worse than the cops?”
“Did Caitlin tell you anything when you were alone with her?” I asked, jerking my thumb toward the house. “Did she talk to you?”
“Not really. We talked about TV. She said she’s watched the last few seasons of
“So she could watch TV, wherever she was.”
“I guess so.” He seemed to be thinking about something. “Hey?” he said.
“What?”
“Is she-? I mean-did they do a pregnancy test at the hospital?”
“They did. At the time, I thought it was ridiculous.”
He nodded. “So then, it was cool, right? I mean, there’s nothing else to know about that, is there?”
“That’s one thing off my list.”
I stood up. Buster reached for the door and pulled it open.
“If you don’t mind,” I said, “I think we need to be alone now. Abby’s upset. . and Caitlin. .”
Buster gave me the same smirk I saw him give Ryan.
“I was just getting the door for you, chief. I thought you could use a hand.”
He held it open while I went in, then let it slam shut behind me.
Chapter Thirty-two
I wasn’t sure what brought me awake.
It was a few days after Ryan’s visit. Abby and Caitlin were sleeping in the master bedroom, and I was deep asleep in the guest room when something woke me up.
I wondered if Caitlin was stirring, trying to get out. I had suggested to Abby that we call a locksmith, that we have the windows and doors secured better than they were. Abby vetoed that idea. She said we had to resume normal life as much as possible, that we couldn’t all live like prisoners in our own home.
Did something make a noise?
Rain?
I swung my feet to the floor, listening.
The house was quiet, deathly so. The evening was clear, the stars bright.
I’d imagined it. Maybe it was a dream, the subconscious emergence of some unremarkable phantom.
I needed to roll back under the covers and close my eyes, but a part of me couldn’t let go. I wanted to- needed to? — look outside, into the yard and the street.
I stood up in my drawstring pants and T-shirt. I parted the curtains.
The streetlights glowed. The shadows beneath the trees were thick and black. Nothing moved. No cars.
Then I saw the girl.
She stepped into the bright circle created by the streetlight, looking like a stage actor. She stopped there, seemingly without destination or intent. She looked the same as in the cemetery, like Caitlin.
I pressed my hands against the glass, almost shouted.
She looked up and darted out of the light.
I ran.
I hit the stairs going full speed, trusting to the fates that I wouldn’t fall and break my neck. I knew I’d wake Abby and Caitlin, but I didn’t care.
She looked so much like Caitlin.
I scrambled to open the door.
I got the door open and ran in the direction I’d seen the girl go.
I was still barefoot. I slipped on the dewy grass, almost went down. Then I ran into the street, the small bits of dirt and road grime pricking my soles.
Except for where the streetlights glowed, everything was inky black. I ran down the center of the street, heading toward the park. My neighbors’ houses were dark, the world closed up and in bed.
Why was the girl out there?
I finally stopped halfway up the street. She was gone. Disappeared.
And I was out of breath and feeling foolish.
But she’d been at the house. She’d wanted something from us.
From me? From Caitlin?
Huffing and puffing, I turned and went home.
Lights were on upstairs and downstairs. Abby and Caitlin were awake.
I limped up the front steps, my feet aching and bruised, and was greeted by Abby, who held the door open for me.
“What the hell’s going on?” she asked.
I came in and sat down in the living room. I was sweating. My T-shirt clung to my body. I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand.
“The girl,” I said.
“Caitlin?”
I shook my head. “The girl I saw in the cemetery. She was outside tonight, in the street. She was looking at our house.”
Abby didn’t say anything. She just stared.
I knew what she was thinking:
I looked past Abby. Caitlin stood at the top of the stairs. She wore the Fields University nightgown Abby had bought her, and she looked down at us, her feet on different steps like she’d been frozen in midstride.
“You know that girl, don’t you?” I asked.
“Tom-”
“You know who she is and what she wants.”
Caitlin turned to go, back up the stairs and to the bedroom.
“That girl knows that man, doesn’t she?” I asked. “She looks just like you, Caitlin, like when you were a little girl. I’m going to get ahold of her.”
She was gone. Abby placed her hand on my shoulder.
“Easy, Tom. Take it easy.”
I didn’t realize I’d been shouting. I tried to calm down, but it took a long time for me to catch my breath.
We returned to Dr. Rosenbaum’s office a few days later. He asked to see Abby and me first, leaving Caitlin again under the watchful eye of Mary the receptionist. Rosenbaum sat without notes or pen, just the coffee mug in his right hand and the same casually expectant look on his face.
“Anything different at home?” Rosenbaum asked.
Abby and I looked at each other. Before she could say anything about my adventure from a few nights earlier, I said, “Nothing unusual.”
“Things are better then?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t say better,” Abby said. “Do you think it’s a good idea for Detective Ryan to press Caitlin about what happened already?”
“How do you mean?”
“He came over the other day, and he really pushed her hard about what happened to her. He was almost aggressive. I didn’t think it was best for her to hear that already.”
Rosenbaum pursed his lips. He set the coffee mug down. “Right. Detective Ryan mentioned to me that he had talked to Caitlin at your house. Sometimes the police press like that because they think the case is time sensitive. Say, for instance, the man who did this is thinking of leaving the area, or even committing another, similar
