“I’d like to see her. Can I see her, please?”
“Of course, honey. Of course.” I held her hand. “She’s upset by all of this, your mom. It’s hard on her. It’s been hard on both of us. I know it’s been harder on you—don’t get me wrong—but we’ve been so worried.”
“Did you get divorced or some shit like that?”
Shit?
“No. Why would you ask me that?”
She stared straight ahead and spoke in a monotone, almost programmed voice, like she was repeating something she’d heard somewhere.
“I just know that relationships can be strained, they can be put under a lot of pressure when things change. Sometimes relationships don’t survive the changes. That’s part of life.”
She nodded when she finished speaking, a kind of exclamation mark to the statement. For the first time, I saw real emotion in her eyes. She looked upset, as though she didn’t really believe or understand what was just said. I wondered where those words had come from, if she’d been coached to say them.
“Who told you that, Caitlin? Where did you hear all that?”
“I’d like to see Mom now, I guess.”
I didn’t want to leave her, even for a minute, but her little speech unnerved me in a way I couldn’t explain. I stood up and looked out the door to where the female officer waited. I told her Caitlin wanted to see her mother.
“Tell my wife, Abby, I think she needs to come back here, please.”
When I went back in, Caitlin stared at me.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I need to ask you to do something, something pretty important.”
I went across and resumed my place on the couch. I started to reach for her hand but saw she was keeping them both in her lap, intertwined with each other. I settled for resting my hand on her shoulder.
“Of course. What do you need?”
“I need a favor from you, a big one.”
Her voice took on a slight tremor. It picked up a hint of the emotion I saw—and which still remained—in her eyes.
“After four years, I owe you a few favors, I guess.”
She looked down at her hands, bit her bottom lip. “I don’t want you to ever again ask me where I was or what happened while I was gone. Please.”
I let my hand slide off her back. “We don’t have to talk about it today. I shouldn’t have asked.”
She shook her head. “Not just today. I don’t ever want you to ask me about it. Ever. You have to promise me that. Please.”
“But, honey, they—People are going to want to know. They have to know. If a child disappears for four years, they have to know—”
“I’m not a fucking child.”
I leaned back. “Who taught you to talk that way?”
“Come on. Promise.”
“If something happened to you, something that embarrassed you or made you feel ashamed, it might be better to talk about it.”
“I’m not ashamed.”
Now she looked up, locked her eyes onto mine. If I’d been offered this deal the day before—have your daughter back, but you can’t ask her where she’s been—I’d have taken it faster than the speed of light.
“Okay, I promise,” I said. “No more questions.”
She nodded and looked at her hands again, her face displaying no real sense of satisfaction or relief.
The door clicked open, and Abby entered. She held her head up and displayed a genuine smile. Her eyes were full of tears.
“Oh,” she said, her hand to her chest. “Oh. Oh.”
She didn’t come across the room toward us. She stood by the closed door, staring at us, her hand still to her chest, like a patron struck speechless by a beautiful work of art.
Then Abby dropped her purse and rushed across the room. She fell onto the couch next to Caitlin, wrapping her in her arms. I looked away but heard the sound of Abby crying and sniffling.
Caitlin stood up suddenly. Without warning, she left the couch, slipping out of Abby’s grip and taking a few steps toward the center of the room. I thought Abby might have overwhelmed her, piled too much affection and attention onto her too quickly, but Caitlin didn’t look bothered or distressed. She still wore the same preternaturally calm expression on her face, her features as smooth and undisturbed as the unbroken surface of a quiet lake. She didn’t say anything. She simply moved away, the coffee mug still in her hand, and stood there in silence, her gestures suggesting she was tired of hugging her long-lost parents and now she wanted to be left alone.
Abby and I looked at each other, as puzzled as we were when a newborn Caitlin cried and cried for hours for no apparent reason. But we could always guess then. Colic. Gas. Hunger. Fear. My mind scrambled, and I concluded it was all too much, too soon. I needed to remember not to push too hard.
I tried to think of something to say, but we were saved by another knock on the door. Abby and I said, “Come in,” at the same time, and Ryan appeared.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but we really need to get Caitlin to the hospital to get checked over.”