I did not look at the water.

I looked at my daughter, who was shaking against me and begging me not to, and I decided in that instant that whatever was in that pool could belong to the police, because my entire job on this earth had just narrowed to one thing, which was getting the child in my arms out of that yard.

“Okay,” I told her.

“Okay, baby, we’re not looking.

We’re going.” But as I moved toward the fence she whispered something else against my shoulder, so quiet I almost lost it under my own heartbeat, and it stopped me cold.

“Daddy,” she said.