Cemetery Girl

by David Bell

  “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

  Susan 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.”

  “There usually is,” she said.

  “And you’ll find it out?” I asked.

  She placed her hand on my chest, gently but insistently, and moved me back. “I’m going to do whatever I can, Tom.”

  It took fifteen minutes for Rosenbaum’s office to call my cell phone. When I answered on the porch, it was the man himself speaking, not his secretary.

  “Tom, we were just wondering where Caitlin is. She’s missing her appointment with me.”

  “I don’t think we’re going to make it in today. To be honest, I’ve decided to take her to someone else, another professional, someone who I thought might have a better rapport with her.”

  “You can’t do that,” he said, his voice rising. “It is not advisable to take a patient from one specialist to another. Who did you bring her to? Does your wife know about this? I know we haven’t made much progress yet, but a case like this can take a long time to work through.”

  “I have to go.”

  “Who have you taken her to? What’s the doctor’s name?”

  “It’s not a doctor.”

  “Not a doctor? Tom, I’m going to have to tell Detective Ryan. This case is at a critical juncture. If she’s not getting consistent care-”

  I hung up.

  I paced on the porch after I hung up with Rosenbaum, listening to the birds and watching the comings and goings of the students in the neighborhood. Soon enough, Abby called, and I knew I needed to reassure her.

  “It’s okay, Abby. She’s with me.”

  She sighed on her end of the line. “Did you really take her to another doctor?”

  “No, not that.”

  “Who then?” A pause. “Oh, Tom.” She didn’t sound angry. Instead, her voice dripped with judgment and concern. “That woman from the porch?”

  “She works with the police department. She’s a counselor-a support system-for victims of crime.”

  “Is she a doctor?”

  “No, she’s not, but she’s trying to help,” I said. “She listens. She’s trained to work with people who are having crises. She doesn’t have an agenda. She just listens and works with me.”

  “Caitlin’s my daughter, too. You need to tell me what you’re doing with her, especially now.”

  “I didn’t plan this. I just did it.”

  Someone spoke to Abby in the background. She muffled the phone with her hand and said something that sounded like, “It’s okay, it’s okay.” Then she came back on the line. “I feel bad that you think this woman was the only person you could turn to in a crisis. You’re so alone, Tom. I worry about you.”

  “I have to go, Abby. Caitlin’s going to be ready soon.”

  “Will you talk to me about this later? I don’t think this should be the end of our conversation.”

  “I have to go, Abby. Good-bye.”

  Chapter Forty

  It took another thirty minutes for Susan to come out onto the porch. Her face impassive, she made a beckoning gesture toward me, summoning me back inside. I followed.

  Caitlin sat in the same seat, but she clutched a ragged ball of Kleenex. She’d been crying, but when we made eye contact, she looked away, apparently ashamed.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Sit down, Tom.” Susan pointed at an empty chair.

  So I sat. My hands were clenched in my lap. I didn’t know what to do with them. I reached out to Caitlin, but she pulled back. Her rebuke felt physical, like a sting. When Susan was settled, I said, “Well?”

  Susan rested her hands on the tops of her knees. “Caitlin has been through a profound experience, one beyond her very young years.”

  “I can imagine.” Then I shook my head. “I can only imagine.”

  “I’m not sure you can. I’m not sure any of us can, Tom.”

  “Okay, you’re right. I can’t. I’m starting to understand that.”

  Susan looked at Caitlin. I wasn’t certain, but it seemed as though Caitlin made an almost imperceptible gesture, a quick, tiny nod of her head. Susan nodded back, confirming something. “Tom, Caitlin doesn’t want you to ask her any more questions about this subject. She has shared some things with me, and she told me it’s okay if I share them with you.”

  “She told you,” I said, looking over at Caitlin again. “But she didn’t tell me. Why won’t you tell me?”

  I became aware of a wheedling, pleading tone in my voice, so I stopped.

  “She fears your reaction. Like this. She fears you will think too much like a parent and not really hear what she is saying.”

  “Okay. I’ll listen. I’ll listen to you, or I’ll listen to her. I’ll listen to whatever is sent my way.”

  Susan looked at Caitlin. “Honey, are you sure you want me to be the one to tell him these things?”

  Caitlin nodded, still clutching the Kleenex.

  “Okay.” She turned back to me. “Tom, Caitlin has fallen in love with this man, the man at the police station. She wants you to know this so that you will understand why she tried to leave that night and why she doesn’t want to cooperate with the police. She doesn’t want this man to go to jail.”

  A pause, and I realized Susan wanted a response from me. The room felt smaller, closer and more cramped. It seemed as though I were heading down a blind alley, so I tried to turn around. “What exactly is your interest in all of this?” I asked. “I thought you wanted to help me.”

  She didn’t ruffle or back down. “I am.”

  I turned to Caitlin. “What do you want then?” I asked. “You just don’t want me to ask questions? You want the police to stop with the questions? Is that all you want?”

  Again the look passed between the two of them, and this time Caitlin spoke, although she didn’t look at me. “I want to see him,” she said.

  “No,” I said. Then I said it again. “No.” My voice was flat, but firm. It lacked emotion this time, at least to my own ears.

  Caitlin still didn’t look at me. “I won’t tell the police anything. They won’t have a case.”

  “They have other witnesses. People who saw the two of you out together. In strip clubs and God only knows where else. They’re going to nail him to the wall, with or without you. And I’ll be thrilled to watch it happen.” I stood up. “Come on. We’re going home.”

  “Tom-”

  “Enough,” I said. “You’ve done enough. Come on, Caitlin.”

  Again Caitlin looked to Susan, and again Susan nodded, but this time she nodded in my direction, telling Caitlin she needed to go with me.

  But Caitlin still didn’t move. She held the Kleenex, but her eyes were dry. And I feared I was about to truly see the limit of my own power. What would I do with her if she didn’t want to move, if she wanted to curl up in the chair, an inert mass of teenage resistance? How would I move her or reach her?

  But she wasn’t ready to make her last stand yet.

  She stood up, her shoulders hunched, her posture folded in on itself. When we reached the door, I placed my hand on her, my fingers encircling her bony arm, feeling its scrawniness through her sweatshirt. She looked up at me, then down at the place where my hand made contact with her body. She gave a little tug back, so I tightened my grip, adding not so subtle pressure. I didn’t care if she bruised.

  Before we went out the door, Susan said my name. “Tom? I’m happy to see Caitlin again. Or you. Together or alone. But some of this is beyond my expertise. She should-you all should-be dealing with the professionals as well.”

  I guided Caitlin out to the car. It felt like we were an odd pair of conjoined twins.

  When we were in, and the child safety locks were activated, Caitlin spoke up. “Okay,” she said. �
�I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

  “Everything?”

  She nodded. “One condition, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “When it’s done, when I’ve told you all that bullshit, you let me go. Back to John. Back to the life I want to have. Let me go, and I’ll tell you everything.”

  “He’s going to jail for the rest of his life.”

  “Then you don’t want the deal.”

  I shook my head. I put the car into gear and drove us home.

  Chapter Forty-one

  I was outside collecting the paper on Wednesday morning. The weather had swung back to warm again, and the trees and their dying leaves were putting on a red, orange, and gold show that was enough to lift my spirits in that quiet moment on the lawn. My neighbors began to embrace the spirit of the season by putting out pumpkins and corn sheaves and fake spiderwebs. A couple even placed fake tombstones in their yards, RIP scrawled across their front in dripping spray paint.

  I took a deep breath.

  Once, the Halloween after Caitlin had disappeared, a group of children came to our door. One of them was a teenage boy who almost looked too old to be trick-or-treating. He wore a floppy blond wig and a girl’s dress. He must not have known who I was or whose house he was at, because when I asked him who he was supposed to be, he replied casually, “Caitlin Stuart, that girl who disappeared.”

  I shut the door then and turned out the lights inside the house, leaving our bowl of candy on the porch for the kids to pick through if they wanted.

  It wasn’t possible to have a normal life. Not then, and it wasn’t possible even with Caitlin back. But in the yard that morning, just for a moment, I felt like a guy collecting his paper while his family slept inside. If I unrolled the paper and saw a news story about Caitlin or the arrest of John Colter, the spell would break.

  I didn’t go inside right away.

  I sat on the porch, barefoot and wearing my robe, the rolled-up paper in my hand, and just watched the morning unfold for a few quiet minutes. It was all waiting for me: Abby and Caitlin, John Colter, Ryan and the police. A light breeze blew and I took a deep breath, taking in the clean morning air, the sweet scent of decaying leaves.