Cemetery Girl (29 page)

“Do you know something else?” I asked.

“Do you?” he asked. “Are you absolutely certain you’ve never seen that man?”

Abby picked the photo up and looked it over. “How can I answer that?” she asked. “Maybe I passed him in the grocery store. Maybe he came and fixed our plumbing. How can I remember every face I’ve ever seen? But, no, I don’t
know
him, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t. Do you, Tom?” She held the picture out to me, but I didn’t take it.

“Is there something you’re not telling us?” I asked.

Ryan held my gaze, unblinking. I didn’t look away either. He was digging for something, pushing. I couldn’t imagine what it was. He took the photo back.

“Nothing,” he said. “But we need to be sure.”

“Nothing?” I said.

He stood up, hitched his pants. “I’ll have Caitlin brought right out to you,” he said.

Chapter Thirty-eight

I
really didn’t feel like dragging ourselves back to Rosenbaum.

But we all climbed into the car, our jackets zipped against the cooling fall weather, and backed out of the driveway.

Then Abby surprised me. She turned to me while I was still backing out and said, her voice casual and effortless, “How would you feel if I went to the church today?”

“Now?”

“I just . . .”

She didn’t finish her thought. But I understood. “You want to talk to Chris. I mean, Pastor Chris.”

“It’s not that simple.”

I didn’t drive away. The car sat in the middle of our street, idling. No traffic came either way, and Caitlin sat in the back quietly. “What is it then?” I asked.

She looked back at Caitlin, then shrugged, as if to say,
Who cares if she hears?
“It’s been a difficult time, and I get something out of being at the church,” she said. “It’s not just Chris.”

“Not just.”

“Let’s just go to Rosenbaum’s,” she said. “I should be there.”

When I came to the turn that would take us to Rosenbaum’s, I went right instead of left. We didn’t say anything else about it, but I headed for the church. We passed a couple of strip malls and a long, low building that manufactured machine parts. Then I turned into the church lot.

“Head toward the back,” Abby said. The complex of buildings went on and on, like a small corporation. “Stop by this door,” Abby said. I did. It was a nondescript side entrance flanked by some evergreen shrubs. Ten cars were scattered through the lot, most of them later models. Abby sat with her hand on the door release. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go?” she asked.

“It’s fine.”

“We could take her in there,” she said, nodding toward the door. “She could talk to Chris again. The last time . . . Do you really think she talked to Chris just to get back at you?”

I turned and looked into the backseat. Caitlin stared at me. “Yes, I think so,” I said. “Isn’t that right, Caitlin? You talked to Chris just because you were mad at me? Because I slapped you, right?”

“You have it all figured out, don’t you?” Caitlin said.

Abby turned around now, too, letting her hand slip off the door. “Did that man at the jail hit you?” she asked. “Did he hurt you? What about that bruise on your stomach? I’ve never asked, but I worry that he abused you.”

“You don’t know,” Caitlin said.

“What? What don’t I know?” Abby asked.

“Anything,” Caitlin said. “You just don’t know anything. Either one of you. You’re both a couple of fucking idiots.”

Abby let her eyes linger on Caitlin a moment longer; then she turned back. “I guess I don’t know anything, do I? I want to. Very much, Caitlin. But I’m trying to remind myself that there are things in this life I just won’t know or understand. And I guess I’m okay with that. I’ve tried to accept it.” She turned a little, back toward Caitlin. “But the less you talk to us, the more you have to talk to the police. And you know how that’s been going. So really it is your choice. I hope you understand that.”

With that, Abby climbed out of the car. We sat and watched while she disappeared into the building. When she was gone, I dropped the car into gear and headed out of the lot.

“How do you feel about skipping out on the shrink today?” I asked. “Seriously. Do you want to go somewhere else?”

“Where?”

I was out in traffic now, heading back toward town. “To see a friend of mine,” I said, trying to sound normal, almost cheery.

“You have a friend?”

“It’s either the friend or the shrink,” I said, an edge creeping into my voice. “You pick.”

“I pick neither.”

“Then it’s Rosenbaum.” I paused. “But she’ll be disappointed. She wants to meet you.”

“Your friend’s a woman? Is she your girlfriend?”

“I thought you weren’t interested.”

She clammed up and sat back against the seat. I kept driving, leaving her to her own devices. After a few minutes, she spoke up. “I did talk to him because I was pissed at you,” she said. “You’re right.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Is it weird for Mom to have a boyfriend?” she asked.

“You think he’s her boyfriend?”

“He is. She told me.” She waited a beat. “She said she loves him.”

“Bullshit.”

“She does. I can tell she loves him.”

“You mean the way you love John Colter?” I asked.

She looked out the window. “It’s not like that at all,” she said, almost dreamy. “You’ve never been away from someone you love.”

“Yes, I have.”

“Who?”

“You.”

I waited for a response and again looked for one in the mirror. This time, I thought—hoped—I saw something there, some registering of emotion. A slight swallow, a blinking of her eyes, a flush to her cheeks.

But she said nothing. She stared out the window, silent.

I called Susan from the car and explained what I wanted to do and who was with me. We agreed it wouldn’t be a good idea to meet in public again, so she gave me directions to her house. Susan lived in a small bungalow not far from campus in a neighborhood dominated by run-down student rentals. Her house was the nicest and best kept on the street.

When I parked in front of the house and turned the car off, I said to Caitlin, “We’re here.”

“Who is this?” she asked. “Someone you work with?”

“No.”

“Is she a shrink? I’m tired of that.”

“She tries to help people figure stuff out.”

“Sounds like a shrink,” she said. “Have you figured anything out?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’m sort of in the middle of things.” I looked back at her. “Do you want to go in and talk to her?”

Susan must have seen the car pull up. She came out onto the broad front porch that stretched the length of the house. She wore the same plain pants she always wore and an oversized flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She held up her hand and gave us a tentative wave.

“She kind of looks like a man,” Caitlin said.

“She’s not,” I said. “In fact, I thought you might like to talk to a woman for a change. I know these things can be difficult to talk about, especially with men. Maybe a female perspective would help.”

Caitlin seemed to be considering this. She nodded. “Okay. I’ll hear what she has to say. Anything’s better than that idiot shrink.” She reached for her door handle.

“Hold on,” I said.

She let out a long, exasperated sigh. “I’m not running off. Don’t worry.”

“It’s not that,” I said. “I want to tell you something.”

She settled back against the seat, her eyes cautious.

“I know I shouldn’t have hit you the other day,” I said. I chose my words carefully. “But I was angry. You know, as a parent, I feel responsible for everything that happens to you. I feel like there must be something I could have done differently, and if so, we would have gone down a different path. You might have gone down a different path.”

“What’s wrong with the path I went down?” she asked.

“You were gone for four years. We missed you. We lost you.”

“You mean you didn’t choose it for me.”

“Nobody chose it,” I said. “I know that.”

She turned away, her gaze drifting out the window to the small trees, their leaves turning orange and dropping to the ground. She didn’t answer. I backed off, changed gears.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about when you were little. I remember the time—you were just six years old, I guess—and you crossed the street when you weren’t supposed to. Do you remember that? You thought I couldn’t see you, that I didn’t know what you were doing, but I did. I came out to call you home, and instead I saw you cross the street and a car almost hit you. You ran right in front of it, and they slammed on their brakes so they didn’t run you over. Do you remember that?”

She was still looking out the window, but she spoke. “I remember. I can still see the grille and the headlights right in front of me. I think they honked their horn at me. I remember it that way.”

“I didn’t know what I was supposed to do,” I said. “Was I supposed to stop those people and yell at them? Was I supposed to drag the guy out of the car and beat him up?”

“It was my fault,” she said. “I ran out there without looking.”

“Were you scared?”

She nodded. “At first. When it first happened I was. But I also felt like it couldn’t touch me, like it wasn’t meant to run me over. I guess I felt protected in some way.”

“Protected by what? God?”

She shook her head immediately. “Not God.” She kept shaking her head. “Not God.”

“What then?”

“I don’t know.”

“I didn’t yell at you or hit you when you crossed the street because I didn’t think it was necessary. Kids do things like that. They test their boundaries. They make mistakes. It bothered me, of course. It scared me. But I never told your mom about it. She wouldn’t have been able to handle it. She never would have let you leave the house again.”

“She likes to overreact. I guess you both do.”

“You know, I look back at that, and I really wonder about the way you just stood there and looked me right in the eye, probably the same way you looked at the grille of that car, and you lied to me like it was nothing. Why did you think you could do that? Where did you learn to lie like that?”

“I guess I didn’t think it was any of your business,” she said.

“But you were a child,” I said. “Everything you did was my business.”

“That’s what parents think,” she said.

“This is a second chance, Caitlin, for all of us. And I’m not going to let it slip past me. I’m not.”

“Are you going to hit me again? Would that make you feel better? Some men like to do that.”

“Did that man hit you?” I asked. “Did he hurt you? You said things happened to you. What happened to you, Caitlin? Tell me.”

She shivered, her shoulders rising, her body quaking. But she didn’t yield. “It’s cold,” she said. “I either want to go in or go home.”

“Were you kept in the basement? In that room?”

She didn’t look at me. She scrambled for the door handle and tugged against it. She pressed against the door with her shoulder, but it didn’t give. The child safety locks were on. She couldn’t get out. “Locks,” she said. “You all use locks.”

“I’m protecting you, Caitlin. There’s a difference.”

She kept her eyes straight ahead. “If you want to go in, let’s go in,” she said. “I already told you I’m cold.”

Chapter Thirty-nine

S
usan greeted us on the porch. “Well, I think I know who this is,” she said, stepping aside and sweeping her arms out, directing us through the front door and into a wide, cluttered living room. The house smelled of something like fried onions, and a national news program played over the radio.

Caitlin looked uncertain. I nodded at her, letting her know it was okay to go in. Susan pointed to an overstuffed chair, and after a brief hesitation, Caitlin sat down.

“Would you like some tea, Caitlin? I have some tea in the kitchen,” Susan said.

“No.”

“Would you like anything?” Susan asked. “Water? A Coke?”

Caitlin’s eyes wandered around the room before settling on me. “My dad wants me to talk to you,” she said. “Instead of the shrink.”

“Very good,” Susan said. “What do you think of that?”

Caitlin kept her eyes on me when she spoke. “It’s fine, I guess,” she said. “But if he wants me to talk to you, he has to leave.”

“No,” I said. “That’s not the deal.”

“What deal?” Caitlin asked.

“Tom.” Susan’s voice cut through the room. “Tom, listen. I’ve talked to girls like Caitlin before, and sometimes they want to have their privacy. At least initially, while they’re getting to know me a little better.”

“Can we talk?” I said to Susan.

We moved off toward the doorway to the spotless kitchen. We stopped there so I could talk to Susan in a low voice but still keep my eye on Caitlin.

“I don’t like this,” I said. “I brought her here to learn something. For
me
to learn something.”

“I’m a stranger to her, Tom. She has to learn to trust me too.”

“All the more reason for me to stay.”

Susan looked behind her, then turned back to me. “Tom, you and I have trust issues to work through, don’t we? You’re feeling angry because I wasn’t up-front with you the first time we met, and I understand that. Maybe if I can talk to Caitlin alone, we can make up for that.”

She fixed me again with her wide-open eyes, and they worked on me. Despite what I considered her betrayal over Tracy, I believed this woman when she said she wanted to try to help. And beyond that, even if I didn’t completely believe her, I didn’t have anyone else to turn to.

“What am I supposed to do?” I asked.

“You can wait on the porch. It’s a nice day.”

I looked at Caitlin, who was pretending to ignore us. “She likes to run,” I said.

“I’ve been there before, Tom,” Susan said. “I’ll keep a close eye on her.”

I broke away from Susan and stopped by Caitlin’s chair. “Is this what you want?” I asked. “Me outside and you in here?”

She nodded.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be outside if you need me.” Susan walked with me to the door, and I whispered to her, “There’s more to this story, you know.”