Free Cemetery Girl by David J Bell Page A

shoulder.
    “I’ll see you tomorrow, Abby,” he said. He nodded at me. “Tom.”
    “You won’t see me tomorrow,” I said.
    Pastor Chris didn’t blink or appear thrown off stride. He held his smile and considered me with the perpetual placidity of the truly certain.
    “But our door is always open to you,” he said, and left the house as though he didn’t have a care in the world, leaving Abby and me alone.
    “Abby?”
    I settled into an overstuffed chair across from her.
    “Abby, I have something to tell you. Something pretty amazing.”
    “You humiliated me today, Tom.”
    Her words hung between us, a thick cloud of recrimination. I knew the way Abby acted when she was angry or hurt. She was a lot like me in that regard. She seethed, quietly.
    “I know, but—”
    “Everybody wanted to know where you were, why you weren’t there with us. What was I supposed to tell them?”
    “Tell them you lied.”
    “What?”
    “All that bullshit at church, all the stuff about heaven. Pastor Chris saying I believed Caitlin was in heaven.”
    “I don’t have control over what Chris says.”
    “Right.”
    “I don’t.”
    “Okay,” I said. “Okay.” I didn’t want to fight; I wanted to tell Abby about Tracy, about my conversation with Ryan, about the sketch. I forced a calm into my voice that I didn’t feel. “I felt trapped there, Abby,” I said. “It felt like I was watching a play, and I was in the play but I was also watching myself. And I felt no connection to any of it. It didn’t seem like they were talking about me anymore, about my life, so I needed to leave. I should have told you. But I found something out. That’s what I came home to tell you.”
    “You left me standing alone at our daughter’s grave.”
    “It’s not her grave. Don’t say that. It’s not her grave at all. That’s what I’m telling you. Someone saw her. Someone I met today. They saw Caitlin. Alive. She’s alive. The police came, Ryan came, and he took a statement, and they’re going to do a sketch and everything, and it means she’s alive.”
    Abby looked at me for the first time. Really looked at me. The tip of her nose was red from where she’d rubbed it with the Kleenex. Something stirred inside me for this woman. Not as simple as pity, which I might feel for a stranger. It was something more complicated, something deeper. The thick roots of love and resentment tangled together and were almost impossible to unravel. I thought I was reaching her.
    She swallowed and took a deep, phlegmy breath. She sounded mucus-choked from the tears and snot.
    “I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying.”
    “Someone saw Caitlin,” I said, speaking slowly, enunciating clearly. “A witness. She saw her.”
    “Who saw her?”
    “A dancer from a club in Russellville.”
    She rolled her eyes. “A stripper.”
    “Abby, don’t. Just listen.”
    “You’re back to that again . . .” Her voice trailed off, and full realization dawned. “You were in a strip club during our daughter’s funeral.”
    “It wasn’t a funeral.”
    Abby stood up and started to walk away. “I can’t hear this. I can’t do this again.”
    “Wait, Abby. Wait.”
    She was in the hallway, but she stopped, her back to me.
    “Listen, will you? Just listen. This witness went to Liann. She knows Liann. It wasn’t me, okay?”
    She still didn’t turn around, but she said, “Liann knows her?”
    “Yes.”
    “How does Liann know her?” Abby asked.
    “Can you at least look at me while I tell you this?” I asked. “Please?”
    She turned around, slowly, and when she faced me, she raised her eyebrows as if to say, Hurry up, let’s get on with this.
    “Do you want to sit down? It’s not all pleasant—”
    “Just tell me, Tom. How does Liann know her?”
    “I guess this girl, the one who saw Caitlin, has been in some trouble before, and Liann helped her out.”
    “Oh.”
    “It’s not really relevant, is it?”
    “Okay,” Abby said.