see. Talk to the therapist about it.”
“I’ll try. I swear. I’m so grateful to you and Harry. I’m so sorry I did what Tom told me, after all you’ve done for us.”
“We’ll get through it.”
“I’m going to go up, talk to the kids for a minute. Then we’ll come down, finish making dinner.”
“That’s a good start. I love you, Suze.”
“God knows you must.” She rose, reached for him. “I love you. Don’t give up on me.”
“Never happen.”
She gave him a hard squeeze, then walked out, walked up the stairs. The hardest walk of her life, she thought. Even harder than that horrible walk through the prison to the visiting area.
She stepped to Naomi’s door and looked at her children, sitting on the floor with Mason frowning over his pencil and worksheet.
He’d been crying, and that broke her heart because she’d brought those tears on.
But not Naomi. Her eyes were dry and hot when they lifted, met hers.
“I want to say first I was wrong. What I said down there about your uncle and Harry. It was a wrong and ugly thing to say. I hope you’ll forgive me. And I want to say you were right. Both of you were right. We won’t be moving away from Seth and Harry. I was wrong about talking to those people. The paper, and the magazine, and the book writer. I can’t go back and not do it, but I’ll never do it again. I’m so sorry, Naomi, for letting them have your picture. I don’t know how to make it up to you. But I’m going to try to do better. I promise, I’m going to try. It’s easy to say that. What I have to do is show you. You need to give me a chance to show you I’ll do better.”
“I’ll give you a chance, Mama.” Mason sprang up, ran into her arms.
“I love you so much, my little man.” She kissed the top of his head, then looked at Naomi. “I understand it’s going to take longer for you.”
Naomi only shook her head and ran to her mother.
—
S he did better, though there were dips, and some of them deep. She’d opened a door her brother had tried to close by giving the interviews, selling the photographs.
It engendered more, with side stories on the serial killer’s gay brother-in-law, and with reporters stalking him to and from his office. Paparazzi captured photos of Naomi leaving school for the day, one of Mason on the playground.
TV talk shows fueled the machine with discussion, with “experts,” and the tabloids were relentless.
Word leaked that Pulitzer Prize–winning author Simon Vance had a book deal in cooperation with Thomas David Bowes and his wife, and the media circus began anew.
As the new year began they all sat together in the front parlor, with a fire snapping, and the glittering holiday tree shining like hope in the window.
Harry made hot chocolate, and Mason sat on the floor with his fondest wish: a puppy that had greeted him on Christmas morning. He’d named the pup Kong after his favorite game.
It should have felt good, Naomi thought. The puppy, the hot chocolate, and the tree Harry said would stay up until Twelfth Night.
But something was wrong, and she felt it deep inside. So her chocolate sat, going cold in the tall mug.
“Harry and I have some news,” Seth began, and Naomi’s stomach knotted.
They’d be sent away. Too much trouble, all the reporters, and the people who walked or drove by to stare.
Someone had egged the house on Halloween, and worse, written on Seth’s car:
KILLER’S FAG KIN
Mama lost her job at the café because they found out where she worked, and the manager let her go.
“It’s big news,” he continued, taking Harry’s hand.
Naomi couldn’t look up, couldn’t stand to see his face when he said they had to live somewhere else.
“Harry and I are opening a restaurant.”
She looked up then, stunned. Felt the knots begin to uncoil.
“We found a great space, and figured it was time to have our own.” Harry winked. “We’ve even got the name. The Spot.”
“Spot’s a dog,” Mason said,
“I’ll try. I swear. I’m so grateful to you and Harry. I’m so sorry I did what Tom told me, after all you’ve done for us.”
“We’ll get through it.”
“I’m going to go up, talk to the kids for a minute. Then we’ll come down, finish making dinner.”
“That’s a good start. I love you, Suze.”
“God knows you must.” She rose, reached for him. “I love you. Don’t give up on me.”
“Never happen.”
She gave him a hard squeeze, then walked out, walked up the stairs. The hardest walk of her life, she thought. Even harder than that horrible walk through the prison to the visiting area.
She stepped to Naomi’s door and looked at her children, sitting on the floor with Mason frowning over his pencil and worksheet.
He’d been crying, and that broke her heart because she’d brought those tears on.
But not Naomi. Her eyes were dry and hot when they lifted, met hers.
“I want to say first I was wrong. What I said down there about your uncle and Harry. It was a wrong and ugly thing to say. I hope you’ll forgive me. And I want to say you were right. Both of you were right. We won’t be moving away from Seth and Harry. I was wrong about talking to those people. The paper, and the magazine, and the book writer. I can’t go back and not do it, but I’ll never do it again. I’m so sorry, Naomi, for letting them have your picture. I don’t know how to make it up to you. But I’m going to try to do better. I promise, I’m going to try. It’s easy to say that. What I have to do is show you. You need to give me a chance to show you I’ll do better.”
“I’ll give you a chance, Mama.” Mason sprang up, ran into her arms.
“I love you so much, my little man.” She kissed the top of his head, then looked at Naomi. “I understand it’s going to take longer for you.”
Naomi only shook her head and ran to her mother.
—
S he did better, though there were dips, and some of them deep. She’d opened a door her brother had tried to close by giving the interviews, selling the photographs.
It engendered more, with side stories on the serial killer’s gay brother-in-law, and with reporters stalking him to and from his office. Paparazzi captured photos of Naomi leaving school for the day, one of Mason on the playground.
TV talk shows fueled the machine with discussion, with “experts,” and the tabloids were relentless.
Word leaked that Pulitzer Prize–winning author Simon Vance had a book deal in cooperation with Thomas David Bowes and his wife, and the media circus began anew.
As the new year began they all sat together in the front parlor, with a fire snapping, and the glittering holiday tree shining like hope in the window.
Harry made hot chocolate, and Mason sat on the floor with his fondest wish: a puppy that had greeted him on Christmas morning. He’d named the pup Kong after his favorite game.
It should have felt good, Naomi thought. The puppy, the hot chocolate, and the tree Harry said would stay up until Twelfth Night.
But something was wrong, and she felt it deep inside. So her chocolate sat, going cold in the tall mug.
“Harry and I have some news,” Seth began, and Naomi’s stomach knotted.
They’d be sent away. Too much trouble, all the reporters, and the people who walked or drove by to stare.
Someone had egged the house on Halloween, and worse, written on Seth’s car:
KILLER’S FAG KIN
Mama lost her job at the café because they found out where she worked, and the manager let her go.
“It’s big news,” he continued, taking Harry’s hand.
Naomi couldn’t look up, couldn’t stand to see his face when he said they had to live somewhere else.
“Harry and I are opening a restaurant.”
She looked up then, stunned. Felt the knots begin to uncoil.
“We found a great space, and figured it was time to have our own.” Harry winked. “We’ve even got the name. The Spot.”
“Spot’s a dog,” Mason said,
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