He made the last turn. We were in a subdivision called Skyline Acres. Every street was named after a heavenly body—Venus, Saturn, Aurora. Colter’s mother lived on Neptune Way. I watched the house numbers and pointed. “There it is. Stop here.”
Buster braked, and we stopped three doors down from the Colter residence.
“Well?” he said.
“You’re telling me to appreciate all I have?” I asked.
“I guess so.”
“Tell me, did you feel like you belonged in our family? Did you believe there was a place for you?”
“I never thought about it,” he said.
“That’s right. You didn’t have to. There were the three of you, and then there was me. But that changed. That changed when Caitlin was born. I had someone like that. For me. I had a family. It was an even greater bond than anything I’d ever felt with Abby.” I fumbled around until I found the door lock.
“What are you doing?” Buster asked.
“I’m going to go look. Wait here.” I worked the door open. My shoes against the sidewalk sounded ridiculously loud in the quiet night. I’d taken two steps when I heard Buster’s door open behind me. I waved him back, but he kept coming. “Wait in the car,” I said.
He shook his head and kept coming. When he came abreast of me, I put my hand on his arm.
“Why won’t you wait?” I asked.
“I can’t let you go alone,” he said. “You don’t know what to do in a situation like this.”
“And you do?”
“More than you.”
We stood at the edge of the glow of a streetlight. Our heads were in the shadows.
“Back there at the cemetery, with the girl, were you telling me the truth?” I asked. “Did you just find her by chance?”
“What else could it have been?”
“Fuck if I know. I just don’t know.”
We moved on. It felt good to have him by my side. He was right. I’d never been in a fight. Never confronted a criminal. The whole endeavor felt crazy, so much so that my hands shook and my knees felt loose and jangly with every step I took.
When we reached the driveway, Buster pointed, so I followed him. Light spilled out the side of the house, casting a large rectangle on the cracked and crumbling blacktop. Buster moved alongside the lighted window. He held his hand out to stop me.
The window sat at eye level, so it didn’t take much effort for him to look in. He craned his neck and turned from side to side, scanning the room.
“What gives?” I asked.
“Nothing. It’s s dump. Just a TV and a bed.” He pulled his head back. “Shit.”
“What?”
“Some guy came in.”
“Did he see you?”
Buster shook his head. I grabbed his arm. Tight.
“Was it him?”
“I don’t know. I got out of the way.”
“Let me.”
I stepped past him and eased next to the window. I risked a look.
The overhead light was on, a bright wash over the entire room. The walls were painted a pale green. A small TV, a thirteen-inch black-and-white that looked to be about thirty years old, broadcast a fuzzy picture despite its rabbit ears. Crumpled clothes covered the floor, and the closet door was open, allowing more clothes to spill out.
Then I saw the man sitting in a sagging chair. He stared at the TV, his head drooping.
I studied his face in profile. The prominent nose, the pockmarked cheeks. The stringy hair was cut but still streaked with gray. He wore a dirty gray sweatshirt and sweatpants. His feet were in house slippers.
It was him. Colter.
He didn’t know he was being watched. His elbows rested on the arms of the beat-up chair, and his hands joined together before his chest, holding a steaming mug. While I watched, he lifted the mug to his face and blew gently on the hot liquid, then took a tentative sip and pursed his lips. I watched, waiting, but that was all he did.
Buster moved in next to me. He nodded toward the window, his face asking the question: Is that the guy?
I nodded, and while my head moved, something welled up within me. Colter looked pathetic, utterly defenseless and harmless, and it still didn’t stop the rage bubbling within me.
Without thinking, I raised my fist and pounded it against the window.
“Colter! Hey, Colter!”
Buster made a grab for my arm, but it was too late.
Colter jumped when I hit the window, spilling the contents of the mug down the front of his shirt. I jerked free of Buster and hit the window again and again. The pane rattled in the frame, and for a moment my fist moved independently of my mind. I kept hitting the glass, wishing I could break it and smash through and grab the man who had taken my daughter.
Finally, Buster grabbed me from behind and stopped me.
“Easy,” he said. “Easy. You’ll cut your hand off.”
“I don’t care.”
“Look, look—”
Colter was on his feet, peering at the window. Because of the interior light, he couldn’t get a good look at the two of us, and from where he stood, we must have been indistinct ghostly shapes. Two pale, oval forms hovering in the night. He reached and flipped the light off, leaving only the glow of the television. He moved closer, his ugly face uncertain.
I expected him to reach for the phone. Or a weapon. Instead, he took two quick steps across the room and slid the window up.