My cell phone buzzed on the nightstand. I kept my eyes closed, ignoring it, but it seemed to buzz louder, shaking and jumping against the varnished wood like a beached fish. I reached out and answered it without looking at the caller ID screen.
“Yeah?”
“What the fuck is going on up there?”
“Buster?”
“Did you see this shit in the paper? Did you really say this stuff?”
I didn’t immediately follow what he was saying. I tried, through the fog, to reconstruct the events of the previous day and evening. It came back in a rush-my morning at the park and my encounter with the reporters at the police station.
“It’s in the paper down there?” I asked.
“Are you kidding? Missing child possibly seen in strip club, in the company of an adult male, and then the father of the missing child goes on some loony riff about seeing the girl in the park-”
“I know the story,” I said. Through the window I saw a flat, gray sky. The house felt cool, as though the weather was turning. “I’m just glad it’s getting coverage.”
“Don’t worry. Everybody knows your story now.”
I pulled the blanket over my bare legs and leaned back against the soft pillows, letting them support my head and shoulders.
“I’m surprised you called,” I said. “I thought maybe I’d pissed you off.”
“You did,” he said. “But I’ve been thinking about you and how tough this is on you.”
“Really?”
“Sure. I haven’t appreciated the toll it must take on you. And I don’t mean in the obvious ways. Hell, look at you. You lost your dad when you were little. And then you lose your only child. I guess I don’t think of you losing your dad since my dad was always around, but you did. You lost your old man when you were really young. And now you’ve got this with Caitlin. It’s tragic.”
“Thanks.”
“It looks like I was wrong anyway. Shit, this is the real deal, isn’t it? Did you meet this witness?”
“I did.” I told him the story of meeting Tracy in the strip club. He listened, interjecting with occasional exclamations of amazement and surprise. Telling the story to someone who was so into it, who was eager to hear it and who had the appropriate responses, felt gratifying. I felt better just laying the facts out there. “So that’s where we stand,” I said when I was finished.
“I hope they catch this guy. Fucking dirtbag pervert. Look at his fucking face. Have you ever seen such a son of a bitch? I’d like two minutes in a room alone with him-wouldn’t you? I’d rip his fucking guts out for doing that to such a beautiful little girl.”
I didn’t feel anything quite like Buster’s anger. Other parents whose children were victims of violent crimes spoke that way, and I always felt something must have been missing in me since I couldn’t summon the same sense of rage.
When I didn’t answer his rage with my own, Buster changed the subject. “How’s Abby taking all this?”
“Oh, well, she’s the same, you know? She’s still ‘moving on.’ She doesn’t want to hear about any of this. In fact, she’s moving out. She’s leaving me.”
“Oh,” Buster said, his voice flat.
“You’re not surprised?”
“Not really. I could tell she was looking to make a break for it. I saw it in her eyes.”
I sat up straighter in the bed. “You did?”
“Sure. She looked like a caged animal. And she’s probably doing the bouncy-bouncy with that pastor guy.”
“You think that?” The twist of jealousy that knotted in my gut surprised me.
“Who knows?” he said. He sounded less certain now. He cleared his throat. “I’m just saying. . You know, you said you two weren’t exactly kicking it anymore, so why bother with her? You’re better off without her at your side. You need to know you have people there you can count on.”
“Yeah.” I stared at our ceiling. A long, narrow crack ran through the plaster, bisecting the room; it needed to be painted. “I was hoping maybe you could come up for a few days. You can crash here. I don’t know what’s going to happen next with this suspect. Like you said, it would be nice to have someone here, someone who’s on my side.”
Buster was silent. I waited.
“Well, you know,” he said, “I can’t exactly just break away at a moment’s notice. I’m working and everything.” He cleared his throat.
“Just a couple of days. .”
“Why don’t we wait and see how this plays out,” he said. “If you get big news or a break in the case, let me know. I’ll come up.” I heard someone talking in the background, a woman. Then the sound was muffled, like his hand was over the phone. I heard his voice but couldn’t make out what he was saying. Then the sound cleared, and he was back on the line. “Okay?”
“Are you dating someone?”
“Here and there,” he said, his voice low. “So we’ll keep in touch and see what happens. Right?”
“Yeah. Right. I guess I need to work on my book.”
“Right. Idle hands and all that. Did I ask you what it’s about? Is it Melville?”
“Hawthorne. Remember?”
“Cool. The Scarlet Letter. Man, I hated that book.”
I heard the voice again in the background.
“Okay, okay,” he said. I couldn’t tell if he was talking to me or someone else. “Okay, Tom, I’ve got to run.”
“Okay,” I said, but he was already off the phone.