by Hester Young
“I saw two sets of lights the other night. Elijah’s not alone out there.” I wrap my arms around a pillow, trying to fend off goose bumps. “Something is going on in those woods, Rae. Something . . .”
“Hey, we didn’t come away empty-handed tonight. Elijah had some useful things to say.” She begins ticking items off on her fingers. “He told you the guy lurking in the woods was probably just Kai. He told you Lise definitively did make it home that night. And he told you his mom totally has it in for you.” Rae now wears a satisfied smile.
“What’s Naomi got against me, anyway?” I ask. “I haven’t done anything to her except help her find Raph.”
“Maybe she found Elijah with your phone. Realized he’d been following you around. That’s pretty sinful stuff in her world.”
Thinking of crazy Naomi and her pitiful boys just depresses me further. “I’m going to bed.”
“You sure you want to stay in the Bamboo Room tonight?” Rae asks. “My bed’s a king. Maybe you shouldn’t stay in a room where dudes snap photos of you sleeping.”
I wave her off. “Elijah won’t show up here again, not after tonight. But I’ll lock the door to the balcony and make sure the curtain is closed, okay?”
Rae looks doubtful, but she shrugs it off. “You’re a grown-ass woman. Suit yourself.”
Back in the Bamboo Room, I start to see the wisdom of Rae’s suggestion. I can’t stop thinking about that unknown guy in the woods, the one that I’ve been dreaming of. Who is he? Adam? Victor? Frankie? Kai? I struggle to believe that any of them are evil. Could it be some stranger, then, who watches from the shadows, taunting Elijah with false promises of Lise’s return each night? I curl up in bed, unable to warm myself beneath the blankets, too unsettled to turn off the light.
What will happen to Jocelyn? What has already happened to Lise?
I don’t know when I drift off, but I awake in the dark to the sound of a light rapping. For a moment, I think I’m home, that it’s Tasha come to drag me out of bed. Disoriented, I sit up. Take in my surroundings and realize that I have it all wrong.
The rapping sounds again—not the door to the hallway, but the sliding glass door to the balcony. Someone is out there. Again.
Probably just Rae, I tell myself, but my beating heart doesn’t believe it. I snatch my less-than-intimidating pair of nail scissors and point their blades outward like a knife. Padding softly to the glass door, I take a deep breath. Try to steady my shaky hands. Draw back the curtain.
twenty-four
The pale face pressed against the glass door gives me a quick jolt of adrenaline. In the split second it takes to recognize the bewildered, boyish figure, my body prepares for an attack, increases my heart rate, and diverts all the blood from my digits to my muscles. Not the kind of reaction people usually have to Adam Yoon.
Seeing my fear, he withdraws from the glass, greets me with a sheepish, tips-of-his-fingers-only wave like a middle school boy at a crowded dance.
I don’t open the door. It’s two a.m.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Adam blinks at me, wounded. I doubt he can hear me through the door, but my ire is obvious. He glances behind him into the dark and then back at me, evaluating whether he should leave. Sorry, he mouths, gaze dropped to the floor. He moves back toward the railing, ready to leap over it.
I can’t let him go, not without an explanation. Cursing, I lift the bolt and crack the door a few inches. “Before you go running off into the night, maybe you can tell me why you’re on my balcony.”
“I saw your light on,” Adam says. “I thought . . . maybe you wanted company.”
“Company? My light is not an invitation. Adam, you scared the crap out of me.”
“I—I’m sorry,” he stammers. “I was looking at your window and the light . . . it seemed like you were having trouble sleeping. I thought . . . maybe you were lonely. Maybe we could talk.”
It dawns on me now: Elijah wasn’t the one following me around. “This isn’t the first time you’ve been out here, is it? You were the one screwing around with my phone, taking pictures.”
“I didn’t steal it,” he says quickly. “That was Elijah. I saw him with it, and I told him he couldn’t do that. That you were nice, and we had to give it back.”
“You took your time getting it back to me.”
Adam hangs his head.
“The flowers—that was you also?”
“I wanted to give you something. A gift.”
“So you left them at the front door without any indication of who they came from? I don’t think I follow your strategy.”
“I thought when you saw the flowers, you’d understand.”
“Understand what?”
“That I want to be with you.”
My grip tightens around the tiny scissors. He sounds more like a child than a mentally unhinged pervert, but I’m not taking any chances. No doubt that was him hanging around outside my bath. God knows what twisted fantasies this boy has been dreaming up.
“Is this how it was with Lise?” I ask softly. “You wanted to be with her?”
“Lise?” He sounds baffled by the name. “Lise is Elijah’s friend, not mine. Why would I want to be with her? She’s just a kid.”
“You’re telling me you didn’t watch her in the woods?”
Adam remains puzzled. “Watch her do what? All they ever did out there was sing and smoke and drink alcohol. I wouldn’t participate in that.”
His self-righteousness feels a little misplaced, given his stalker tendencies, but I let it slide for the moment. “What is it you want from me, Adam? Spit it out.” I’m fully prepared to plunge these nail scissors into his throat if he gets too close.
His eyes well up. “I just want to leave, okay? I just want to come with you. You’ve been so nice to me, and to Raph. We would be happier with you. I don’t want to spend my whole life with my mother. Please.”
I look him over. He’s an inch shorter than I am, and scrawny. No weapon. Rae and David and Thom are all just a scream away.
“You’re nineteen years old,” I say, cracking the door open another couple of inches. “You don’t need her permission to leave. You don’t need me to take you with me. This is on you, Adam. Get a job and go.”
“It’s not that simple,” he says. “I’ve got Raph. If I get a job, who will take care of him? I can’t do this alone.”
His devotion to his little brother does complicate matters—and leave Naomi with ample opportunity to exploit their bond. But if it’s submission she’s after, her repressive rules have backfired, leaving both her teenage sons desperately hatching exit plans.
“Raph is your mother’s responsibility, Adam,” I say, “not yours. If you’re this miserable, you need to take care of yourself first.”
“He has to come with me,” he says stubbornly. “I can’t leave him.”
Mentally cursing my own bleeding heart, I open the door and join him on the balcony. Clouds have drifted in off the mountains, forming a wispy veil across the stars. I sink into a damp chair with a sigh.
“You’re over eighteen. If you can make the case that your mother is an unfit parent, you could petition to be his legal guardian.”
“What does that mean, ‘an unfit parent’?”
“Is your mother neglecting Raph? Causing him physical or emotional harm?”
“No.”
I think for a moment. “Elijah doesn’t go to school, right? If your mom hasn’t filed paperwork to meet the state standards for homeschooling, that might get Child Welfare in the door.”
He dismisses the idea outright. “I don’t want to get her in trouble.” Adam tilts his head toward the sky. It has started raining again, tiny drops like gossamer in the air. “It would be better if me and Raph just left,” he says at last. “She wouldn’t follow us, I know she would
n’t.”
“Adam, you could face kidnapping charges.”
“No,” he says, frowning. “She wouldn’t do that. Raph is just as much mine as hers.”
I stroke my forehead, wondering how it is I’m stuck explaining legal concepts to a kid who has spent nearly two decades living under a proverbial rock. “Look, I know you’ve been like a dad to Raph. You practically raised him, I get it. But in the eyes of the law, a brother is not the same thing as a biological parent.”
Adam’s gaze holds mine, and for the first time, I see something burning in him, a will to fight. “I’m not just like a dad to him,” he says. “I am his dad.”
For a second, I don’t believe what he’s saying. “But . . . Victor . . .”
“Victor, Victor. People never stop talking about Victor!” Adam laughs a little wildly. “He’s been hanging around my mom for years, pretending to be so helpful. You think she doesn’t know what he really wants? She knows, and she’s never going to give it to him. But hey, if he wants to fix our roof for free, she won’t say no.”
“I don’t understand. If you’re Raph’s dad, then who . . .” I can’t finish the question, can’t ask him the identity of Raph’s mother. Because I know what’s been going on, can feel it in my gut. “Oh God,” I murmur, my stomach turning. “Oh, honey.”
Adam twists away from the railing. “I don’t want her to go to jail.”
I run the numbers. Raph is four now, and Adam is nineteen. That means Adam was probably only fourteen, fifteen tops, when Naomi became pregnant. If this gets out, it doesn’t matter whether Adam wants to prosecute or not. He was a minor when the abuse began, legally unable to consent to any sexual activity with an adult, let alone his own mother.
Suddenly Marvel’s words come back to me. She kept talking about the age of consent. She wanted to know if an older partner could be punished for statutory rape after the younger partner turned sixteen.
Only now do I realize: Lise wasn’t talking about herself. She knew.
I lean forward, fingers gripping the sides of my chair. “Is it just you? Your mom and Elijah, are they . . . ?”
“Elijah is just a kid,” he says, as if insulted. “He and my mother have never been close.” The fine rain settles on his hair and imbues his skin with an eerie sheen. He hunches over, hands tucked into his armpits, afraid to look at me.
“Just you, then.” I’m dazed.
How did Lise know? Did Elijah tell her? Did she figure it out for herself or, God forbid, see something? More importantly, did knowing play some role in her disappearance?
My questions will have to wait. I need to be fully present for Adam. He will judge himself according to my reaction.
“Adam . . .” I begin, “I’m . . . sorry this happened to you.”
It’s the wrong thing to say, and he rushes to Naomi’s defense. “Nothing happened to me,” he says. “My mother needed someone, a man of the house. Someone responsible who wouldn’t leave her. She deserves a man like that.”
“You deserve things, too,” I say. “Things she hasn’t given you.” Like a childhood, I think. Like a healthy, functional parent.
His face crumples. “I’ve tried,” he tells me. “Really. But I can’t be the man that she needs. I know it’s selfish. I know I’ve failed her.”
There’s no arguing with this level of brainwashing.
I swallow back my feelings and keep a steady voice. “We need to call somebody, Adam. Somebody who can get you and Elijah and Raph out of that house.” This now goes well beyond a simple call to Child Welfare. Only law enforcement can remove children from a home.
Adam paces around the balcony, his steps jittery and erratic. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to her,” he says. “People won’t understand. She didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Yes,” I say forcefully. “She did.”
“I could’ve said no. I could’ve said no, and I didn’t. I didn’t ever. I love my mom. And she loves me.”
I don’t want to hear any more details, don’t want to see the way this poor boy has been taught to empathize with his abuser. Recognizing he can’t bear any criticism of Naomi, I try another approach.
“Adam, you’re not happy in that house. Neither is Elijah. You told me how much you want to leave. You’d both be happier, right?”
He nods.
“This is how we have to do it. This is how we get you out.” I move to the doorway, gesturing for him to come inside.
The Bamboo Room glows warm and inviting, offering refuge from the dark.
He hesitates. Brushes a few raindrops from his hair, but doesn’t enter. It takes a moment for me to realize that he’s weeping again. Arms wrapped around his own skinny body, he rocks back and forth, crying noiselessly. I wish that he would holler, let loose, make some noise. He has been silent for so long.
When he finally does speak, his voice is nearly lost to the sound of the rain. “I don’t know if I can do this to her,” he says. “She’s my mother.”
“Hey.” I place a hand on his arm. “Forget your mother for a minute, and think about who really matters here. Who is it you should be protecting?”
He takes a breath, shoulders slumping. “Raph.”
“That’s right. Raph. He deserves a better life than the one you’ve had.” I give his arm a squeeze. “This is how you give it to him. You walk into that room with me, and we make the call.”
Adam closes his eyes and in that moment makes his decision. As a brother. As a father.
“Okay,” he says hoarsely. “Okay.”
saturday
twenty-five
The police cruisers show up at Wakea Ranch a little before noon. Rae and I have been lingering at the foot of the Koa House driveway for hours, searching for signs of activity down the road, wondering if Adam got cold feet after I dropped him off at the station. It’s one thing to tell your story to a nameless voice on the phone, and—as I know from experience—quite another to sit across from some guy in an interrogation room and answer a string of unsavory personal questions. When the officers finally arrive, I know that Adam has stuck the landing.
If Rae and I are expecting fireworks, a showdown and a dramatic arrest, we get something else entirely. No lights, no sirens, no screaming or gunshots; just a pair of Hawaiʻi County police vehicles that arrive and depart from the property within half an hour. The lack of drama confuses me. Have they arrested Naomi? The cruisers’ tinted windows make it impossible to see who’s coming and going.
“You think they convinced her to come to the station?” I ask. “I mean, they wouldn’t just leave her with those kids, right?”
“No way,” Rae reassures me. “There were two cars. One for Naomi, one for the boys. It’s going to be fine.”
“Fine” is the last adjective I’d use to describe the Yoon family’s situation right now, but I’m too exhausted to disagree. I call Noah to let him know the mystery of my stalker has been solved, news that somewhat eases his mind, although he’s not as disposed to forgive Adam’s creepy behavior as I am. That duty dispensed with, I trudge off for a four-hour nap. To my immense relief, sleep proves restorative, not frightening. I don’t dream of stalking young women. I don’t feel myself getting pushed off a cliff.
That evening, Thom learns through the rumor mill that Naomi is in custody. The news brings both relief and crushing guilt. I hope I didn’t destroy lives. I hope I’m giving these boys something better.
Rae and I pick up some Chinese food in Pāhoa and treat Thom and David to dinner. The mood at the dining table is somber as we each struggle to process what has happened.
“I still can’t believe it.” Thom dips his chicken in duck sauce, shaking his head. “Naomi Yoon. All these years we’ve been living next door to her, so sure she and Victor were an item . . .”
“You weren’t the only one who misjudged that relationship.
” Having dismissed all three Nakagawa females as credulous dupes, I feel more than a little guilty. “But Sue was right about Victor all along. He might’ve had a little crush on Naomi, but it never went beyond that. After her husband died, Naomi only had eyes for Adam.”
Thom cringes. “The crazy part is . . . I’m not exactly surprised. If she were a man, living like she does with three daughters, someone would’ve called Child Welfare years ago.”
David picks at his food, his forehead lined with self-recrimination. “We should’ve seen the signs,” he says. “I’ve dealt with enough kids from abusive homes over the years—I should’ve gotten involved. When I think about Adam living over there in isolation all that time . . .” He puts down his chopsticks. “What will happen to those kids?”
I play with the napkin in my lap. “I’d guess they’ll be put in a temporary foster placement while Adam seeks custody.”
“You think he’ll get it?” Thom asks.
“I don’t know. I hope so. He really loves Raph.” My heart aches for all three boys. They face so many changes, and the foster care system isn’t always fair or kind.
“At least this gives police free rein to search Wakea Ranch,” Rae says. “Who knows what they’ll find?”
Thom puts a hand to his chest. “If they find Lise out there, I swear I’ll never sleep again.”
“Don’t,” David says, blanching. “Don’t say that. The Yoons have their problems, but murder? That’s . . . no. I won’t believe that.”
“Naomi had motive,” Rae points out. “Lise Nakagawa knew what was going on in that family. She’d been asking Marvel for legal advice, trying to figure out what the consequences would be if she reported it. She was trying to get Elijah a job at Marvel’s restaurant, to give him a way out.”
“That doesn’t mean Naomi killed her,” I protest. Frankly, I’m not convinced Lise is dead at all. Jocelyn sure isn’t acting like it. She must know something the rest of us don’t. I refrain from sharing my suspicions with David and Thom, however. No reason to go spreading unfounded rumors—not when Rae’s doing such a bang-up job.
