“Who was it for?” He has a pleading expression on his face. I’m not wrong to make him tell me. He will not make me feel unreasonable again.
“I didn’t want to worry you.” He pauses for effect, sending my heart to catastrophic levels.
“Judy,” he finally admits. “She’s always watching us, and we’d just gotten Jasper home. I guess I was sleep deprived and a little on edge.”
“Judy?” Judy’s always been too nosy, intrusive even, but she’s never seemed dangerous.
“I just wanted her to go away.”
“So why didn’t you file it?”
“Probably the same reason Dan didn’t. You can’t file a restraining order on your neighbor and expect to continue living beside them.”
This stings. He means for it to sting.
“Sorry—I didn’t mean—I don’t have the mental capacity to think about Judy right now.”
“What about work?” I ask. “Have you ever filed a restraining order there?” I don’t know how to ask him why Regina was on his payroll, what they did in that extra office space across the street. I’m afraid of his answers, their permanency.
“Never. There’ve been moments. A few protestors. Some angry clients who wanted their money back when IVF didn’t work. No one that would warrant a restraining order.” Gabe leans against the wall, runs his hand through his hair. “I think you’re right. After the baby comes, we should look into moving. We’re too exposed here.”
Gabe stands up and closes the space between us. He kisses my temple, his lips like sandpaper against my skin. “I’m going to get cleaned up. Want to order some dinner? Whatever’s fine.”
I think I nod. I can’t be sure. Whatever my response, it’s enough for Gabe, who wanders down the hall. The shower turns on, a faint static in the distance.
I don’t know how I’m going to sit through dinner with Gabe, much less sleep beside him tonight. Every inch of me knows it’s over between us, but I’m having a baby in eight days. You can’t upend your life eight days before a C-section. Plus, as certain as I am about Regina and Gabe, I don’t have all the facts. I don’t know who killed her. Or Aram. I just know it wasn’t Gabe.
Could the restraining order really have been for Judy?
As if reading my mind, Jasper starts to shout, “Dede. Dede. Dede.”
The office is the only room in our house without a view to the canal or the alley, just one window that faces a complementary window in Judy’s home. She keeps all her shades closed. Only, today the window is bare. She stands there with one eye shut, tongue peeking out the corner of her mouth, eager to entertain my son. Jasper toddles toward the window, delighted, while I’m paralyzed. Somehow, she knew exactly where we were in our house. Jasper presses his lips to the glass and slaps his hand against the pane in glee.
“Jasper, no.” I jump up too quickly, and my uterus thuds against my pelvis.
Judy beams and waves when she sees me. It sends a chill down my spine.
“Come.” I lug him away from the window and smother him in kisses before he can protest. As I carry him downstairs into theliving area, where the walkways outside are dark and empty, I can sense her lingering. Judy, our busybody neighbor. Could she be dangerous? I’ve always pitied her. Feared her loneliness, her desperation, never her. Loneliness and desperation, though, can make a person unhinged.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Tessa
I don’t know how I get through the night with Gabe. On the surface, everything’s normal: overpriced takeout, Jasper’s bath, bedtime stories, mindless TV, collapsing in our California king, Gabe spooning me, the rise and fall of his steady breath. It’s all so painfully normal that I lie awake, disbelieving everything I know is true on a cellular level. Gabe cheated. Regina is dead because of him. Aram too.
I lie awake for so long that I convince myself Judy’s a mastermind, a murderer obsessed with my husband. She killed Regina out of jealousy. Aram out of spite. She wants to cut off Gabe from the outside world. As the contours of our furniture become visible with the morning’s first light, I convince myself I’m next.
By the time Gabe’s alarm goes off, I’m rattled, scrambling for how to defend myself, my family, from Judy. Gabe leans over to kiss my forehead like he does each morning before he leaves to surf. I feel nothing—not revulsion, not anger, not love. Just an emptiness so vast I’m not sure I’ll ever climb out of it.
In his absence, the room smells of him, the sheets still crumpled from his body. I run my hand over them, missing him, missing us. Inthe full light of morning, I know Judy isn’t a mastermind. That only makes me more anxious, because if it isn’t our unstable neighbor who’s after Gabe, I can’t begin to imagine who is.
A light blinks from the table on Gabe’s side of the bed. His phone. He always leaves it at home when he surfs. His home screen has a picture of Jasper and me from our rowboat on a summer day when the water was high and gleaming. Since he can’t swim, I rarely take Jasper on the boat. I can’t remember if we were at the ducky race or a movie or on a simple family outing. From our smiling faces, you can’t know how nervous I must have been. Even without remembering the occasion, I know my first instinct was to protect my son.
The phone gives me pause. Why would he leave it if he had something to hide? Because he knows I’d never look. Our iron-strong bond. He hasn’t needed to be careful because I’ve been so naive.
I even know his password. It’s the date we met. Again, it’s another example of the open, honest man I love. The smartest cover of all.
I start with his call log. There are too many area codes I don’t recognize to know what to do with them. He has two voicemail messages, both clients, both in the last twenty-four hours.
