Chapter 12
There was no way out of it. Only one choice to make.
She could hide making the call, or not hide.
There’d be no reason for Henry to contact her during an event, not unless it was an irretrievable disaster.
He had her complete schedule, city by city and almost hour by hour, printed out and posted on the fridge.
He had to know she’d be in the midst of speaking.
Dire possibilities flashed through her mind at the speed of fear.
But she could not let this audience know.
“My husband. Back home.” She tried to keep her face calm. “Give me a second? It’s fine, I’m sure. Never a dull moment, huh?”
She turned her back to the audience, away from the microphone. Hearing their concerned whispers, feeling her breath shorten. She typed back, panicking.
Linny what? I’m in event. What?
The fear descended, the avalanche of horribles; her daughter sobbing or injured or kidnapped or dying. Or dead. Three dots meant Henry was typing his answer, three excruciating dots.
Oh no, sorry. Time zones. Linny was throwing up.
Tessa closed her eyes, imagining her daughter, fragile and hurting and no matter what she said, a needy child longing for her absent mother.
What the hell was Henry doing with them?
Linny hardly ever threw up, except, hideously, if she ate bananas.
But bananas weren’t hard to avoid, and Henry would not be that careless.
She hadn’t brought bananas into their house for years.
What did she eat? Did you give her something with bananas?
Of course not. She’s fine. Go be famous. Sell books. Talk later.
Tessa stared through the screen across two time zones and transported herself into her little girl’s bedroom, her new bedroom, so new the walls weren’t even freshly painted yet. Tessa pictured the menagerie of watchful plushies on Linny’s wall. At least they were there for her.
“Time zone error, my husband says,” Tessa said as she clicked off and turned back to the audience. “Husbands, right? He wanted to say hello.” She held up the phone, playing the amused and patient spouse. “Shall we call him back and all say hello?”
The chorus of women’s voices answered her, supportive and sympathetic.
“Now. Where were we?” Her heart was still beating too fast. She settled her shoulders, regaining her equilibrium.
Henry was well aware of time zones. He must have been so upset by Linny that he’d spaced.
She’d rather know, of course, than find out later.
“So. Back to reality. Questions.” She pointed to the woman in the front row.
“I’m Winnie Chun,” she said. “And so honored to meet you. Um. Did you ever find out about that locket?”
“Yes, did you find Locket Mom?” Someone else stood. “So sad, isn’t it? But everyone reads your page.”
Everyone, Tessa thought. She’d found a mysterious locket in Indianapolis, made one post, and now it was a hot topic in Phoenix. No time zones on social media—everything was all the time.
“So, no news yet,” she said, “If you don’t know, someone left a locket in the nightstand at my hotel yesterday.
I’m calling her Locket Mom. And I will confess, between us…
” She paused, teasing them. “I looked in the drawers of the nightstand table of my hotel when I arrived here in Phoenix, too, wondering if anyone left a treasure there.”
“Did they?” someone called out.
“Do you have it with you now?” The voice came from the back. “The actual locket?”
“No, I don’t.” Tessa leaned forward, squinting a bit, to see who had asked that—and why the tone seemed odd. But it wasn’t the “exactly where you lived” woman, unless she’d changed seats.
You’re still on edge , Annabelle told her. Chill.
“Hey.” She tried to change the subject. “That could be my new book.” Tessa clapped her hands together, as if imagining it. “Someone leaves mysterious things in hotel rooms?”
“Can’t wait!” someone called out.
Store owner Heather had materialized at her side. “And now we’re running out of time, so… I am incredibly grateful you all came tonight. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
No matter how often this happened, Tessa thought, watching the standing ovation, she would never get used to it. She, an ordinary suburban woman who’d juggled kids and husband and money and fear and the ghosts of her own decision-making, and—
Something she ate? Henry’s message almost physically poked her in the ribs.
Linny threw up? Why? And what did Henry know, anyway, about anything even close to that realm?
Their children’s health, their nutrition, their personal quirks, this was Tessa’s territory.
That Linny could not eat bananas— it’s the texture, she could almost hear Lin’s reedy voice, but in truth she knew she was allergic to them—and would only eat cucumbers cut into rounds, not strips, and that Zack needed his grape jam on both pieces of bread, with creamy peanut butter in the middle.
Those kids would eat pancakes or mac and cheese for every meal if she let them—she wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what Henry was doing.
“You can buy your books at the register,” Heather instructed, as chairs squeaked and people stood, “then Tessa will be at our signing table. Line starts at the left.”
And now two hundred people wanted to buy her book and have her sign it. Two hundred times three minutes per person was—forever. Forever.
Throwing up? She had to get out of here, had to FaceTime. Pixelated or not, she’d understand the situation the minute she saw her baby girl. Keeping her face composed as the applause ended, she risked a glance at her Rockport watch. Ten p.m. at home. Linny throwing up.
She cared about both things so passionately… how could she choose? Why did she have to choose?
“Ha ha,” Annabelle said.
Women swarmed into position, forming one line at the register and another at the signing table, as Heather took Tessa’s arm, pulling her close, guiding her to the signing table. “I’m sorry about that pushy hometown question, though, there’s no way to avoid—”
“No worries,” Tessa said.
“Everything okay at home? Do you need a minute?” Heather whispered.
The line of blue already stretched almost to the farthest bookcased wall of the event space, with an equally long line at the cash register.
“I don’t think anyone will leave.” She paused, seemed to be assessing.
“At least, I hope not. But go, call, if you need to.”
“I’m good.” Tessa hoped. What could she do from two thousand miles away? For a sleeping child? She took a deep breath, sent up a working mother’s prayer, be well, my darling girl .
She could feel the women’s anticipation, even their reluctance to move aside for her; one of them, someone, touched her on the back, almost caressing.
Tessa tried not to flinch, took a step back, bumped into someone else.
Everyone was so close, these strangers, and even though they all looked at her with—whatever emotion it was, devotion, or admiration, Tessa suddenly felt— no .
She had to tough it out. Linny would recover.
This was her dream, and she would embrace it. One thing at a time.
She sat, picked up a felt-tip pen, ready for the woman who was first in line.
Navy blazer. White T-shirt. Jeans.
“I hope I didn’t upset you,” the woman said. “With that question about your hometown.”