Chapter Eleven Tessa #2
Gabe grabs two plates and a rubber dish for Jasper, who’s so familiar with Gjelina that he shouts “Lina” at the take-out containers.
An ominous prickle creeps down my spine.
I glance outside. The walkways are empty.
I take a deep breath. Gabe casts me that concerned expression again, which I pretend not to notice.
This jumpiness isn’t good for me, for the baby, for any of us.
Throughout dinner, the sensation of being watched persists.
I try to ignore it, being extra complimentary about the corn agnolotti, which is usually my favorite.
Today, the mere thought of this food gives me acid reflux.
It’s the pregnancy. It’s also the toxicity of all this anxiety. I need to calm down.
Gabe raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to respond. I’ve been so lost in thought that I didn’t hear his question. “Where were you and Jasper coming from?”
“What?” I ask, unprepared for this question.
“You had the car, so I assume he wasn’t at Claire’s.”
“No.” I pause. Although I should have seen this coming, I haven’t figured out how I’ll explain our adventures today to Gabe.
We don’t keep things from each other. We don’t lie either.
That’s the vow we made when we changed our name.
Both of our childhoods were filled with lies.
We wouldn’t be that kind of partner to each other.
That kind of parent to our children. We’d be Irons strong, our bond able to withstand any truth, to bend without breaking.
Gabe casts me a curious look as he continues to eat. I’m acting weird, but it hasn’t set off any alarms for him. Yet.
“Don’t freak out,” I stammer. This is quite possibly the worst way to begin.
Gabe puts down his fork and folds his hands, heeding my advice to wait.
“When I went to see Officer Gonzales, he said that Regina, the woman—” I point to the canal.
Golden light settles onto the walkways that, despite the terror still coursing through me and the beauty of the predusk hour, remain empty.
“Had been drinking before she—” I poke my finger harder toward the French doors, the quiet landscape beyond.
“So I stopped in the Brig, where he said she was, to see if anyone would talk to me.”
“You took Jasper to a bar?” He’s more confused than angry. I want to bark that it’s not like Jasper’s never been around alcohol before. Gabe is calm. I can’t be snippy and defensive when he’s so calm. “What’d you learn?”
“The bartender said she’d been there.”
“Drinking?”
I nod, picking up my fork to stab at a chunk of burrata. Snot textured, it oozes from the pressure. Gabe strokes at the facial hair he’s never quite been able to grow, trying to piece everything together.
“Officer Gonzales. That’s the police officer you spoke with after the accident?”
I’m about to tell him it wasn’t an accident but opt instead to nod. The faster we’re done with this conversation, the better.
“You saw him again?” The expression on Gabe’s face changes with an unpleasant realization. “Did you take Jasper to see the police? Like, to the police station?”
I hesitate, then nod, finding my voice before I lose total control of the conversation. “He recognized her, Gabe. I’m certain of it.”
“And you told the police that? What did they say?”
“They made a note of it.”
“But they still think it’s a random accident?
” Reluctantly, I nod my head yes, my fork tines etching swirls of the liquidy cheese.
I’m about to mention Barb, that it isn’t just me who feels like there’s more going on here, when Gabe throws down his fork, a rare outburst from him.
It clangs against the plate. Jasper abruptly stops smearing twenty-eight-dollar pizza across the tray of his high chair.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” Gabe runs his hand through his hair.
“You walk in here ready to Mace me. Then I find out you went to the police without even telling me first, let alone asking if I might have a problem with it. They say it was an accident, so, again, without discussing it with me, you take Jasper to a dive bar.” His eyes bore into me. “T., tell me you hear how this sounds?”
The intensity of his stare makes my cheeks burn with shame. I do hear how it sounds. Claire’s words drum in my head, Trust your instincts, urging me to stay strong. “You’re sure she doesn’t look familiar to you?”
Gabe rubs at the stubble that’s grown in a day, lips pursed in thought.
I hold my breath, willing him to say You know what, maybe we did see her the other day.
Claire mentioned spotting her in the neighborhood.
If Gabe and Jasper crossed paths with her, if they played chicken as he angled Jasper’s stroller around her and Jasp reached out to her .
. . If they spoke for a few moments, if it was that recently, then it would explain why my son recognized her at Café Collage.
If Gabe could say yes, then this could all be a random coincidence.
“No.” He picks up his fork, stabs at a piece of cauliflower. “Not at all. Can we please let this go?”
He stares at me, waiting for me to comply.
“T.” Gabe’s face softens. “Please.”
He’s right. I should let this go. I’ve told the police what I know. It didn’t arouse suspicion. I’ve spoken with the bartender who served Regina, and serve she did. Everything points to a tragic accident.
I offer a nod in agreement. He resumes eating, trusting that this is the last time he’ll hear about the woman who drowned outside our house.
I push the food around my plate, unable to take a bite, that allergies-and-bubbly-water sensation potent, its effervescence pinging my limbs, insisting that none of this is right.
The next morning, Jasper and I head to the park, resuming our regular morning routine. I command myself to move on, like I promised my husband I would. The unease lurks in me like a morning sickness I haven’t felt in months.
The other mothers are huddled, whispering. The sight of them offers a perverse relief. My friends are still worried too. It isn’t just me.
“Tessa.” Claire waves me over. Freed from his stroller, Jasper takes off, and I head toward my friends, debating what I’ll tell them about the police, the Brig, Barb, how much I’d want to know if I were in their position. While it wasn’t their child who recognized Regina, it easily could have been.
“Did you hear it too?” Claire asks. I’m struck by a dread that borders on jealousy. Do they know something about Regina that I don’t?
“Hear what?”
“That incessant jackhammering at like five this morning,” Claire says.
Ines pinches the bridge of her nose. “It gave me such a headache.”
“Horrible.” Erin places both hands on her temples.
“It’s those people on Howland. The ones who bought two lots?
” Oh, I know about those people on Howland who bought two lots.
My friends talk about them whenever there’s nothing more salacious to discuss, complaining of how their compound will ruin the vibe of the canals.
“It’s like they’re begging their neighbors to find some sort of violation to report.” Ines’s tone intimates she’s already researched it.
“Where’s Judy when you need her?” Claire teases. “What’s wrong?”
It takes me a moment to understand that this question is aimed in my direction, that they’re all staring at me, equal parts curious and worried. Apparently I’m not hiding my feelings very well—my shock that this is what they’re talking about two days after Regina’s corpse was found in our canal.
“I took Jasp to the police yesterday.” I glance over at my son, who’s marveling at Javier as he pushes Summer down to get to the slide.
Although he can tantrum with the best of them, Jasper isn’t aggressive.
He never pushes. Never bites. I’d like to think this is something Gabe and I have instilled in him, but it’s just who he is. My sweet, gentle boy.
“Javier Luis, I know you did not use your hands.” Ines storms toward the play structure, and I see a glimpse of the studio exec she once was, her commanding powers now relegated to the playground.
“Oh, right,” Claire says, her attention focused on Ines, who has plopped her son beneath the magnolia tree, where he wails as she tries to reason with him. “How’d it go?”
Her lack of interest confuses me. What happened to Trust your instincts? To You need to tell the police?
“They added it to the file.”
“Well, good.” She grabs my shoulders, giving them a loving shake. “Now you can let it go.”
I gape at her, lips parted, tongue slack. First Gabe, now Claire. The more insistent everyone is that I let it go, the more it feels like there’s something to hold on to, something that’s still taking shape.
Ines returns to our circle, clearly dismayed. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. I don’t know how to get through to him.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t apologize,” Claire chides. “There’s nothing wrong with being firm.”
“You were holding a boundary,” Erin agrees. Ines nods, not quite believing her.
On the playground, Javier is already mounting the stairs of the play set again, ready to wreak havoc, his mother’s reprimand quickly forgotten.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket. My chest flutters when I read her name.
Hi Tessa! It’s Barb. I’m off to find Regina’s girlfriend. Want to meet me at Café Collage after?
I glance between the text and my friends, bunched again, the conversation returned to the neighbors jackhammering their way into the canals.
Claire has moved on. The other mothers have moved on too.
My husband. The police. Barb hasn’t moved on.
She can’t. She won’t. I can’t. I won’t either—not until I figure out how my son knew the woman who died outside our home.
And not just died. Though Barb never said it, it was on the tip of her tongue.
Both our tongues. Regina was murdered outside my home.
There is no moving on until we find out what happened to her.
I tell Barb I’ll meet her at 1:30, after I drop off Jasper at Claire’s.