I feel a strange sense of pride swell in my chest.
I’ve always known Jess is a vault when she wants to be. When she needs to be. Now, her mother is getting to watch as she fully locks down.
No one deserves it more.
Finally, Charlotte looks away. Back to Salem, who tries a different a different tactic.
“I assumed your efforts with Mr. Kirtenour set you up here. My understanding is that he paid quite a lot of money for that necklace you said you had. I assumed Lynton retired.”
“I thought you knew him better than that, Salem. Is it okay if I call you Salem?”
Salem clears her throat. “Sure,” she says flatly.
It’s the same tone of voice I once heard her use on Cody, one of the associate producers at Broadside, when he argued that it was “bored housewives” who were responsible for the popularity of true crime in media.
“He talked about you a lot, you know,” Charlotte says. “I do think he felt very remorseful. About never showing up for your interview.”
Salem’s lips roll inward, and even though the majority of my attention is focused on the woman standing next to me—on the subtle rise and fall of her body as she takes careful, controlled breaths in and out—I can still see that there’s something unexpectedly tense between Salem and Charlotte. I can see that Salem seems to be a bigger part of this story than I ever thought.
“Well,” Salem says curtly, “the show did fine without his participation.”
“Oh, I know! We listened.”
It hangs so long in the air that Tegan has time to lift her glass to her mouth and take a drink. To set it down and look between the two women on either side of her. I know Salem wants to ask. She wants to know what Lynton Baltimore thought of her story.
But I guess she too knows when to lock something away.
“So he didn’t retire then,” Salem finally says.
Charlotte shrugs again. “We adapted. We settled here, sure. But then I . . . did some traveling, at times.”
“You did jobs for him. Away from here.”
Charlotte isn’t going to answer that, not directly.
“Well, he was more recognizable by then, thanks to you! And obviously, with him being ill—he got worse, as time went on, of course—staying here at home was better for him. But, you know, with technology—”
Tegan explodes from her chair. So sudden and so fierce that her half-full glass tips over, water splashing Salem’s hands and dripping onto the floor.
“Are youfuckingkidding me?” she yells. Sheyells. Full-throated with her fists clenched. Jess startles and steps toward her sister. I have to stop myself from gripping the back of her shirt and keeping her close to me.
“Withtechnologyyou called him, Mom? You FaceTimed him, maybe? Checked in with him on how tosteal thingsfrom people?”
“I never said I—” Charlotte begins.
“Gave him updates on what you made off with, when the job was done? You reallystayed in touch, huh? While you were doing yourtraveling?”
“Tegan,” Salem says, her voice quiet and cautious.
Jess is ghost white. I’ve followed her, taken the steps that bring me close to her again, but I don’t think she notices. I don’t think she’s noticing much of anything right now.
“You aredisgusting,” says Tegan. “A disgusting person. You haven’t seen us in ten years, Mom. Youleftus, and this is what you have to say for yourself? You want to sit here in your stupidboatand talk to a journalist about how you became some man’s stand-in?”
I should be looking at what Charlotte is doing, should be cataloguing her reaction to this richly deserved onslaught. But all I can see is Jess. Her pale face and the fear written all over it.
All this time, I thought it was losing her privacy—Tegan’s privacy—that scared her most. All this time I thought it was wanting to keep this story a guarded secret from the world. But I can see now, it’s this—this is the fear that was lying beneath it all, always. The fear of watching her sister have her heart smashed to pieces right in front of her eyes, and she can’t do anything to stop it.
Jess moves again, touching Tegan’s arm. But Tegan shakes her off, a reflex more than a rejection.
