Cemetery Girl

“Someone tried to get into the house and you left us?”

“I thought someone tried to get into the house.”

“Did you really fall?”

I looked toward the stairs. “It was wet. The dew. I was wearing these shoes.” I pointed at my feet distractedly. “I’m going to talk to her.”

“About what?”

“I’m going to ask her about Buster.”

“Good. Bring her down here.”

“No. I think it would be better if I went alone. She’ll listen to me.”

Abby made a bitter, dismissive noise. It sounded like Hut. “She hasn’t listened to you for four years, Tom. She never listened to you. You were more like friends. That’s why she liked you. She didn’t have to hear or obey anything you said.”

I stood up. Slowly, gingerly, taking one step at a time, I went up the stairs.

I knocked on the door of the master bedroom and didn’t wait for a response before I pushed the door open. Caitlin was sitting on the floor, her back against the bed frame, the bulk of a sleeping bag spread underneath her. She was wearing long underwear-tops and bottoms-and she looked wide awake, her eyes alert.

I moved over to the bed and eased myself down. A stitch of pain poked me in the side, and I winced. Caitlin showed no concern.

I pointed to my puffy cheek. “Do you know who did this to me? Buster. Your Uncle Buster. We haven’t fought like that since we were kids. It used to be more even then. But last night, he kicked my ass.”

Her eyes widened.

“Was he there, Caitlin? With Colter? Was Buster ever there?”

She looked down at her hands and started picking at the cuticles. Her nails were short, the skin around them red and scabbed, as though she’d picked them over more than once.

“Caitlin? I’m not going to tell Mom.”

I was ready to let it go when she spoke up.

“I thought I heard his voice once,” she said. She continued to stare at her hands. “I thought maybe I imagined it. At first. .” She paused a long time. “I used to hear a lot of voices. I used to think a lot of people were there, looking for me.” She hesitated. “I even used to think I heard you and Mom.”

“No, no,” I said.

“I couldn’t tell if it was imagined or real,” she said. “It seemed very real. It sounded just like both of you. I knew your voices. I could recognize them.”

“We were never there. If we were there, we wouldn’t have left without you.”

Caitlin seemed to consider this for a moment, then went on. “Once I heard someone talking and laughing, and it sounded just like Uncle Buster. I almost called his name, but I didn’t.”

“Did you see him?”

She shook her head.

“Caitlin, this is important. Did you ever see Uncle Buster in Colter’s house?”

“I didn’t,” she said. “Never.”

I put my hand on her shoulder, felt the textured fabric of the long johns. “Were you in the basement?” I asked. “Is that why you didn’t see him?”

She shook her head again, more forcefully.

“You can tell me, you know? If you want to tell me something and not have Mom know, I can do that. It’s okay.”

“I already told you what I want.”

I let my hand go limp and slip off her shoulder. “Really, Caitlin? Still?”

She picked at her fingers and didn’t pay attention. I touched her again.

“Come on, Caitlin. You can’t still want that. Not that. It’s okay to let that go.”

She spun out of my grip and crab-walked away from me.

“You don’t know,” she said. “Don’t say that.”

“Caitlin-”

“No. I already told you.”

I went to the closed door, opened it, and looked into the hallway. No sign of Abby. I closed the door. Caitlin looked surprised when I came back into the room and took my spot on the bed again. “You know how I said I was fighting with your uncle Buster? Do you know what we were fighting about?”

“I don’t care.”

“We were fighting about you. And I’d think you would care, because I was on your side.” I could tell she didn’t follow. “We went to see your friend last night. Mr. Colter.”

“You’re lying.”

“We went to his house. Actually, we went to his mother’s house, since that’s where he’s living these days. Do you know her? Did you know he burned his own house down? The one you lived in with him? He completely torched it.”

“He did?”

“He did. Why?”

“He said he would do that. I didn’t believe him.”

“He’s a man of his word, isn’t he? He destroyed any trace of you, any evidence that you were ever there. He covered his tracks. Except he couldn’t destroy that room in the basement, the one you must have lived in. The one you heard Buster’s voice from, right? Remnants of it survived the fire, enough so the police could see what it was for.”

The sun came through the window, creating a rectangle of light that covered half of Caitlin’s body.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” she asked.

“Because I talked to Mr. Colter. About you.”

“What did he say?”

I took my time now. I leaned back a little and folded my arms across my chest.

“What did he say?” she asked again.

“You want to see him again, right?”

She stomped her foot against the floor. “Goddamn it! What did he say?”