Kiss the Girls

go in when I feel like it.” I didn’t feel like it suddenly. A sheen of cold sweat was on the back of my neck. Detective paranoia? Maybe, maybe not.
    “Don’t be difficult,” Sampson called back over his shoulder, “for once in your life.”
    A long icy shiver ran through my body. I took a deep breath. The thought of the human monster I had recently helped put away still gave me nightmares. I deeply feared he would escape one day. The mass killer and kidnapper had already been to Fifth Street once.
    What in hell was going on inside my house?
    Sampson didn’t knock on the front door, or ring the bell, which dangled on red-and-blue wires. He just waltzed inside as if he lived there. Same as it’s always been.
Mi casa es su casa.
I followed him into my own house.
    My boy, Damon, streaked into Sampson’s outstretched arms, and John scooped up my son as if he were made of air. Jannie came skating toward me, calling me “Big Daddy” as she ran. She was already in her slipper-sock pajamas, smelling of fresh talcum after her bath. My little lady.
    Something was wrong in her big brown eyes. The look on her face froze me.
    “What is it, my honeybunch?” I asked as I nuzzled against Jannie’s smooth, warm cheek. The two of us nuzzle a lot. “What’s wrong? Tell your Daddy all your troubles and woes.”
    In the living room I could see three of my aunts, my two sisters-in-law, my one living brother, Charles. My aunts had been crying; their faces were all puffy and red. So had my sister-in-law Cilla, and she isn’t one to get weepy without a good reason.
    The room had the unnatural, claustrophobic look of a wake.
Somebody has died,
I thought.
Somebody we all love has died.
But everybody I love seemed to be there, present and accounted for.
    Nana Mama, my grandmother, was serving coffee, iced tea, and also cold chicken pieces, which no one seemed to be eating. Nana lives on Fifth Street with me and the kids. In her own mind, she’s raising the three of us.
    Nana had shrunk to around five feet by her eightieth year. She is still the most impressive person I know in our nation’s capital, and I know most of them—the Reagans, the Bush people, and now the Clintons.
    My grandmother was dry-eyed as she did her serving. I have rarely seen her cry, though she is a tremendously warm and caring person. She just doesn’t cry anymore. She says she doesn’t have that much of life left, and she won’t waste it on tears.
    I finally walked into the living room and asked the question that was beating against the inside of my head. “It’s nice to see everyone—Charles, Cilla, Aunt Tia—
but would someone please tell me what’s going on here?
”
    They all stared at me.
    I still had Jannie cradled in my arms. Sampson had Damon tucked like a hairy football under his massive right arm.
    Nana spoke for the assembled group. Her almost inaudible words sent the sharpest pain right through me.
    “It’s Naomi,” she said quietly. “Scootchie is missing, Alex.” Then Nana Mama started to weep for the first time in years.

Chapter 6

    C ASANOVA SCREAMED, and the loud sound coming from deep inside his throat turned into a raspy howl.
    He was crashing through the deep woods, thinking about the girl he had abandoned back there. The horror of what he had done.
Again.
    Part of him wanted to go back for the girl—
save her
—an act of mercy.
    He was experiencing spasms of guilt now, and he began to run faster and faster. His thick neck and chest were covered with perspiration. He felt weak, and his legs were rubbery and undependable.
    He was fully conscious of what he had done. He just couldn‘t stop himself.
    Anyway, it was better this way. She had seen his face. It was stupid of him to think she would ever be able to understand him. He had seen the fear and loathing in her eyes.
    If only she’d listened when he’d tried to talk to her. After all, he was different from other mass killers—
he could feel everything
he did. He could feel love… and suffer loss… and…
    He angrily swept away the death mask. It was all her fault. He would have to change personas now. He needed to stop being Casanova.
    He needed to be
himself.
His pitiful other self.

Chapter 7

    I T’S NAOMI.
Scootchie is missing, Alex.
    We held the most intense Cross family emergency conference in our kitchen, where they’ve always been held. Nana made more coffee, and also herbal tea for herself. I put the kids to bed first. Then I cracked open a bottle