Chapter Twenty-Six Barb
Chapter Twenty-Six
Barb
Tessa never did call me back. All night, after drifting off to sleep, I’d see Tessa’s face and bolt up, berating myself for letting her go home to a murderer, for heeding her plea not to come over.
Eventually, at four in the morning, waiting became too labored.
I texted her, Are you okay??? For the next hour, I checked my phone every few minutes with no word from Tessa, until eventually, involuntarily, I fell back to sleep.
“Hey, Barb.” Isaac intones my name differently now, no longer elongating the ar with sympathy. Instead it’s short. Curt.
“Did you file Regina’s taxes?”
“If you’re asking, you know I did.”
“So you know she made over two hundred thousand dollars?”
“She’s been doing well the last few years.”
“Doing well at what?”
“As an accountant, it’s not my job to ask.” He says accountant like it’s his superpower. I can’t fight my frustration anymore.
“What about your job as a father?”
“You’re serious? It’s the middle of Regina’s shiva, and you’re giving me a hard time about her taxes? I can’t do this. It’s my fault for answering.”
With that, he hangs up, and I’m left alone with my thoughts and that strip of harsh light between the blackout curtains.
I try to envision myself seated beside Isaac and Anna in their living room, day after day of hard chairs and deafening quiet, impossible loss that we’ll never be able to share.
I was never going to that shiva, not even if I’d been in New Jersey.
This isn’t Isaac’s fault, but he’s an easy target, especially since that kind of money should have alarmed him.
He should have asked questions, discovered what she was up to while we could still help her.
I have no idea what she did for Gabe Irons, whether it’s connected to Reggie Ray Casting, which wasn’t listed on her taxes.
These questions bring me back to Tessa, to the worry that’s kept me up all night. I let her go home to a murderer.
Are you okay? I text her again. I pace the room, waiting for her to write back, more certain with every step that she’s not safe. When I can’t take it anymore, I call Linda.
“Do you think she’s in danger? Would he hurt her?” I say when Linda picks up.
“I’m going to need a little more information,” Linda says.
Too much has happened in the three days since we’ve last spoken. I try to catch her up, telling her about Tessa, asking her what she thinks Gabe might do, insisting I will never forgive myself if anything happens to her.
Linda cuts me off. “Barbara, it’s not your job to protect her.” Her words startle me. “Sorry if that was harsh. It’s just hard to watch. You have this giant heart, but she’s not your child. She’s responsible for her own decisions.”
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 my giant heart led 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.
8:27 Sorry, I shouldn’t have reached out.
I open the iMessage icon and read through four other texts from the same number.
8:02 Hey 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?
8:05 I know u said it’s a one-time thing. I’m hoping u can make an exception?
8:10 I know it’s a longshot.
8:12 I 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.
8:43 Marley! 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.
8:43 Playa 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.