“It’s not like that, Tom.”
“I know. In a strange sort of way, I’m glad he got her to talk to him. About anything. I thought slapping her was going to wake her up.”
Abby didn’t respond. She still wore the slightly stunned, slightly spacey look she had been wearing when I’d first come into the room.
“Abby? Does Caitlin know about this?”
She shook her head. “I’m scared, Tom.”
“Of the man?”
“I thought we’d turned the page,” she said. “I was ready to just go on. When she talked to Chris today, I thought things might really be moving ahead.”
“I’m going to go tell her,” I said.
“I couldn’t do it, Tom. I thought telling her would make it more real. I called you. I was glad when you didn’t answer.” She knotted her hands together, a lump of flesh and fingers. “Chris left, so I was alone.”
I heard something and turned my head. I held a silencing finger up to Abby. A rustling at the top of the stairs. Faint. I listened and heard nothing more.
“I’m going to go tell her,” I said. “She has to be ready to face Ryan.”
“I didn’t like the way he talked to her last time,” she said. “It was too harsh.”
“I know,” I said. “But he was trying to push her a little.”
“It sounded like he was blaming her,” she said. “Do you think they’ll let Chris be there or talk to her? She opened up to him.”
“She wasn’t opening up to Chris,” I said. “She was getting back at me.”
Halfway up the stairs, I stopped. They were holding the man, physically. He was in custody. He could answer for—explain even—everything. For ripping the fabric of our lives to pieces. For Caitlin. For Tracy. For God knew how many others.
My grip tightened on the banister. Something clouded my vision. Red and white splotches. My heart thumped. When the splotches disappeared, I found myself pulling against the banister, trying to rip it out of the wall. It didn’t give and my grip slipped. I fell back against the opposite wall of the staircase, making a loud thump. It hurt my back, and I welcomed the pain. It brought me back to reality. My home. My daughter.
The man in the sketch.
I took several deep, gasping breaths. Abby appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
“Tom?”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I fell.”
She took a step up. “You look sick, Tom.”
“I’m fine.” I held my hand out. “I’m going to talk to Caitlin.”
She was in the master bedroom, the door closed. I knocked, and when I didn’t get any response, I knocked again. “It’s your dad,” I said, trying the knob and feeling it give. Not Dad. Your dad. A more distant and formal designation, as though I were talking about two strangers.
Caitlin was lying back on the bed, reading a book. I couldn’t make out the title, but it looked like the kind of thing she used to read before she left, something aimed at preteen girls. She didn’t look over at me when I came in but kept her eyes on the pages of the book. Her brow was furrowed and her lips moved as she scanned the words. She looked like a certain kind of kid who passed through my classrooms, the ones who came from areas with poor public schools and adults who never attended college.
“I need to tell you something, Caitlin.”
She didn’t look up from the book.
“Did you hear what we were talking about downstairs? Were you at the top of the stairs?”
“I heard some,” she said. “You were talking about the police. And Pastor Chris. Then I heard you try to rip the banister out of the wall.”
“Detective Ryan’s coming over again.”
She stiffened a little. “Why? To ask me more sex questions?”
“They found him, Caitlin. They arrested him.”
She considered this for a long moment without looking at me. “You’re a fucking liar,” she finally said. “You’d lie to me about anything.”
“No.” I kept my voice firm. “He’s in jail, right now. Detective Ryan is coming over to talk to you, and this time there’s no point in keeping everything a secret. They have him, so we’re going to find out what it’s all about. He’s hurt other people, Caitlin. Other girls like you. He’s not going to be able to do that to anyone else.”
“He wouldn’t hurt someone.”
“He did.” I took a step forward into the room. “Remember, just this morning, you said that he did things to you. He hurt you.”
She sat up on the bed, letting the book fall to the floor. Her face showed real animation. “Are they bringing him here?” she asked.
“No, they’re not bringing him here. He’s in jail. Didn’t you hear me?”