The Obsession by Nora Roberts Page B

while tears ran down her cheeks, mixed with sweat.
    “Mama, Mama, please!”
    “No, she’s not awake, she’s not moving. Her daughter’s doing CPR. I-I-I don’t know. Maybe, um, like forty.”
    “She’s thirty-seven.” Naomi shouted it. “Just hurry.”
    “They’re coming.” Anson dropped down beside her, hesitated, then patted Naomi’s shoulder. “She—the operator—she said they were on the way. They’re coming.”
    He swallowed, moistened his lips, then touched his fingers to Susan’s hand.
    It felt . . . soft and cold. Soft like he could push his fingers through it. Cold like it had lain outside in the winter air.
    “Um, oh jeez, Carson. Ah, man, look, hey.” He kept one hand onSusan’s, put his other on Naomi’s shoulder again. “She’s cold, man. I think . . . I think she’s dead.”
    “No, no, no, no.” Naomi laid her mouth on her mother’s, blew in her breath, willed her to breathe back.
    But there was nothing there. Like the pictures of the women in her father’s cellar, there was nothing left in the eyes but death.
    She sat back. She didn’t weep, not yet, but smoothed back her mother’s hair. There was no weight pressing on her chest, no churning in her belly. There was, as in her mother’s eyes, nothing.
    She remembered the feeling—the same as when she’d swum through the air toward the sheriff’s office on that hot summer dawn.
    In shock, she thought. She was in shock. And her mother was dead.
    She heard the bell, got slowly to her feet. “I need to go let them in. Don’t leave her alone.”
    “Okay. I’ll, um . . . Okay.”
    She walked out—sort of like sleepwalking to Anson’s eyes. He looked back at the dead woman.
    They wouldn’t get back to school in thirty.

Five
    S he wore the black dress to her mother’s funeral. She’d never been to a funeral before, and this was more a memorial as there would be no burial.
    Seth sat down with her and Mason to talk about that. Did they want to take their mother back to Pine Meadows to bury her?
    No, no, no.
    Did they want to find a cemetery in New York?
    It surprised her how firm Mason had been. No cemetery here either. If she’d been happy in New York, she’d still be alive.
    So they’d had her cremated, and in the spring, they’d rent a boat and send her ashes to the air and the sea.
    There were tears, of course, but for Naomi they came from rage as much as grief.
    She had to talk to the police. For the second time in her life, the police came to her home, went through her home, asked questions.
    “I’m Detective Rossini. I’m so sorry for your loss. I know this is a very difficult time, but I have some questions. Can I come in, talk to you?”
    Naomi knew that some cops on TV and in the movies were femaleand pretty, but she’d assumed that was mostly made up. But Rossini looked like she could play a detective on TV.
    “Okay.”
    She’d gone to her room because she didn’t know what else to do, not with all the police, with Seth and Harry talking to them. And with her mother . . .
    Rossini came in, sat on the side of the bed, facing Naomi, who sat in her desk chair with her knees folded up to her chin.
    “Can you tell me why you came home today, why you and your friend weren’t in school?”
    “We got a pass to come home, get my camera. We work on the school newspaper. I’m supposed to take pictures of rehearsal—the drama club. Is he still here? Is Chaffins—Anson—here?”
    “My partner already talked to him. We had him taken back to school.”
    “He’ll tell everybody.” Naomi pressed her face to her knees. “He’ll tell everybody about my mother.”
    “I’m sorry, Naomi. Can you tell me what happened when you got home?”
    “Chaffins wanted a Coke, so I told him to go get a couple of them while I went up for my camera. And Kong—our dog—Kong was outside my mother’s room. He kept whining. He usually stays in Mason’s room or in the courtyard when we’re at school, but . . .