for the first time. “Easy, now, Mrs. Watkins.”
Tina now stood protectively in front of her mother.
“Mom? What’s the matter with you?” Jackie asked. “Tina’s mom doesn’t know where Sammie and Alex are.”
“Your husband knows,” Katie challenged. “He must. Make him tell us.” She tried to soften her voice. “Please?”
“Norman has nothing to do with your children, Dr. Monroe. I swear it. He’s a good man. I know he made mistakes. God knows he’s paid for them.”
“After all these years, he still wants to get back at me?” Katie tried to blunt the hysteria creeping into her voice. “Tell him that I’ll do anything! Anything. Just tell me where they are. Tell me they’re okay. Please!”
Then Katie felt a surge of hope. They had Norman Watkins in a Detroit hospital. They were questioning him. Right now. It must he him. She’d been wrong about Maxwell Cutty as well as Keith Franklin.
“I need to see him,” Katie said, “to ask him —”
“Not possible, Dr. Monroe,” Camry said. “We’ll let you know as soon as we have anything. I promise.”
Connie took a step forward. Shifting her bag to her shoulder, she grabbed both of Katie’s hands. “I swear to you, Dr. Monroe. Norman is a born-again Christian. He would never hurt a child again. My husband is innocent!”
Connie dropped Katie’s hands and grabbed Tina, spinning the child to face Katie. “You remember how much my little girl has gone through. Now her dad is back. He’s gonna make it all up to her.”
Katie stared at Tina. Then she turned to Scott. She did not know how to react. Leaning into Scott, she felt her knees buckle.
“Come on Jackie, let’s take Mom home,” Scott said.
“Bye, Tina,” Jackie turned, and she and Tina exchanged a feeble wave.
As soon as the three of them had climbed into the black Suburban, Jackie had started with the questions. She’d been fascinated by Tina’s dad being arrested, and she wanted to know how Katie and Tina’s mom knew each other. Katie, helpless to respond, sank into an inkyvoid. Scott compensated and he and Jackie held a two-way conversation about who-knew-what. Once they were in the house, Scott released Jackie to her grandmother downstairs and took Katie upstairs, insisting that she lie down.
“You know what, Scott?” Katie said as she accepted a glass of water. “I’m of no help to the FBI. I can’t concentrate. I just feel like I’m dead inside.”
“Katie, I know. I’m so scared that I almost can’t breathe, but we have to be here for Jackie.”
“I feel like I’m failing her, too.”
“Here, take this.” Scott shook a mint green capsule out of a brown prescription bottle. “What you need is some sleep.”
Katie accepted the pill, wondering how Scott, who avoided all drugs, had gotten ahold of a scheduled medication. She’d ask him tomorrow. Eventually she did drift into a dream-filled sleep.
Dreams of Maxwell Cutty and Norman Watkins; dreams of abused children; dreams of evil; and dreams of Keith Franklin.
After three hours, Katie awoke, still groggy from her drugged sleep, but determined to wake up and find out whether there was any news. She was reminded of that time nine years ago when she’d awakened following the birth of the triplets. Just as he was now, Scott had been sitting in a chair by her side. His face had been grim, his voice hesitant as he’d told her about their tiny, premature daughters.
“We have three daughters and we think they are identical,” he’d said. Baby A, who turned out to be Sammie, 3 lb. 15 oz; Baby B, Jackie, 3 lb. 9 oz; and Baby C, Alex, just 3 lb. 3 oz. “They’re in the neonatal intensive care unit.”
She’d been scared then, but she was terrified now.
“Babe, you awake?” Scott whispered.
“Scott, has anything —”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Jackie?”
“She’s downstairs.”
“Oh, Scott,” Katie held out her arms and he moved to sit with her on the bed.
They held each
Tina now stood protectively in front of her mother.
“Mom? What’s the matter with you?” Jackie asked. “Tina’s mom doesn’t know where Sammie and Alex are.”
“Your husband knows,” Katie challenged. “He must. Make him tell us.” She tried to soften her voice. “Please?”
“Norman has nothing to do with your children, Dr. Monroe. I swear it. He’s a good man. I know he made mistakes. God knows he’s paid for them.”
“After all these years, he still wants to get back at me?” Katie tried to blunt the hysteria creeping into her voice. “Tell him that I’ll do anything! Anything. Just tell me where they are. Tell me they’re okay. Please!”
Then Katie felt a surge of hope. They had Norman Watkins in a Detroit hospital. They were questioning him. Right now. It must he him. She’d been wrong about Maxwell Cutty as well as Keith Franklin.
“I need to see him,” Katie said, “to ask him —”
“Not possible, Dr. Monroe,” Camry said. “We’ll let you know as soon as we have anything. I promise.”
Connie took a step forward. Shifting her bag to her shoulder, she grabbed both of Katie’s hands. “I swear to you, Dr. Monroe. Norman is a born-again Christian. He would never hurt a child again. My husband is innocent!”
Connie dropped Katie’s hands and grabbed Tina, spinning the child to face Katie. “You remember how much my little girl has gone through. Now her dad is back. He’s gonna make it all up to her.”
Katie stared at Tina. Then she turned to Scott. She did not know how to react. Leaning into Scott, she felt her knees buckle.
“Come on Jackie, let’s take Mom home,” Scott said.
“Bye, Tina,” Jackie turned, and she and Tina exchanged a feeble wave.
As soon as the three of them had climbed into the black Suburban, Jackie had started with the questions. She’d been fascinated by Tina’s dad being arrested, and she wanted to know how Katie and Tina’s mom knew each other. Katie, helpless to respond, sank into an inkyvoid. Scott compensated and he and Jackie held a two-way conversation about who-knew-what. Once they were in the house, Scott released Jackie to her grandmother downstairs and took Katie upstairs, insisting that she lie down.
“You know what, Scott?” Katie said as she accepted a glass of water. “I’m of no help to the FBI. I can’t concentrate. I just feel like I’m dead inside.”
“Katie, I know. I’m so scared that I almost can’t breathe, but we have to be here for Jackie.”
“I feel like I’m failing her, too.”
“Here, take this.” Scott shook a mint green capsule out of a brown prescription bottle. “What you need is some sleep.”
Katie accepted the pill, wondering how Scott, who avoided all drugs, had gotten ahold of a scheduled medication. She’d ask him tomorrow. Eventually she did drift into a dream-filled sleep.
Dreams of Maxwell Cutty and Norman Watkins; dreams of abused children; dreams of evil; and dreams of Keith Franklin.
After three hours, Katie awoke, still groggy from her drugged sleep, but determined to wake up and find out whether there was any news. She was reminded of that time nine years ago when she’d awakened following the birth of the triplets. Just as he was now, Scott had been sitting in a chair by her side. His face had been grim, his voice hesitant as he’d told her about their tiny, premature daughters.
“We have three daughters and we think they are identical,” he’d said. Baby A, who turned out to be Sammie, 3 lb. 15 oz; Baby B, Jackie, 3 lb. 9 oz; and Baby C, Alex, just 3 lb. 3 oz. “They’re in the neonatal intensive care unit.”
She’d been scared then, but she was terrified now.
“Babe, you awake?” Scott whispered.
“Scott, has anything —”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Jackie?”
“She’s downstairs.”
“Oh, Scott,” Katie held out her arms and he moved to sit with her on the bed.
They held each
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