“Really. She’ll want to see you.” I looked up at the ceiling, listening. Wondering. “But she’s asleep now. Really zonked out. It’s been a hell of a day.”
“Goddamn.” Buster looked up at the ceiling too, his face curious. Then he cleared his throat. “I love that kid,” he said.
“Yeah . . . Abby asked Caitlin about something, just before.”
“Did she ask about that guy? Did they arrest him?”
“No, there’s been no arrest.”
“I want to tell you, Tom, I want to go out and find this guy.” His voice sounded heavy, heated. He leaned in close to me with a caninelike ferocity. “I want to get in my car and go looking for him. What are the fucking cops doing? Sitting on their asses?”
“I don’t know. They’re taking it slow.”
“Fuck them.”
“Look, like I started to tell you . . . Abby asked Caitlin something upstairs, something about you.”
“She did?”
“Yeah.” I moved slow. Cautious. “She asked Caitlin if she saw you during the four years she was gone.”
He fell quiet. I hesitated, wondering if I’d pushed too hard.
“I don’t understand what you’re asking me . . .”
I kept my voice even lower. “It’s just that Caitlin didn’t answer the question exactly. She didn’t say no, so I wanted to ask you.”
“You’re asking me if I saw Caitlin during the last four years, right? Right? Is that what you’re saying, just so we’re clear on this?”
“Buster, just answer the question.”
“You’re a real motherfucker, Tom—you know that? You’re as bad as the fucking cops. Worse. I’m your brother. To ask me a question like that . . .”
“Did you see her, Buster?” My voice rose. “Do you know what happened? Answer me.”
“Why don’t you ask Caitlin again? Oh, wait.” He thumped his hand against his forehead, an exaggerated gesture. “She probably can’t stand to talk to her fucked-up and crazy parents, can she?”
“Buster—”
He stormed to the front door and tugged against the lock until it came open.
“Go to hell, Tom. Go straight to hell.”
Abby was waiting for me in the kitchen, her hands knitted together. “What were you two arguing about?” she asked.
“We weren’t arguing.” I distracted myself by picking at the salad she was making.
“I heard you raise your voice.”
“I asked him if he saw Caitlin during the last four years.”
“And?”
“What do you expect? He got pissed off and yelled at me. He acted like it hurt him.”
“What was his answer?”
“He didn’t really give me one.”
“Don’t you see?” She pointed at me. “That’s how Caitlin acted. I know he’s your stepbrother, but—”
“Half brother.”
“I think we need to talk to the police about all of this, don’t you?”
“It’s not that simple, Abby. He is my brother. We grew up together. He was always there for me when we were kids. No matter how bad our home life got, Buster was with me. He stood by me.”
I opened the oven door and looked in. The cheese on the lasagna was bubbling.
“This food is ready,” I said. “Have you heard anything from upstairs?”
“She was pretty sound asleep when I was up there, but I thought I just heard some footsteps.”
I closed the oven door, then looked up. “Probably going to the bathroom.”
“Tom, I need to know you’re taking this seriously. I’ve always been nervous about Buster, with the way he seemed so . . . fascinated by Caitlin, you know? Like they were two kids with crushes on each other instead of uncle and niece.”
“Abby . . .”
“You’ve seen it, too. You’ve commented on it. Don’t make this all about me, Tom. You can’t.”
She was right. I’d noticed Buster’s interest in Caitlin. I’d always managed to chalk up the closeness between them to the fact that she was his only niece, so he showered her with attention whenever he was around. But still . . . an older man, a younger girl. Buster’s checkered past. His absences from our lives over the past four years.
Abby jerked up her head.
“Did you hear that?”
“What?”
“She’s moving around up there again.”
“Okay, I’ll go tell her we’re ready to eat.”
When I reached the bottom of the stairs, Abby said my name. I stopped.
“This isn’t going to go away,” she said. “This Buster stuff.”
I nodded. I knew it wasn’t.
At the top of the stairs, I could see the bathroom light under the closed door. Caitlin’s bedroom door stood open. I didn’t want to stand around, hovering outside the bathroom door while she was inside, so I stuck my head in the bedroom. The covers were thrown back, the lights off. A thick, musty odor hung in the small space. I remembered Caitlin’s greasy hair at the police station, her dirty clothes. I listened for but didn’t hear water running in the bathroom. She needed to shower. She needed new things to wear. I looked at the floor. It was empty. No discarded clothes, no shoes or socks.
I went back to the bathroom door. I rapped lightly with my knuckles.
“Caitlin? Honey?”