"She gets mad at me."
"Can you promise that everything you say today is going to be the truth?"
"Uh-huh."
I breathe deeply. First hurdle, cleared. "Rachel, the man over there with the silver hair, his name is Mr.
Carrington. He's got some questions for you too. Do you think you can talk to him?"
"Okay," Rachel says, but she's getting nervous now. This was the part I couldn't tell her about; the part where I didn't have all the answers.
Fisher stands up, oozing security. "Hi there, Rachel."
She narrows her eyes. I love this kid. "Hi."
"What's your bear's name?"
"She's a hippo." Rachel says this with the disdain that only a child can pull off, when an adult stares right at the bucket on her head and cannot see that it is a space helmet.
"Do you know who's sitting with me at that table over there? "
"My daddy."
"Have you seen your daddy lately?"
"No."
"But you remember when you and your daddy and your mommy all lived together in the same house?"
Fisher's hands are in his pockets. His voice is as soft as flannel.
"Uh-huh."
"Did your mommy and daddy fight a lot in the brown house?"
"Yes."
"And after that, your daddy moved out?"
Rachel nods, then remembers what I've told her about having to say your answer out loud. "Yes," she murmurs.
"After your daddy moved out, then you told somebody that something happened to you . . . something about your daddy, right?"
"Uh-huh."
"You told somebody that Daddy touched your pee-pee?"
"Yes."
"Who did you tell?"
"Mommy."
"What did Mommy do when you told her?"
"She cried."
"Do you remember how old you were when Daddy touched your pee-pee?"
