Cemetery Girl by David J Bell

ways,” she said. “It’s strange, though. When Ryan called and told me about the sketch, I wanted to see it. Right away I did. I told him I didn’t care to, but I really did. That’s why I’m here tonight. I told myself I was getting more stuff.”
    “This late? It’s after ten.”
    “Yeah.” She laughed a little. “I knew Ryan gave you a copy, and I wanted to see it. I wanted to see that face.”
    “I understand.”
    “You know what I was thinking about earlier today?” she asked. “That trip we took to New England when Caitlin was little.”
    “What about it?”
    “What a great time we had. How beautiful the scenery was. How easy it was to just be together, the three of us. I remember how you wanted to baptize Caitlin in Walden Pond. She was just three, but you took her down to the edge of the pond and splashed water on her head like you were in a church.” She smiled a little. “I thought you were crazy, of course. But I also thought it was endearing. I could tell how much you loved her. And how much you loved the idea of baptizing her in that pond.”
    “As I recall, you liked the idea too. You took a picture of it.”
    “That’s right.” Her mood seemed to have shifted a little. Her voice sounded a little colder, a little more distant. “I did like the idea back then. But now when I look back on it, I see the whole thing differently. I see a couple and the husband wants to baptize his daughter in a pond and the wife wants her baptized in a church.”
    “She did get baptized in a church, because you wanted her to.”
    Abby didn’t respond. She leaned forward and picked up the sketch of the suspect. She handed it to me, practically stuffing it into my hands, crumpling it a little.
    “But I don’t want to see it anymore. Just keep it away from me if I’m around.”
    I straightened the paper, smoothed out the crumples.
    “I know you know some things, Tom. I could tell by the way Ryan talked to me on the phone that there were things he was keeping from me. I guess they’re the details of what happened in that strip club, what that woman saw.” She swallowed. “I don’t want to know those things, Tom. Ever. Those are just things you’re going to have to endure alone. I can’t—”
    “I get it,” I said. “In fact, it’s not really anything new, is it? Me enduring these things alone.”
    She let out a long sigh. “We know, Tom. You’re the saddest.” She stood up. “I was going to stay here tonight, but I think I’ll just take some of these things back to the church.”
    I stood up, too. “Do you mind keeping it down while you do? I feel pretty tired.”
    I went back up the stairs, sketch in hand, and didn’t wait for her to reply.

Chapter Twelve
    T he morning walkers and joggers still crowded the park. People went past me in waves, excusing themselves, occasionally brushing against me, and I wondered what they thought of me, a slightly disheveled man wearing jeans and a button-down shirt among their shorts and athletic shoes. Still, I welcomed their company, the push and jostle of other human beings. Aloneness without being lonely.
    I knew what lay on the far side of the park—the cemetery and Caitlin’s “grave.” My reaction to it in the wake of the ceremony and the eyewitness account from Tracy seemed similar to Abby’s reaction to the sketch of the suspect. I wanted to see that grave again, if only to confirm its reality in my head. It was, for better or worse, a memorial to my daughter, a stony testament to the fact that she existed on this earth at one time.
    I started to sweat under my shirt. I rolled up my sleeves to my elbows and kept walking. I thought about how we’d made it to that point, how Abby’s involvement with the church had led to that headstone in the ground. Abby had begun attending church with Pastor Chris before Caitlin disappeared, but her attendance at that time was sporadic. Once a month, maybe. Sometimes twice. Eventually, Abby announced that