The Obsession(12)

“A f*cking monster, deal with it. Those kids need you, Susie, so stand up for them. He doesn’t deserve a minute of your time.”

“I took vows. Love, honor, obey.”

“So did he, but he broke them. Jesus Christ, he raped, tortured, killed over twenty women—and that’s what he’s confessed to. Bragged about, for God’s sake. Over twenty young girls. He’d come to your bed after he was done with them.”

“Stop it! Stop it! Do you want me to say he did those things? He did those terrible things? How can I live with it, Seth? How can I live with it?”

“Because you have two children who need you. I’m going to help you, Susie. We’re going to get away from here where you and the kids feel safe. You, and they, are going to get counseling. They’re going to go to good schools. Don’t put me in the position of telling you what to do, the way he did. I will for now, if I have to, to protect you and the kids. But I’m asking you to remember who you used to be, before him. You had a spine and plans, and a light.”

“Don’t you understand?” That terrible plea in her mother’s voice, that awful rawness, like a cut that wouldn’t heal. “If I go, I’m saying it all happened.”

“It did happen. He’s admitted it.”

“They made him.”

“Stop it. Just stop it. Your own daughter, your own baby saw what he did.”

“She imagined—”

“Stop. Susie, stop.”

“I can’t just . . . How could I not have known? How could I have lived with him nearly half my life and not known? The reporters, they shout that at me.”

“Screw the reporters. We’re leaving tomorrow. God, where’s your anger, Suze? Where’s your anger for what he did, what he is, what he put you and your kids through? What Naomi went through? I hope to hell you find it, but until you do, you’re going to have to trust me. This is the best thing. We can go tomorrow, and you can start building a life for yourself and the kids.”

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Pack. And we’ll take it a step at a time from there.”

She heard her mother crying when Seth left the room. But after a while Naomi heard drawers opening, closing.

Packing sounds, she thought.

They were leaving in the morning. Leaving all of this.

Closing her eyes, she said a special prayer of thanks for her uncle. She understood that she’d saved Ashley’s life. Now she thought Uncle Seth was saving hers.





Three




Naomi lived in D.C. for five months, two weeks, and five days. That narrow slice of time brought so many highs and lows, so many jolts and joys she couldn’t keep track.

She loved the house in Georgetown with its high ceilings and deep, rich colors, with its pretty backyard patio and little fountain with its own tiny pool.

She’d never lived in a city before, and could spend hours sitting at the window in her room watching the cars and cabs and people. And her room was so beautiful. The old cherrywood dresser—an antique, not a hand-me-down, because there was a difference—had a big oval mirror framed in the same wood, and with little curlicues. She had a double bed, a luxury that had her rolling around in it or stretching her arms wide just because she could. The sheets were so soft and smooth she’d stroke her fingers over the pillowcase to lull herself to sleep.

The walls were sunset gold and had pictures of flowers grouped together in their own little garden.

She liked her room even better than Mama’s, which was fancier with a pale green canopy draped over the big bed, and a chair with strange and beautiful birds flying over it.

Mason slept on a pullout sofa in what her uncle called the upstairs parlor, but most nights in the first few weeks, he’d end up crawling into bed with her or curling up on her rug like a puppy.

Harry took them to his restaurant with its tablecloths and candles and flowers, and gave them a tour of the big kitchen that was all noise and rush and heat.

Starting school brought nerves and excitement. A new school, a new place, where no one knew her. That was both scary and wonderful. She got to use a new name, too. Here she’d be Naomi Carson—the new girl—and some made fun of her accent. But none of the other kids knew her daddy was in prison.

She didn’t much like going to the therapist. Dr. Osgood was nice—young and pretty, and she always smelled really good. But it felt wrong, at least at first, to say things to a stranger about her parents, and her brother, and more than anything about what had happened that night in the woods.

Mason went to another doctor, a man, and liked it fine because his doctor let him talk about video games and basketball. At least Mason said he did, and after a few weeks of talking about video games and basketball, he stopped coming in to sleep in Naomi’s bed.

Her mother went to another doctor altogether, when she went. A lot of times she said she wasn’t feeling up to it, and went to bed with one of her headaches.

Once a week she borrowed Uncle Seth’s car and drove to the prison—United States Penitentiary, Hazelton—on visiting day. It took nearly eight hours for the trip up and back, for the little bit of time she had to visit through the glass. And she always came back looking beaten up and with one of her headaches.

But she wouldn’t stop going.