This is why I called Linda—so she could give me permission to release some of this worry. It isn’t working. Tessa has no one else. Except Gabe.
Linda’s words hit me with a different wave of guilt over the story I never told her about Jessica, the other young woman I tried to protect. About her husband, where exactly mygiant heartled me.
“There’s something else, I should have told you months ago when I was fired—”
“Barb,” Linda intervenes, “let’s not start spiraling here.”
I am spiraling, only it isn’t out of control. It’s a tornado barreling toward the truth.
“Please, I need to tell you something. There’s something you deserve to know.”
“Whatever it is, it’s not important. All right?” She pauses, building up to say something. I give her this space. “It’s okay. If you start to find out things you don’t want to know, it’s okay to walk away. To come home. We miss you.”
Is that what she’s asking of me now, to walk away, to shield her from a truth she won’t want to know? And what was the truth, really? I’ve had months to revisit it. What exactly did Dick do wrong? Get a little flirty, lean in a little deep? I’d chosen to see that act as lecherous, when it may just have been clumsy, inappropriate even, but not necessarily indicative of a greater violation. The only truth is that, after decades of friendship, I assumed the worst of Dick. The only truth is that I haven’t been as good a friend to Linda as she has always, unfalteringly, been to me.
Despite Linda’s attempts to absolve me, I can’t stop worrying about Tessa. I check my phone, then check it again. By 8:30, I can’t wait anymore. I need to make sure she’s okay. I dress in the first suitable thing I find, grab my cardigan from the arm of the couch, my door key from the coffee table, and march toward the door, where I hesitate before returning to the sitting area.
Regina’s iPad rests on the coffee table, where it’s been plugged in since we found it. Only now the screen isn’t black. It’s lit up with a new text message from three minutes ago.
8:27Sorry, I shouldn’t have reached out.
I open the iMessage icon and read through four other texts from the same number.
8:02Hey Reggie! It’s Marley Jones, not sure if u remember me. Wondering if u might have something more for me?
My mind starts racing. Was Regina dealing drugs? Did she get them from Gabe? Is that what’s going on here?
8:05I know u said it’s a one-time thing. I’m hoping u can make an exception?
8:10I know it’s a longshot.
8:12I hope u aren’t offended I reached out.
And then that last apology, fifteen minutes later.Sorry, I shouldn’t have reached out.
I scramble to respond, fearing I’ve missed my window.
8:43Marley! I certainly remember you. I delete it, then type, Of course I remember you. I delete that, too, then settle on,Hey Marley! Great to hear from ya. Perfect timing. Let’s meet? hoping it sounds like my daughter.
8:43Playa del Rey again? Tower 50? Sat at 11? she writes back instantaneously.
I tell her both the location and time are perfect. I’m not sure if Tower 50 is the name of a bar or what. Tessa will know. She’ll also know how to talk to Marley so she doesn’t run away.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Tessa
Marley had to pick a Saturday to meet, when it isn’t so easy for me to get away. Gabe’s being particularly affectionate, rubbing my feet as we watch TV, holding me any chance he gets. Each time he reaches for me, I’m conscious of his fingers, soft against my skin, of his breath, hot on my neck. But it’s as if I leave my body, hover above and outside myself. I’m angry. And afraid. Mostly, I’m heartbroken. Whatever’s going on, Gabe won’t tell me, and it’s ruined us. His secrecy forces me to lie, too, to spend these final days searching for a truth he keeps from me, a truth that has already gotten two people killed.
I tell Gabe I’m getting a prenatal massage. It’s our last weekend as a family of three, and I expect resistance from him, arguing that we should be spending this time together before everything changes. Everything is about to change. Like Jasper, Gabe has no idea how much.
“I think that’s great,” Gabe says as he whisks batter for pancakes.
“You don’t mind?” I probe. Although this isn’t the right fight, I’ll take it.
Gabe pours batter into the shapes of snakes, iron bells,Js. He cuts strawberries and bananas into moons and stars. Momentarily, I get lostin the way he plates Jasper’s breakfast with so much care that it’s a shame Jasp’s just going to eat it, or more likely throw it on the floor. Something unfurls in my chest, a thawing, until I remember Gabe let Regina have a relationship with our son.
“Mind you taking care of your body? Of course not.” Gabe’s a big proponent of self-care for his patients. He has a masseuse on staff, an acupuncturist. Although there’s no proof that your mental state affects fertility, it makes his clients feel more in control, more relaxed, which certainly can’t hurt.
