the overturned chairs scraped against my leg.
I kicked the bucket aside, threw the brick off the tarp, and yanked the plastic back.
A large dog cage sat on the concrete.
Emily was inside.
She was curled on a filthy blanket with her knees pulled tightly to her chest.
She wore the pale blue hoodie she had left my house in the previous week.
The sleeves were dirty, and one cuff was stretched where she had been pulling it over her hand.
Her hair was tangled around her face.
Her lower lip was split.
Her eyes were painfully dry, as if she had run out of tears before I arrived.
Children are supposed to run when they see their parents.
They are supposed to cry, reach, and fall apart once they understand they have been found.
Emily only stared at me.
She looked as though she were trying to decide whether I was real or another trick designed to make her move.
I dropped beside the cage.
“Emily,” I said, but my voice came out broken.
Her eyes moved over my face, my shirt, and the blood beginning to run across my palm.
“Daddy?”
That one word nearly broke me.
“I’m here,” I told her. “I’ve got you.”
The cage door was secured with a padlock.
I grabbed it with both hands and pulled even though I knew strength alone would not open it.
The metal was hot from the sun, and my fingers slipped against it.
Emily flinched when the cage rattled.
I stopped immediately.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m not leaving.”
I searched the concrete around the shed and found an old pair of pliers near a cracked flowerpot.
The handles were faded and rough, but the jaws still closed.
I clamped them around the lock and squeezed until my injured palm burned.
The cage shook again.
Emily pressed herself against the far side, watching my hands.
For one heartbeat, I imagined Jason coming through the back door.
