Cemetery Girl

As I came through the back door, I heard Abby gasp. I rushed in and found Abby and Caitlin standing at the entrance to the dining room-and Buster sitting at the head of the table, a mug of coffee steaming in front of him.

“How did you get in?” I asked.

“You need to find a new place for the Hide-A-Key,” he said. “I would think a family that-you know-you might be more careful. Besides,” he said, standing up, “I wanted to come by when she’s awake. Right?”

Caitlin stood close to Abby, uncertain. Abby rested her arm on Caitlin’s shoulder, a protective gesture. But Buster didn’t relent. He opened his arms wide.

“You remember me, don’t you?” he said.

And Caitlin nodded, almost spasmodically. “Buster!” She went to him quickly, allowing herself to be folded up in his arms. He squeezed her tight. I watched them, saw the real emotion on Buster’s face as he held on to my daughter. He eased his grip and held her back at arm’s length, looking her over.

“Goddamn,” he said. “Look at you. You’re all grown up.”

Abby cringed at his language, but Buster didn’t notice.

“I never thought I’d see you again, girl. I really didn’t. This is like some sort of dream come true. You’re back from the dead.”

A blush rose on Caitlin’s cheeks, but she didn’t say anything.

“You’re going to have to tell me all about it,” he said. “Where you were, what you were doing. All about your adventures.”

“Maybe Caitlin needs to come upstairs and change her clothes,” Abby said. “We got her a bunch of new clothes just now.”

“Yeah?” Buster looked Caitlin over again. “You’re right. It looks like you’re wearing your mom’s clothes. No sixteen-year-old should have to do that.” He let her go. “Okay, but we’ll talk after that.”

Before Abby and Caitlin left the room to go upstairs, Abby looked back at me. “Maybe you can fill William in on all that’s been happening,” she said.

When they were gone, Buster sipped his coffee.

“What is your deal?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You were talking to her like she’d been on a cruise or something. After you came by last night, she ran off. Or did you know that already?”

“What are you talking about?” he asked. “What happened?”

“Do you know?”

“Jesus, Tom.” He shook his head. “Can you for once-for five fucking minutes-just forget about your own bullshit? And Abby’s? Will you?”

“What are you doing here?” I remained standing, watching him.

“I came to see my niece. I’m family, too. Remember? I know sometimes you want to act like we’re not, but we are, even if you want to deny it.”

My hand was on his shoulder. I hadn’t realized I’d reached out to hold him, but my grip was tight. I let go.

“No more interrogating, okay?”

“Okay. Jesus.” He stared into his mug. “She looks different.”

“She’s older.”

“She’s skinny. Worn. Like she’s been through it. And she has that awful, dykey haircut. What are the cops saying?”

I went over to the table and sat at the opposite end from him. “I don’t know. All we do is hurry up and wait.”

“We’ll never know what happened to her,” he said. “The cops, they’re never going to get anywhere.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked, studying his face.

“Do they think she ran away?”

“Maybe.”

“Or they think I did it, right? They’re chasing their tails.”

“She’s back,” I said. “That’s what’s important.”

But the words felt put on, like I was speaking lines from a script.

I heard Caitlin and Abby on the stairs, then in the kitchen. Before they entered the dining room, Buster said, “You keep telling yourself that, Tom. Just go ahead and keep telling yourself that.”

I knew it would bother Abby, so I asked Buster to stay and eat with us. The four of us sat down at the table together, facing a meal of ham, scalloped potatoes, and green beans left by someone from Abby’s church. Between the church and some neighbors, we had enough food to last for weeks. We were all ready to eat, even Caitlin, but Abby bowed her head and closed her eyes. She reached out for Caitlin’s hand, and I was happy to see that Caitlin made no effort to return the gesture. Instead, she grabbed her fork and started eating while Abby murmured a prayer, her eyes shut so tight it looked like it hurt. When Abby opened her eyes again and saw Caitlin eating already, she pursed her lips a little but didn’t say anything.

Caitlin’s eating made me cringe, but for a different reason. She ate quickly, shoveling the food from the plate to her mouth with the rapidity of an automated machine. She didn’t pause long enough to take a breath or use a napkin to wipe her face. And when she chewed, she kept her mouth open wide, the food on display for all to see, her teeth and lips making smacking sounds that would have put Frosty to shame. Abby and I had ridden Caitlin hard when she was little, making sure she knew good table manners, but it was all out the window now. She conducted herself like she’d been living in a zoo for four years. Abby and I didn’t even bother to look at each other during the meal. We each knew what the other was thinking.

All that effort wasted. .

But Buster spoke up.