Tessa, I’m worried. Are you home? Is your husband there?
Three dots dance on her side, and I jump in before she gets carried away.I’m fine! At jewelry store to see about the earrings. Will keep you posted!
The ellipsis continues to undulate until she writes,1 of the appointments on Regina’s list is Mon morning? 10 AM. Should we go?
I’ll pick you up after my husband leaves for work,I write, relieved Barb didn’t ask to meet over the weekend. We only have two weekends left, three if by some miracle the baby is head down and Dr. Avagyan lets me go to term. This is sacred family time with Jasper and Gabe, who has promised not to work on weekends until after the baby arrives.
I stare at my phone, partly waiting for Barb’s response, mostly trying to maintain a veil of privacy for Maya, who continues to whisper-fight.
In my periphery, Maya hangs up and rubs her arms, warming the chill of that nastily quiet call. Then she slips into the office and returns with a binder.
When Maya sits across from me, she’s even sadder than before. She pulls in one exaggerated sniffle, then opens the binder. “What’d you say her name was?”
“Is everything okay?”
Maya folds her hands on top of the open binder, tears pooling. I’m about to apologize for prying when she says, “My ex-husband. Almost ex. After our son—” Her voice cracks. She doesn’t need to finish her sentence. Any mother who talks of a child like that, it can only mean one thing.
“Oh, Maya. I’m so sorry.” Of course I have questions, but they’re voyeuristic, self-centered, meant to assure me that nothing so terrible could happen to my children.
“It’s been five months. Paul’s having trouble coping. He’s paranoid. And obsessed. I can’t help him.”
“You need to take care of yourself.” It’s a little too close to advice, and she shudders. I’m about to apologize when she sniffles again, flips through the binder, and angles it toward me.
“Here’re the people who bought the white gold pairs.”
I scan the list. I don’t recognize the first four names. Then the fifth steals my breath. Dan Huntsman. My best friend’s husband. My neighbor. He bought my earrings. Regina drowned in front of his home. Not mine.
My finger wobbles as I point to Dan’s name. “Is he a regular client of yours?”
Maya shakes her head no.
You can’t just walk into Ezra Linsky & Sons. You need an appointment. If Dan bought my earrings, he was looking for them. Barb mentioned that Regina was having an affair with someone. Could it have been Dan? That could explain how Jasper knew Regina, if she was at the Huntsmans’ sometime when Dan was alone with the kids and invited his mistress over. I’ve let Jasper over there so often without asking any questions about supervision, simply trusting that he’d be safe. Why did I trust that he’d be safe? Dan’s always bothered me. Why didn’t I listen to that intuition?
The snap of the binder jolts me out of my thoughts. Maya stares at me, willing me to leave.
I stand slowly so as not to faint. I’m lightheaded, but it isn’t from low blood pressure. My son is at Dan Huntsman’s house now. He’s playing in a murderer’s living room.
I will my legs to keep Maya’s leisurely pace as she escorts me out, while my body screams at me to run. Every moment Jasper is at the Huntsmans’ is a moment too long.
“Be safe,” she says as she holds the door open.
The comment chills me, putting me further on edge, until I see she’s staring at my stomach. She means the delivery, the part everyone takes for granted except the mothers.
“Let me know when you have new work.”
“I’m really sorry to hear about your son,” I say.
She nods but doesn’t respond. It’s every mother’s worst fear, and she knows it. It’s not her job to console me.
I drive back to the canals as swiftly as the congested streets will allow, berating myself for leaving Jasper at the Huntsmans’, for not knowing about Maya’s son. It seems impossibly cruel, me flaunting my huge stomach in front of her, but I really didn’t know.
When I swing into the alley in front of Claire’s, I put the car in park and jump out, the impact with the cement sending an acute pain down my tailbone. I can barely feel it through the terror that animates me. I trudge toward the door and bang on it so forcefully, the wood rattles with every pound of my fist.
I startle when Claire opens the door. I was expecting Marisol. I’m not prepared to see my best friend turned wife of a murderer.
“Hey, you.” She leans out to kiss my cheek as she swings the door open to let me inside.
I scan the room, trying to remain calm. “Where’s Marisol?”
