“Excuse me. T.J. Can you tell me about your relationship to Barbara Van Laar?”
T.J. shifts. “Pretty sure I told Investigator Hayes all about it already,” she says.
“Well, would you mind telling me?” says Judy. “I’m trying to catch up.”
T.J. clears her throat. “I’ve known Barbara since she was born.”
“How old were you at that time?”
“Fourteen.”
Her voice is quiet. She looks just to the left of Judy’s head as she speaks, so intently that Judy turns her head briefly to see if something, or someone, is behind her. But the only thing she sees is the unfinished wood of the wall.
“And did you spend much time with her prior to her arrival at Camp Emerson?”
“I did.”
“Can you describe the time you spent with her?”
T.J. looks down. “At first I was her—babysitter, I guess you’d call it. From the time she was born.”
“Here?”
“Here on the grounds, yes,” says T.J. “All summer long. Every summer. It’s what I was paid to do.”
“So you’ve been here your whole life?”
T.J. nods. “It’s my home.”
“What brought you to the Preserve to begin with?”
“My father was groundskeeper and camp director,” says T.J. “I took over both jobs when he began to lose his memory.”
Judy notes this.
“What about when the Van Laars were in Albany?” she asks.
“Well, I was in school for Barbara’s earliest years,” says T.J. “So I stayed here. But I never went to college or anything. So I was pretty free starting at seventeen, when Barbara was three. I’d travel with the family. Go down to Albany when the parents had to go out of town.”
“And you were close with Barbara.”
T.J. nods.
“We are. Yes.”
“Was Barbara a difficult child when she was young?”
T.J. laughs a little. There is a sort of ruefulness on her face, in her voice, that Judy suddenly finds unsettling.
“God, no,” says T.J. “She was the best kid. She and her brother both. Just nice, nice kids.”
Judy pauses.
“So you were close with her brother, too?”
“Yup. We were closer in age. I was twelve when he,” says T.J., and then stops. “When he disappeared. He was eight.”
It’s warm outside, but Judy suddenly feels cold.
“How would you describe the Van Laar children’s relationship with their parents?” asks Judy.
“Depends which kid you’re talking about. And which parent,” she adds.
“Let’s start with Bear.”
“Well, his mother loved him,” says T.J. “Loved him more than anything. Never been the same since he left.”
“And his father?”
“His father,” says T.J. “Now his father, that’s a hard one.”
She seems genuinely to be thinking of how to phrase something.
“You know, his father loved him too, in his way,” says T.J. “But it was like Mr. Van Laar thought of him as one of his bonds. Something only worth having around because of what it’ll become later. If that makes sense.”
Judy makes another note.
“What are you writing?” T.J. asks. “Are you writing about me?”
