The beer tasted good. Real good. I felt myself reaching my limit. My stepfather—Buster’s father—drank. He drank and he raged at us and he usually passed out on the couch. I never acquired the habit, but Buster did.
“I knew Abby was going to buy the headstone,” I said. “Hell, I knew how much it cost. But she promised me it wouldn’t be up yet. She promised me. And it was there the other day when I went to the cemetery, the day I talked to you on the phone while I was walking Frosty.” Just saying his name caused a spasm of guilt in my chest. Where was Frosty? In an abusive home? Sitting in his own filth, waiting for the gas chamber? “The headstone has her name on it. My little girl. And it says she died four years ago. It’s a big fucking thing, too. You can’t miss it. Can you believe that?”
“Which part?”
“Any of it.”
Someone put coins in the jukebox, and a country song came on too loud. The steel guitar whined and someone else shouted in protest. The bartender bent down behind the bar and, mercifully, the volume dropped.
Buster put down his cup and steepled his fingers in front of his face. He looked thoughtful, sincere. “Have you ever thought—? And I’m only saying this because I do care about you. I really do. I mean, I know I can be a royal screwup. I know Abby can’t stand me and all that. Hell, maybe you can’t stand me either. I wouldn’t blame you.”
“I can stand you. Most of the time.”
He smiled. “Thanks.”
“And I think I know where you’re going with this . . .”
“You know the odds,” Buster said. “But it’s probably true. There was never a ransom demand. She probably did die that day. There’s been no evidence to the contrary.”
I closed my eyes. Even in the noisy bar, I could imagine the screams. Caitlin’s voice. High. Cracking. Stretched to its limit. Daddy!
“I don’t like to think we lost her that day,” I said.
“That’s fine. I understand. What are the cops saying?” He reached behind him, to an empty table, and grabbed a bowl of peanuts.
“Very little. When we do hear from them, it’s the same stuff. They have one detective on it. The feds have pulled out. They call it an active case, but what does that mean? I know they have other things. Newer cases.”
“They still think she ran away?”
“It makes it easier on them, right? If she ran away, there’s no crime. She’d be sixteen now . . .” I paused.
“We can drop it if you want,” Buster said.
I nodded.
Our food came. Buster salted his fries and started eating. I stared at my plate, my appetite uncertain.
“I stopped by your house on the way to that crazy church,” he said. “I thought I might catch you. I knocked and knocked, but nothing.”
“We were at the church already.”
“I know that. But Frosty didn’t bark.”
I shook my head. “He’s gone.”
“But you were just walking him the other day. He died? What happened?”
I shrugged. “I took him to the shelter. He’s an older dog, set in his ways. They said there’s a chance someone will adopt him, but if not, well, they euthanize the dogs eventually.”
“Did he get sick?”
I shook my head.
Recognition spread across his face. “Abby wanted him gone?”
I didn’t respond. I picked up a french fry and popped it in my mouth.
“And you did it? You took him to the pound?”
“I did it for Abby. And for me. He was Caitlin’s dog. He was a reminder of what we lost. If it helps us to turn the page . . .”
“Jesus. That’s cold.”
“The dog who knew too much. Except how to tell us what he knew.” I emptied my cup and poured more beer for Buster and myself.
“How are things with you and Abby?”
I started eating my lukewarm food. “The same.”
“That good?”
“We’re fine.”
“Let me ask you something, and if I’m crossing a line here, just let me know.”
I laughed. “Would that stop you?”
“No.” He signaled the waitress for another pitcher. “But I’m just wondering . . . do you two still do it? I mean, do you sleep in the same bed? Do you fuck?”
The pitcher came. “Put that on my brother’s tab,” I said.
“You can put it all on my tab. My treat.” He winked at me. “I guess I owe you a few.” He didn’t refill his cup. “Well?”
“I know you’re trying to provoke me now. It always ends up this way with you.”
“You don’t fuck? Ever?” He shook his head. “I don’t know how anyone could live that way. I just have to get something, you know? I can’t live without it.” He kept shaking his head. “See, I’m really just trying to find out why you stay married to someone who you don’t have anything going on with. She’s at that freaky church; you’re a college professor. She wants to do this whole funeral thing. You don’t. She thinks Caitlin’s dead . . .”
“She hasn’t worked for a long time. She gave up teaching when Caitlin was born.”
“ S o? ”