“Look, Tom. This came together quickly. I had to get that sketch out to the newspapers. Isn’t that what you wanted? And, yes, we do like to have the families at these things, but given the strain you’ve been under and the strain in your marriage, we—I—thought it might be best to talk about this on my own.”
“I can talk about my daughter if I want. I have the right.”
“You repeated a ghost story. Now anything good that would have come from the sketch could be overshadowed by what you said in there.” He turned toward the door and opened it. He stuck his head into the hallway and looked both ways. “Get out of here. Go out to your car and get out of here. And don’t talk to any reporters. I’ll try to make this right.” He gave me the once-over. “I think they’ll believe you’re under a great deal of stress and don’t know what you’re saying.” He remained in the door, holding it open for me.
But I wasn’t ready to go.
“Ryan, can I ask you something?”
He didn’t encourage me, but he didn’t walk away either.
“What do you think I saw in the park today? What was that?”
“You saw what you wanted to see,” he said. “Nothing more, nothing less. It’s human nature to do that. This is a difficult time for you, Tom. Very difficult.”
“Is that it? It’s just an illusion?”
“The feeling is real,” he said. “The desire to see your daughter.”
I shook my head. “But it’s not enough, is it? The desire? The wish? For me, it’s just not enough.”
Chapter Fourteen
My cell phone buzzed on the nightstand. I kept my eyes closed, ignoring it, but it seemed to buzz louder, shaking and jumping against the varnished wood like a beached fish. I reached out and answered it without looking at the caller ID screen.
“Yeah?”
“What the fuck is going on up there?”
“Buster?”
“Did you see this shit in the paper? Did you really say this stuff?”
I didn’t immediately follow what he was saying. I tried, through the fog, to reconstruct the events of the previous day and evening. It came back in a rush—my morning at the park and my encounter with the reporters at the police station.
“It’s in the paper down there?” I asked.
“Are you kidding? Missing child possibly seen in strip club, in the company of an adult male, and then the father of the missing child goes on some loony riff about seeing the girl in the park—”
“I know the story,” I said. Through the window I saw a flat, gray sky. The house felt cool, as though the weather was turning. “I’m just glad it’s getting coverage.”
“Don’t worry. Everybody knows your story now.”
I pulled the blanket over my bare legs and leaned back against the soft pillows, letting them support my head and shoulders.
“I’m surprised you called,” I said. “I thought maybe I’d pissed you off.”
“You did,” he said. “But I’ve been thinking about you and how tough this is on you.”
“Really?”
“Sure. I haven’t appreciated the toll it must take on you. And I don’t mean in the obvious ways. Hell, look at you. You lost your dad when you were little. And then you lose your only child. I guess I don’t think of you losing your dad since my dad was always around, but you did. You lost your old man when you were really young. And now you’ve got this with Caitlin. It’s tragic.”
“Thanks.”
“It looks like I was wrong anyway. Shit, this is the real deal, isn’t it? Did you meet this witness?”
“I did.” I told him the story of meeting Tracy in the strip club. He listened, interjecting with occasional exclamations of amazement and surprise. Telling the story to someone who was so into it, who was eager to hear it and who had the appropriate responses, felt gratifying. I felt better just laying the facts out there. “So that’s where we stand,” I said when I was finished.
“I hope they catch this guy. Fucking dirtbag pervert. Look at his fucking face. Have you ever seen such a son of a bitch? I’d like two minutes in a room alone with him—wouldn’t you? I’d rip his fucking guts out for doing that to such a beautiful little girl.”
I didn’t feel anything quite like Buster’s anger. Other parents whose children were victims of violent crimes spoke that way, and I always felt something must have been missing in me since I couldn’t summon the same sense of rage.
When I didn’t answer his rage with my own, Buster changed the subject. “How’s Abby taking all this?”
“Oh, well, she’s the same, you know? She’s still ‘moving on.’ She doesn’t want to hear about any of this. In fact, she’s moving out. She’s leaving me.”
“Oh,” Buster said, his voice flat.
“You’re not surprised?”
“Not really. I could tell she was looking to make a break for it. I saw it in her eyes.”
I sat up straighter in the bed. “You did?”
“Sure. She looked like a caged animal. And she’s probably doing the bouncy-bouncy with that pastor guy.”