Cemetery Girl

I started to move, then noticed Buster wasn’t coming with me. I waved at him.

He shook his head. “I think you should go alone.”

“What? You brought me here.”

“I know,” he said. “You have to do this alone. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

I took a step back. “What if he has a gun or something?”

Buster shook his head. “You heard that stuff at the cemetery. You have something he wants. So go.”

I went toward the back of the house, leaving Buster behind.

When I reached the back of the house, no one was there. The wooden door, its paint cracked and blistering, stood closed, the single bulb above it dark. The door led into the kitchen, but the lights were off inside.

A light came on above the stove, and I saw Colter’s bulky form moving toward the door. The light above the door came on as well, and a few late-season moths and gnats appeared instantly, drawn to the light and warmth. I heard locks untumbling, then a chain, and with some effort he yanked the door open.

His body filled the doorway, lit by the faint light behind. He didn’t come out, but stood there on the step, his arms at his side.

“Does she ask about me?” he asked.

I still felt shaky. Something hot roiled in my chest. “You’re a pig,” I said.

He took two steps down so that we were on the same level. He was shorter than me, stockier, with a wrestler’s body gone to middle-aged fat. “What are you here for?” he asked. “Are you here to shoot me or beat me? Do you want to kill me?”

I moved forward. My mouth was dry, but I worked my tongue around. When I thought I was close enough to him, I spit. It wasn’t an impressive job, but some of it hit him in the face, making his head jerk back.

He kept his eyes on me while he brought his arm up and wiped his face.

“Okay,” he said. “Is that out of the way?”

My heart pumped like an overworked engine, but I also felt foolish, my anger abating. A grown man spitting on another grown man.

He went on. “Because I don’t think that’s what you really came here for, is it?”

“You called me back here.”

“And you showed up at my window. With reinforcements. So. .” He spread his arms wide. “How’s she doing?”

“No, no. You don’t get to talk about her. You don’t get to know anything about her.”

“I know one thing about her. She won’t testify against me.”

“Give it time.”

He shook his head. “I love her. And more importantly, she loves me. That’s why she’ll never testify. Ever.”

“Is that what Tracy Fairlawn thought about you?”

He made a quiet snorting noise, a form of a laugh. “I see she’s been running her mouth. She never did understand the value of keeping quiet.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know. Probably run off. Partying somewhere.”

“If you love my daughter so much, why did you make her leave?”

He hesitated a moment, looking at the ground. Light from the bulb above the door spilled over his feet. He still wore the slippers. “I see you met little Jasmine. I guess that’s how you all ended up out here tonight.”

“Why did you send Caitlin away?”

“And what do I get out of talking to you?” he asked. “Are you going to forgive me? Grant me a pardon?”

“You. . owe me.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” I said. “I. . gave her to you. I let her walk the dog in the park. I let her out of my sight for too long. Let me guess-you went up to her in the park. You’d seen her walking there. And you went up to her and you asked her something about the fucking dog, right? Something inane and stupid. Maybe something that made her laugh or giggle. . and you had her. You had what you wanted. And I didn’t.”

I stopped. My hands shook and were cold, so I rubbed them together.

“I really shouldn’t be talking to you,” he said. “For all I know, this could all be a setup. You could be wearing a wire.”

“I’m not,” I said. “I don’t care about any of that. I really don’t. I want to know why she came back to us. Why?”

He considered me. I thought I saw real concern, real pity in his eyes. He shrugged. “I don’t really care if you are wearing a wire, I guess. It wouldn’t stand up in court, and I don’t really plan on sticking around to see the judge.” He kicked at a pebble on the ground. “At the time, I thought Caitlin needed to go. That stuff showed up in the paper, that stuff Tracy was saying. The sketch of me. I thought about just hightailing it out of here, packing the car and starting over somewhere else. But I didn’t want to be on the run all the time. People wouldn’t understand the two of us. We could pass ourselves off as father and daughter for a while. Caitlin was getting older, too. I thought maybe she needed a better life than the one I could give her. It was just me and her. I couldn’t teach her about being a woman. Not everything anyway. I could always start over with a new girl, a younger one. Jasmine maybe.”

“Did Caitlin want to come back home?” Just asking the question made me feel weak, like I was a beggar. But I couldn’t not ask. I needed to know.

“No, she didn’t.”

Don’t send me away. Don’t send me away.

“How did you get her to go?”