“Okay, you’re right. I can’t. I’m starting to understand that.”
Susan looked at Caitlin. I wasn’t certain, but it seemed as though Caitlin made an almost imperceptible gesture, a quick, tiny nod of her head. Susan nodded back, confirming something. “Tom, Caitlin doesn’t want you to ask her any more questions about this subject. She has shared some things with me, and she told me it’s okay if I share them with you.”
“She told you,” I said, looking over at Caitlin again. “But she didn’t tell me. Why won’t you tell me?”
I became aware of a wheedling, pleading tone in my voice, so I stopped.
“She fears your reaction. Like this. She fears you will think too much like a parent and not really hear what she is saying.”
“Okay. I’ll listen. I’ll listen to you, or I’ll listen to her. I’ll listen to whatever is sent my way.”
Susan looked at Caitlin. “Honey, are you sure you want me to be the one to tell him these things?”
Caitlin nodded, still clutching the Kleenex.
“Okay.” She turned back to me. “Tom, Caitlin has fallen in love with this man, the man at the police station. She wants you to know this so that you will understand why she tried to leave that night and why she doesn’t want to cooperate with the police. She doesn’t want this man to go to jail.”
A pause, and I realized Susan wanted a response from me. The room felt smaller, closer and more cramped. It seemed as though I were heading down a blind alley, so I tried to turn around. “What exactly is your interest in all of this?” I asked. “I thought you wanted to help me.”
She didn’t ruffle or back down. “I am.”
I turned to Caitlin. “What do you want then?” I asked. “You just don’t want me to ask questions? You want the police to stop with the questions? Is that all you want?”
Again the look passed between the two of them, and this time Caitlin spoke, although she didn’t look at me. “I want to see him,” she said.
“No,” I said. Then I said it again. “No.” My voice was flat, but firm. It lacked emotion this time, at least to my own ears.
Caitlin still didn’t look at me. “I won’t tell the police anything. They won’t have a case.”
“They have other witnesses. People who saw the two of you out together. In strip clubs and God only knows where else. They’re going to nail him to the wall, with or without you. And I’ll be thrilled to watch it happen.” I stood up. “Come on. We’re going home.”
“Tom—”
“Enough,” I said. “You’ve done enough. Come on, Caitlin.”
Again Caitlin looked to Susan, and again Susan nodded, but this time she nodded in my direction, telling Caitlin she needed to go with me.
But Caitlin still didn’t move. She held the Kleenex, but her eyes were dry. And I feared I was about to truly see the limit of my own power. What would I do with her if she didn’t want to move, if she wanted to curl up in the chair, an inert mass of teenage resistance? How would I move her or reach her?
But she wasn’t ready to make her last stand yet.
She stood up, her shoulders hunched, her posture folded in on itself. When we reached the door, I placed my hand on her, my fingers encircling her bony arm, feeling its scrawniness through her sweatshirt. She looked up at me, then down at the place where my hand made contact with her body. She gave a little tug back, so I tightened my grip, adding not so subtle pressure. I didn’t care if she bruised.
Before we went out the door, Susan said my name. “Tom? I’m happy to see Caitlin again. Or you. Together or alone. But some of this is beyond my expertise. She should—you all should—be dealing with the professionals as well.”
I guided Caitlin out to the car. It felt like we were an odd pair of conjoined twins.
When we were in, and the child safety locks were activated, Caitlin spoke up. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
“Everything?”
She nodded. “One condition, though.”
“What’s that?”
“When it’s done, when I’ve told you all that bullshit, you let me go. Back to John. Back to the life I want to have. Let me go, and I’ll tell you everything.”
“He’s going to jail for the rest of his life.”
“Then you don’t want the deal.”
I shook my head. I put the car into gear and drove us home.
Chapter Forty-one
I was outside collecting the paper on Wednesday morning. The weather had swung back to warm again, and the trees and their dying leaves were putting on a red, orange, and gold show that was enough to lift my spirits in that quiet moment on the lawn. My neighbors began to embrace the spirit of the season by putting out pumpkins and corn sheaves and fake spiderwebs. A couple even placed fake tombstones in their yards, RIP scrawled across their front in dripping spray paint.