Long Time Gone

“It’s old and big and it’s made out of brick.”

“So it’s a nice house, then?”

“I guess.”

“And are there other children living nearby?”

“I don’t know.”

So she’s not in school yet. If she were, she’d know the other kids in the neighborhood.

“Your mama looks after the lady upstairs. What does your daddy do?”

“He works.”

“What does he do?”

“I dunno.”

“Does he dress up when he goes to work?”

“No. And he comes home all dirty. He has to shower before we can eat dinner.”

“Let’s go back to the window for a moment. What time of day is it?”

“Afternoon, I think.”

“And if you could go outside, what would you do?”

“Watch ants or play jacks or hopscotch or hide in my secret hiding place.”

“Where’s that?”

“Around behind the shed.”

“Who do you play jacks with?”

In answer, Mary Katherine twisted her hands and shook her head.

“The person you can’t talk about?”

Mary Katherine nodded.

We’re talking about a playmate then, I scribble into my notebook. But she just said she didn’t know any other children.

“How old is this person you play jacks with?” Fred asked. “About the same age as you?”

Sister Mary Katherine shook her head.

“Older or younger?” Fred asked.

“Older.”

“How much older?” Fred persisted.

I swear, the guy could have been a cop. Right down the line, he was asking the same questions I would have asked had I been there.

Mary Katherine shrugged. “I dunno.”

There was a long silence after that, as though Fred himself wasn’t quite sure where to turn next. Finally he said, “Bonnie Jean, do you ever play pretend?”

“Sometimes.”

“What’s your favorite game of pretend?”

“I pretend I’m a horse, running through the tall grass.”

“Would you play a game of pretend with me right now?”

“I guess.”

“Okay, so let’s go back to that chair beside the window-the one you were standing on a little while ago.”

Once again Sister Mary Katherine squirmed in her seat. “Please,” she said. “Don’t make me go back there.”

“You won’t,” Fred assured her. “We’ll pretend there’s a camera instead of you standing on that chair. A movie camera. If the camera tells us what you see outside the window, the camera might get in trouble, but you won’t. Do you think that would work?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Let’s try it. If it gets too scary, we’ll stop, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Tell me about the chair. You said you were standing on it. How does that work?”

“I pushed it up to the front of the sink.”

“The kitchen sink?”

“Yes. And then I climbed up on it.”

“The chair or the sink?”

“The chair. I had to lean across the sink to see out. I had to hold on to the windowsill to keep from falling.”

“All right. Now we’re going to put a camera up there in exactly the same spot where you were. You won’t even have to be there. Okay?”

“Okay.” Sister Mary Katherine’s voice was little more than a whisper.

“Now you tell me. Is the camera in the same spot you were?”

“Yes.”

“What does the camera see?”

“A car.”

“Where?”

“Coming up the driveway.”

“Your driveway?”

“No. Hers.”

Need her to describe the car, I write. Make, model, year.

“What does the camera see next?”

“The car stops and a man gets out.”

“A passenger or the driver?”

“Driver.”

“Do you know this man? Is he someone you’ve seen before?”

Sister Mary Katherine shrugged. “Maybe,” she said.

“What does he do?”

“He walks away from the car. He goes up to Mimi’s back porch and knocks on the door.”

Mimi! I jot down. The name from the inscription in the book.

“What happens then?”

“She comes to the door. The camera can’t hear what the man’s saying, but it can see that he’s angry. He’s yelling at her.”

“And then?”

At that point, Sister Mary Katherine dissolved into frantic tears. “I can’t,” she said. “I don’t want to see anymore. Don’t make me watch. Please.”

Dismayed and relieved, I listened as Fred MacKinzie walked Sister Mary Katherine away from the edge of Bonnie Jean Dunleavy’s cliff of remembrance. He had been so close. I was frustrated that he hadn’t gone ahead, but the exhaustion and strain on Mary Katherine’s face when she emerged from the trance told me Fred had done the right thing. He’d managed to come up with a few nuggets of information. In situations like this, something is better than nothing.

“How are you feeling?” he asked Sister Mary Katherine.

“Okay,” she said. “But tired, very tired. Did you learn anything?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Do you remember someone named Mimi?”

“Not right off the bat. You think my nightmare may have something to do with a person named Mimi?”

Fred nodded.

“Did I mention her last name?”

“No.”

Suddenly Mary Katherine’s face brightened. “Wait a minute. Now I do remember. There was a Mimi in my life.