She turned away, her gaze drifting out the window to the small trees, their leaves turning orange and dropping to the ground. She didn’t answer. I backed off, changed gears.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about when you were little. I remember the time—you were just six years old, I guess—and you crossed the street when you weren’t supposed to. Do you remember that? You thought I couldn’t see you, that I didn’t know what you were doing, but I did. I came out to call you home, and instead I saw you cross the street and a car almost hit you. You ran right in front of it, and they slammed on their brakes so they didn’t run you over. Do you remember that?”
She was still looking out the window, but she spoke. “I remember. I can still see the grille and the headlights right in front of me. I think they honked their horn at me. I remember it that way.”
“I didn’t know what I was supposed to do,” I said. “Was I supposed to stop those people and yell at them? Was I supposed to drag the guy out of the car and beat him up?”
“It was my fault,” she said. “I ran out there without looking.”
“Were you scared?”
She nodded. “At first. When it first happened I was. But I also felt like it couldn’t touch me, like it wasn’t meant to run me over. I guess I felt protected in some way.”
“Protected by what? God?”
She shook her head immediately. “Not God.” She kept shaking her head. “Not God.”
“What then?”
“I don’t know.”
“I didn’t yell at you or hit you when you crossed the street because I didn’t think it was necessary. Kids do things like that. They test their boundaries. They make mistakes. It bothered me, of course. It scared me. But I never told your mom about it. She wouldn’t have been able to handle it. She never would have let you leave the house again.”
“She likes to overreact. I guess you both do.”
“You know, I look back at that, and I really wonder about the way you just stood there and looked me right in the eye, probably the same way you looked at the grille of that car, and you lied to me like it was nothing. Why did you think you could do that? Where did you learn to lie like that?”
“I guess I didn’t think it was any of your business,” she said.
“But you were a child,” I said. “Everything you did was my business.”
“That’s what parents think,” she said.
“This is a second chance, Caitlin, for all of us. And I’m not going to let it slip past me. I’m not.”
“Are you going to hit me again? Would that make you feel better? Some men like to do that.”
“Did that man hit you?” I asked. “Did he hurt you? You said things happened to you. What happened to you, Caitlin? Tell me.”
She shivered, her shoulders rising, her body quaking. But she didn’t yield. “It’s cold,” she said. “I either want to go in or go home.”
“Were you kept in the basement? In that room?”
She didn’t look at me. She scrambled for the door handle and tugged against it. She pressed against the door with her shoulder, but it didn’t give. The child safety locks were on. She couldn’t get out. “Locks,” she said. “You all use locks.”
“I’m protecting you, Caitlin. There’s a difference.”
She kept her eyes straight ahead. “If you want to go in, let’s go in,” she said. “I already told you I’m cold.”
Chapter Thirty-nine
Susan greeted us on the porch. “Well, I think I know who this is,” she said, stepping aside and sweeping her arms out, directing us through the front door and into a wide, cluttered living room. The house smelled of something like fried onions, and a national news program played over the radio.
Caitlin looked uncertain. I nodded at her, letting her know it was okay to go in. Susan pointed to an overstuffed chair, and after a brief hesitation, Caitlin sat down.
“Would you like some tea, Caitlin? I have some tea in the kitchen,” Susan said.
“No.”
“Would you like anything?” Susan asked. “Water? A Coke?”
Caitlin’s eyes wandered around the room before settling on me. “My dad wants me to talk to you,” she said. “Instead of the shrink.”
“Very good,” Susan said. “What do you think of that?”
Caitlin kept her eyes on me when she spoke. “It’s fine, I guess,” she said. “But if he wants me to talk to you, he has to leave.”
“No,” I said. “That’s not the deal.”
“What deal?” Caitlin asked.
“Tom.” Susan’s voice cut through the room. “Tom, listen. I’ve talked to girls like Caitlin before, and sometimes they want to have their privacy. At least initially, while they’re getting to know me a little better.”
“Can we talk?” I said to Susan.
We moved off toward the doorway to the spotless kitchen. We stopped there so I could talk to Susan in a low voice but still keep my eye on Caitlin.
“I don’t like this,” I said. “I brought her here to learn something. For me to learn something.”
“I’m a stranger to her, Tom. She has to learn to trust me too.”