“No, no,” I said.
“I couldn’t tell if it was imagined or real,” she said. “It seemed very real. It sounded just like both of you. I knew your voices. I could recognize them.”
“We were never there. If we were there, we wouldn’t have left without you.”
Caitlin seemed to consider this for a moment, then went on. “Once I heard someone talking and laughing, and it sounded just like Uncle Buster. I almost called his name, but I didn’t.”
“Did you see him?”
She shook her head.
“Caitlin, this is important. Did you ever see Uncle Buster in Colter’s house?”
“I didn’t,” she said. “Never.”
I put my hand on her shoulder, felt the textured fabric of the long johns. “Were you in the basement?” I asked. “Is that why you didn’t see him?”
She shook her head again, more forcefully.
“You can tell me, you know? If you want to tell me something and not have Mom know, I can do that. It’s okay.”
“I already told you what I want.”
I let my hand go limp and slip off her shoulder. “Really, Caitlin? Still?”
She picked at her fingers and didn’t pay attention. I touched her again.
“Come on, Caitlin. You can’t still want that. Not that. It’s okay to let that go.”
She spun out of my grip and crab-walked away from me.
“You don’t know,” she said. “Don’t say that.”
“Caitlin—”
“No. I already told you.”
I went to the closed door, opened it, and looked into the hallway. No sign of Abby. I closed the door. Caitlin looked surprised when I came back into the room and took my spot on the bed again. “You know how I said I was fighting with your uncle Buster? Do you know what we were fighting about?”
“I don’t care.”
“We were fighting about you. And I’d think you would care, because I was on your side.” I could tell she didn’t follow. “We went to see your friend last night. Mr. Colter.”
“You’re lying.”
“We went to his house. Actually, we went to his mother’s house, since that’s where he’s living these days. Do you know her? Did you know he burned his own house down? The one you lived in with him? He completely torched it.”
“He did?”
“He did. Why?”
“He said he would do that. I didn’t believe him.”
“He’s a man of his word, isn’t he? He destroyed any trace of you, any evidence that you were ever there. He covered his tracks. Except he couldn’t destroy that room in the basement, the one you must have lived in. The one you heard Buster’s voice from, right? Remnants of it survived the fire, enough so the police could see what it was for.”
The sun came through the window, creating a rectangle of light that covered half of Caitlin’s body.
“Why are you telling me all of this?” she asked.
“Because I talked to Mr. Colter. About you.”
“What did he say?”
I took my time now. I leaned back a little and folded my arms across my chest.
“What did he say?” she asked again.
“You want to see him again, right?”
She stomped her foot against the floor. “Goddamn it! What did he say?”
“We’re going to make a deal,” I said, leaning forward again. “Are you interested in that? If you want to know what he said, you have to agree to the terms of the deal.”
“How can I agree to this if I don’t know what you’re offering?”
It wasn’t easy, but I pushed myself off the mattress, acting as though I intended to walk out of the room.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay, I agree. Jesus. Just tell me what’s going on.”
I backtracked and sat down on the mattress again. Caitlin watched me eagerly, expectantly. I almost couldn’t bring myself to say it. I almost walked away for real. But I couldn’t. I needed to finish.
“He wants to see you again,” I said.
It took me a moment to read and understand her reaction. She blinked her eyes a few times, and at first it looked to me like she was crying. Then the corners of her mouth turned up, the emotion spreading across her face—and no doubt through her body.
Joy.
Joy at the prospect of reuniting with the man she claimed to love. It was the most emotion, the most happiness she’d displayed since her return.
Caitlin raised her hand to her chest and fingered the topaz necklace just below her throat. She looked like Abby—her narrow hand, her long fingers, the way only her left cheek dimpled as her smile grew. “Will you take me there, Dad?” she asked.
Dad.
I didn’t know when she’d last called me that.
“I might take you there,” I said.
“Okay,” she said, her voice just above a whisper.
“One condition,” I said. “First you have to tell me everything that happened during those four years you were gone. You have to tell me how he took you and where you went. You have to tell me what he did to you there. And you have to tell me why you stayed and why you want to go back so much. If you tell me all of that, I’ll think about taking you there.”
“Think about?”