Caitlin continued to stare at me, her lips parted. The room, the house was silent. Outside a diesel engine rumbled. A school bus moved up the street, stopping and starting, collecting neighborhood kids for school. The simple routines of everyday life. Caitlin would have been driving herself to school that year. We would have bought her a cheap car, added her to the insurance.
Instead. .
“Are you saying. .?”
“You want to go with him, right?” I asked.
She nodded slowly. She brought her hands together again and started picking at them.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Yes. I didn’t think you’d let me go.”
“You want to go. And a father is supposed to make his daughter happy, right?”
She kept picking at her fingers.
I started to get up, but Caitlin spoke.
“Parents aren’t supposed to let their children go, are they?” she asked. “Not ever?”
I settled back down on the mattress. She wasn’t looking at me but continued to study her hands. Still, I could tell she was listening. “I’ve known since the day you were born I’d have to let you go someday. You were going to grow up and have a life. Get married maybe. Move away. Any parent who isn’t aware of that is setting themselves up for emotional hardship.”
I waited. Finally she said, “But it happens too soon sometimes, right?”
“It does. Like me and you. Are you reconsidering?”
“No.” She looked up. “Not at all.” She shrugged. “What about Mom?”
“She’s a big girl.”
“Will the two of you stay married?”
“No. But we aren’t going to stay married whether you’re here or not.” I felt relieved having said it out loud. “Does that bother you?”
She shook her head hard, almost too hard. She looked like she wanted to make sure I knew how little it bothered her. Abby knocked lightly on the bedroom door. Caitlin and I both jumped a little. I wondered how long she’d been out there and what she’d heard, but when I opened the door for her, she didn’t look angry.
“What are you two talking about?” she asked.
I looked back at Caitlin. “I was just telling Caitlin what Detective Ryan said.”
“Oh.”
“She heard most of it from up here,” I said. “And as for the rest. . I guess she didn’t have much of a response to it.”
Abby looked like she wanted to say something to Caitlin, but she didn’t. She turned to me and said, “Liann’s here. She said she wants to talk to you.”
I was halfway through the door when Caitlin’s voice stopped me.
“Thanks, Dad,” she said.
I looked back. “For what?”
“For telling me what you told me.”
“No problem,” I said and headed downstairs to see Liann.
Abby followed me to the stairs. Halfway down, she placed her hand on my arm. “Did you hear that back there, Tom? She called you Dad. That’s something, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “Yes, it is.”
“Did you ask her about Buster?”
“I did.” I paused. Something caught in my throat. My eyes burned. “She thought she heard him one day. His voice.” I felt the tears coming. I choked back on them, held them in. “She said she used to think she heard our voices.”
Abby reached out to me. “It’s okay, Tom.”
“I used to imagine her screaming. Calling my name in the park. I should have been there. I should have stopped it.”
“It’s not your fault, Tom.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger. “I thought you thought it was.”
“It’s not anybody’s fault.” She took my hand and squeezed it in hers. “She’s home, Tom. She’s here. And they know who did this, and they’re going to arrest him. We can move on. What matters is where we are now.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” My hand slipped out of hers. “I’m going to see what Liann wants.”
“And we need to get her back into normal life soon. School, church, friends. It’s time.”
“Once Colter’s taken care of,” I said and continued on down the steps.
Liann sat at the dining room table, a cell phone to her ear. When I came in the room, she folded the phone shut and slid it into her purse.
“You look like shit,” she said.
“Thanks.”
I wanted coffee, so I went to the kitchen and poured a cup. When I sat down, Liann cleared her throat.
“The atmosphere seems a little charged in this household.”
“You haven’t heard?”
She shook her head. “I’ve been distracted by other things.”
I told her about Buster and his connection to Colter. Liann listened, her face cool and dispassionate. When I was finished, I asked her what she thought of it all.
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” she said.
“He’s my brother. .” I didn’t know what else to say.
“They’ve been looking at him hard from the very beginning,” she said. “I can assure you of that. They always look hard at the family. And as you and I both know. .”
“Family members are likely to be involved.”
“Amen,” she said. “It’s the gospel truth ninety-eight percent of the time.”
“But this time? Buster? He loves Caitlin. He’s crazy about her. Always has been. I’ve had my doubts about it, their closeness. But I think he just loves her.”
“Love’s got nothing to do with it. If he’s mixed up with the wrong crowd, it’s his butt that’s on the line. If he tells the wrong guy the wrong thing.”
The coffee tasted burnt and bitter. It needed cream and sugar. I almost pushed the mug away.
“Have you talked to him?” Liann asked.
I looked toward the stairs. No sign nor sound of Abby. “You’re my lawyer, right?” I asked.
“Sure.”
I spoke in a low voice. “I saw him last night. In the cemetery across the street.”
Liann’s body stiffened. Her shoulders went up, then settled back down. “What was he doing there?”
“He was coming to talk to me, I guess. At the house. It was the middle of the night. .” I couldn’t tell her about the girl, Jasmine. Not yet.
“And you’re not telling the police about this?”
I shook my head. “I can’t turn him in.”
“After what he did?”
“Allegedly. You always say not to trust the police. And you don’t understand, Liann-my relationship with him is complicated. This goes all the way back to our childhoods.”
“They could nail you for obstruction,” she said. “You know something, and you’re not sharing it with the police.”
“It’s my fault. He wanted to borrow money from us. I didn’t give him the full amount, so he owed these guys something. This could have been stopped. .”
She leaned in close to me and placed her hand on top of my forearm. “What are you planning on doing, Tom? What’s going on?”
I worked my arm loose and choked down more coffee. “Nothing. I just want to see the guilty party behind bars.”
She placed her hand on my arm again, forcefully enough that the coffee mug shook and liquid sloshed over onto the table.
“Hey.”
“I can’t protect you from everything, Tom,” she said, her teeth gritted. “I know what your motivations are.”
“You do?”
“You want to know what happened out there, during those four years she was gone. You’re less concerned with justice.”
“I’m not as noble as you, I guess.”
“You think you want to know these things. But do you? Really? Do you want to stick your nose in all that darkness? Will it make you feel better to know that whatever you imagined isn’t as bad as what really happened? Because I don’t think you can-even on your worst day-imagine what really went on in that house.”
I didn’t look at her. I traced my finger through the spilled coffee, smearing it around on the tabletop. She stood up.
“Are you even going to ask me why I came here today?” she asked.
Once we’d started talking, I’d forgotten. “Why are you here?” I asked.
“They found a body floating in a pond over in Mayfair County. No ID on it yet, but they think it might be Tracy Fairlawn.”
She didn’t say anything else. She let the news sink in. I felt sick. Hollowed out. A bitter taste filled my mouth, but not from the coffee.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“I don’t need to wait for the official ID. I know it’s her. Girls like her often end up floating in ponds like that. Or hidden in the woods. Or thrown in a ditch. It’s the lucky few who don’t.”
Like Caitlin, she meant. The lucky one.
“I’m going to go sit with her mother,” she said. “Call me if anything else changes. Like your mind.”
She left me there, still smearing the coffee around like a troubled, distracted child.