“Do you need me to call an ambulance?” the man asks, taking his phone out of his back pocket.
“I need your help,” I mutter.
The woman lets go of her husband and steps into our garden. My midsection releases its tension, and for a fleeting moment, I think I’ll be okay. Before she can reach me, Gabe swoops outside with three bags hanging from his arms.
“Hi there,” Gabe says, putting his hand on my back. It sears my skin. “We’re all set. I’ve got the car waiting. Come on, babe.”
Gabe never calls mebabe. It isn’t meant sweetly now. The strangers can’t know the threat beneath his endearment.
The woman hovers just inside our gate.
“Don’t—it’s not. Please, help,” I try to say. The agony swallows my words as Gabe explains that he’s a doctor, that we’re headed to the hospital.
He throws my arm over his shoulder and lugs me upright off the back of the couch. I try to tell him to stop. I try to scream for help. I’m too weak, Gabe’s grip on my waist is too tight. His body is too close, too warm, too familiar.
“Walk,” he mutters as he waves goodbye to the couple.
As he helps me inside, I peer over my shoulder at the older woman, who’s still watching us, sensing something’s off. “Please,” I say. “I need your help.”
“It’s all right, babe.” Gabe kisses my forehead, sending a wave of nausea through me. “I’ve got you.”
The couple continues to stand there as Gabe shuts the door. When he lets go of me, I twist my head to see the husband motioning to hiswife to keep walking. She studies me, then nods to assure me I’ve got this, and my hope deflates. She’s seen me, but she doesn’t understand what’s going on. She can’t help me. No one can.
Gabe manages to carry Jasper, along with the three bags, to the car, keeping a strong hold on me as he guides me to the garage. As he straps Jasper in, I lean against the car, trying not to faint. He lifts me into the passenger seat next, his breath against my neck as he reaches over to buckle my seat belt.
“You killed Regina, didn’t you?” I mutter.
“I would never hurt Reggie,” he says as he taps the door shut.
Just like that, I know it’s all true. The affair. Jasper. The murders. The danger I’m in.
Gabe trots around to the driver’s seat. He takes both my phone and his out of his back pockets, puts them in the cup holders, along with his wallet and the keys. The garage door creaks open. The only thing on my mind during the short drive across the canal is that I have to get my son out of the car. He’ll be safe at Claire’s, safer with Dan Huntsman than he would be with his own father.
We pull up in the alley behind the Huntsmans’ house, and Gabe says, “I’ll be right back.”
Gabe unbuckles Jasper, who reaches for me, pleading “Mama.”
“It’s okay, sweetie.” I force a smile as Gabe lugs him out of the car seat. “Mommy just needs to bring your baby sister home. You go play with Summer.”
My words shift his begging into an all-out scream, like he’s physically hurt. Gabe slams the door. I can still hear Jasper screeching as they head toward the house, where Claire stands, Dan lurking behind her. They nod along while Gabe talks. Claire glances in my direction, and I sit up, try to roll the window down. Gabe has turned off the car. I mouth “Help,” make a phone with my thumb and pinkie to signal she should call 9-1-1. She has no reaction to this, not confusion or fear, just quickly returns her attention to Gabe. I lean back, trying to think. My son is safe. Soon, my daughter will be too. I sit upright, panicked. Gabe knows how to do a C-section. Hecould be taking me to his clinic, somewhere I can’t get help. I unbuckle the seat belt, reach for the handle, and push the door open. Before I can get my foot out of the car, Gabe is running to my side.
“Claire!” I shout, but the door is already shutting, and it’s Dan Huntsman, not Claire, who spots me and decisively pushes it closed.
“Relax,” Gabe says, part encouragement, part threat. He buckles me back in and shuts the door. I loll my head to the left, defeated. Then I spot my phone in the console. I only have a few seconds. I grab my phone and open the first name on my text exchange. Barb. I don’t have time to decide whether she’s the person I want to be texting right now. I quickly typehelp, hit Send, and drop the phone back in the console as Gabe bounds into the car.
“You’re going to be okay, T.,” Gabe says in the sweet voice I’ve always trusted. The car rolls beneath us, sending a wave of nausea through me. Despite the air-conditioning blowing icily across my face, I’m sweating profusely. I’m trapped here with Gabe, a man I no longer trust.
Another contraction slices through me. It’s hard to differentiate the pain from the fear as Gabe keeps talking to me, saying it will only be a few minutes, insisting everything’s okay. He doesn’t tell me where we’re headed, simply that we’ll be there soon. I have no idea where he’s taking me. It could be anywhere. I’m completely at his mercy.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Barb
Linda doesn’t leave my side the entire time I pack, as if she’s worried I’ll make a break for it when her back is turned. With every button-up blouse that’s folded, every pair of slacks, I’m tucking away a piece of Venice Beach, of Tessa, of the truth about Regina I’ve only half uncovered. It feels wrong, leaving when I’m this close to answers, but they’re answers I’ll never find. The police aren’t investigating. Tessa won’t accept the truth about her husband. Maybe that denial shields her. I have to hope so, because she won’t let me near them again. I can’t protect her. I can’t get justice for Regina. The only thing I can do is go home, start to heal myself.
Linda monitors my progress from the sitting area. I can see the effort it takes for her to refrain from asking what happened. I’m relieved I don’t have to reassure her I’m fine. I’m not fine. The hard part is just beginning. Going home, figuring out how to continue living, knowing I’ll never expose the facts of my daughter’s death. I have my appointment with Christine, my therapist, on Monday. We meet every two weeks. So much has happened since I last spoke to her, yet I haven’t even missed a session. She doesn’t know my daughter is dead. Maybe I won’t tell her, and therapy can becomea space where Regina’s still alive. Christine will know, though. She always knows when I lie to her. I’ll cancel, then. Quit altogether. I’m not ready to do the work she’ll demand of me. I stuff my dirty laundry into a packing square, angle it into my suitcase, and zip up the last ten days in California.
The sun is still bright as we head to the airport. Block after block, strip malls filled with nail salons and marijuana dispensaries disappear behind us. How did Regina expect to find beauty in a city this ugly? Why did she think she’d be happy here? Linda has booked us on the 6:30 flight back to Newark, determined to get me airborne before I change my mind. I study Linda as she drives my rental car, navigating the surface roads to Alamo. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I silence it. It won’t be Officer Gonzales or Tessa, the only people I want to hear from.
