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I’ll give Pop credit for one thing: when he decided he wanted to leave a trail in the woods, he didn’t screw around. Just about the time I lost the trail left by Brittany’s shoe, he dropped the other one in the middle of the woods. I got to it and looked around, then saw a black Georgia Bulldogs baseball cap hanging from a tree branch about fifty yards ahead of me. He led us on like that, dropping a piece of Britt’s clothing here, breaking a branch there, until the woods opened up onto a wide creek. Jase and I spent many a summer afternoon catching crawdads and minnows in that creek, splashing in the cool, clear water and skipping rocks across the shallows. The creek was a good twenty feet wide, but only a couple feet deep at most. Pop stood right out in the middle of it on a big flat
