Chapter Six Talia
Chapter Six
Talia
Talia sometimes wonders if she’s in a dream.
Her fear: She’s going to wake up alone to find that Townsend hadn’t spent the night, and hadn’t taken her to Congress Avenue Bridge to see the bats fly, and hadn’t so much as spoken to her since their breakup last year.
The past five weeks have felt like a romance novel come to life—but what if she’s imagined the whole thing?
No, her imagination couldn’t possibly be so vivid.
Next to her on the couch, Townsend tugs on her forearm like an invitation.
She accepts and falls into him, burrowing her face into his chest. This is real, he is real. And he is hers.
Already, Talia feels like she and Townsend are an old married couple in the best kind of way.
To her, the perfect Friday night now means splitting a Neapolitan pizza at The Backspace before returning to Townsend’s condo to watch Shadow of a Doubt and cuddle on his Belgian linen Restoration Hardware sectional, just as they did tonight.
The movie isn’t very interesting; Townsend is way more into Alfred Hitchcock movies than she is.
But she would watch a rotisserie oven infomercial if it meant being here, on Townsend’s chest, forty-eight stories above the city below.
It’s not about the things—though she does marvel at the fact that Townsend spent $8,500 on a bone-white sofa just begging to be stained .
. . and the fact that his mother likely spent three times that amount on her tiny alligator purse.
(After brunch last week, Talia looked up the resale price of a Hermès Mini Kelly.
Her undergraduate education had cost her less money.) Unlike her sorority sisters at Auburn, Talia doesn’t care about the logo on her bag or the color of the soles on her shoes.
It’s this feeling of belonging that she loves, especially since she belongs to someone as prized and powerful as Townsend Fuller.
With everything going so well, it’s tempting to forget what Meera revealed a few days ago on their lunch break.
“I’ve been keeping something from you,” she told Talia as soon as they sat with their salads at Sweetgreen, and somehow, Talia already knew it must involve Townsend.
As inexplicable as it was, Meera’s disapproval of Townsend was obvious, and no matter how many times Talia insisted that he’d changed, Meera refused to hear it.
“He hasn’t changed, Tal,” she said. “His Cuff account is active. I’m pretty sure he’s still talking to other girls.”
“You’re pretty sure or you’re sure?” Talia asked. “And how do you even know this?”
“I went into the customer service data.” Seeing the shocked look on Talia’s face, Meera quickly added, “I don’t trust him. I did it for you.”
“I didn’t ask you to do it for me,” Talia said. “And I trust him, which is what matters.”
They left it at that and proceeded to eat their salads, the subject changed to Gracie’s summer soccer league.
But even days later, Talia can’t stop thinking about Townsend secretly swiping on his phone, sending messages to girls who aren’t her.
It’s possible he forgot to deactivate his account.
Or maybe he just likes to look, nothing more.
Or perhaps what happened last time is going to happen with someone new, and Talia will end up betrayed, broken, all by herself. Again.
No, she scolds herself. He’s given you no reason to doubt him this time, and so you won’t. This relationship wouldn’t end the way things did with Malcolm. She’d never repeat the mistakes she made with Malcolm.
On the TV screen where Shadow of a Doubt is playing, Uncle Charlie offers his niece, Charlie, an emerald ring. (Why are both characters named Charlie? To Talia, this seems needlessly confusing.) She squeezes Townsend’s right hand in hers, realizing something as she does so.
“Hey, what happened to your ring?”
“What ring?”
Talia pulls his hand closer to her face to inspect it. “You used to wear a gold ring.” She traces a loop around his bare ring finger. “Right here. You don’t wear it anymore.”
“No, I guess not,” Townsend says. She can hear annoyance in his voice. He doesn’t like talking during movies—unless, of course, it’s to discuss the movie.
Just then, something strikes the door so loudly and unexpectedly that Talia and Townsend both jump.
“Was that your door?”
There’s another bang, even more insistent this time.
Townsend untangles himself from Talia and crosses the room in three steps.
He looks through the peephole, and Talia thinks she sees his spine stiffen, just a little.
Then he opens the door to reveal two police officers, standing side by side as though to block any means of escape.
“Good evening,” says the one on the left, a tall Black woman. “I’m Detective Harris, and this”—she gestures to her partner, a hulking white man—“is Detective Burrows. We’re with the Austin Police Department.”
“Good evening.” Townsend nods, looking much calmer than Talia feels. Being this close to a police officer always makes her palms sweat, even when she’s done nothing wrong. “How can I help you?”
“We’re looking for Townsend Fuller.”
“He is me. I mean, I am him.” A cough escapes from Townsend’s throat; his composure is slipping.
“Right. May we come in?”
“Please.” He steps aside, and the two officers file into the room.
Talia quickly moves to the far end of the sectional, making room for Harris and Burrows to sit on the other end.
Should she introduce herself? Excuse herself?
Offer them drinks? The etiquette rules for this situation aren’t obvious to her.
And clearly she misreads the situation, as the detectives continue to stand. Once it becomes evident that this is intentional—they’re choosing to hover above Talia as she cowers on the pristine white sectional below them—Townsend asks again, “So how can I help you?”
“Is it okay if I stay?” Talia doesn’t mean to blurt this out, but she does. When everyone turns to look at her, she adds, “Sorry.”
Harris pulls out a pad of paper and leans forward. It seems she and Burrows have decided she’ll take the lead. “Your name?”
“Talia Danvers.”
“And your relationship to Mr. Fuller?”
“I’m his . . .” Talia pauses to glance at Townsend. She’s never actually said this word out loud in front of him before.
“She’s my girlfriend,” Townsend says, rejoining her on the couch. The word sends an unexpected flutter through her chest. Girlfriend.
“Right.” Harris scribbles this down.
Talia is tempted to ask again whether it is, in fact, okay for her to sit in on this conversation, but she resists the urge.
“Mr. Fuller, we don’t want to take up too much of your time,” Harris continues. “We just want to ask you a few questions.”
“Okay. What about?”
“Do you know an Amanda Reade?”
Amanda Reade. That name feels like a blow to the head. Talia keeps from letting out an involuntary gasp.
“I . . . yes. I do.” Townsend is avoiding her eyes. It’s clear he doesn’t want to discuss Amanda Reade any more than she does.
“And how do you know Ms. Reade?”
Talia thinks of the various ways Townsend could answer this question: I met her on Cuff while I was still in a relationship. I fucked her behind my girlfriend’s back. I allowed her to ruin everything.
“We dated briefly back in the beginning of the year,” he says instead.
“Was the relationship serious?”
“No, no, definitely not. It was very casual. We were just . . .” Townsend hesitates. “We were intimate, but it wasn’t romantic.”
“Okay.” Harris writes this down. “Did the relationship end on bad terms?”
Townsend shakes his head no. “I don’t think so.
It just sort of fizzled out. I wouldn’t even call it a relationship, really.
” In his hands, he fiddles with the TV remote, repeatedly removing the batteries and sliding them back into place again.
Seeing this, Talia gently takes the remote from him and sets it next to her on the couch.
She doesn’t like it, seeing him so rattled.
“Are you still in communication?”
“I haven’t spoken to her in three months.
” Townsend pulls out his phone and crosses the room to show the officers the screen.
Talia waits for him to show her, too, before remembering she isn’t the one leading this investigation.
“See? The last text I received from her was on March third, and I never replied.”
“Got it.” Harris makes a note and then closes her pad.
“Do you mind me asking what this is all about?”
Burrows speaks for the first time, his voice gravelly and unsettling. “We’re following up on a missing person report filed by Amanda’s sister, Kaitlyn Reade. She said she hasn’t seen or spoken to Amanda for months, which she said isn’t all that unusual for her, but she’s starting to get worried.”
“Amanda told me she wanted to backpack through Europe this summer. Could she be traveling?”
“Kaitlyn mentioned that as well,” says Burrows, “but we don’t have any evidence to suggest that she has traveled abroad.”
“I didn’t know her well.” Townsend places his hand on Talia’s knee, seeming to remember her for the first time since the police arrived.
“But I did get the impression she was a little . . . wild. Like, maybe disappearing like this isn’t totally out of character for her.
She said she flew to Vegas once on a whim and ended up staying for almost two months. ”
“Is that right?”
“Apparently Amanda had some past brushes with the law,” Townsend continues, his voice on the verge of eager. “She told me she had a few DUIs on her record, as well as a breaking and entering charge from a couple years back.”
“Interesting.” It’s unclear whether this is new information to Burrows, but Townsend still looks pleased to have volunteered it.
“Hey, can I ask something?” Townsend takes his hand back from Talia’s knee, and her skin immediately feels cold. “How did you get my name? Like I said, things were casual between us, so our relationship wasn’t exactly public.”
“Kaitlyn said you were the last person her sister dated. Did Amanda ever introduce you two?”
“No. Amanda barely mentioned her sister.” Townsend clears his throat.
“But she did tell me once that she and Kaitlyn didn’t get along.
Apparently, when their folks died a few years ago, they left the bulk of their estate to Amanda, and the sister was pretty bitter about it.
” He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know if that’s relevant at all.
Just seems like something worth mentioning. ”
Harris exchanges a look with Burrows. Then she opens her pad and jots this down. “One last question,” she says. “Where were you on the night of May eighteenth?”
“He was with me.” The words fly out of Talia’s mouth before she can stop them. Burrows raises an eyebrow, and Talia forces herself to take a deep breath before continuing. “We were with some friends, kayaking on Town Lake.”
“And you left together?” Harris asks.
Talia glances at Townsend, who puts his hand reassuringly back on her knee.
“No,” he tells the detective. “We left separately, just after sunset. Talia went back to her place, I assume”—Talia nods—“and I came back here. Oh, I also stopped to pick up some takeout. Got home around nine thirty. My doorman can confirm the exact time.”
“What’d you get?” Burrows asks in his gravelly voice.
“Hmm?” Townsend is now rubbing his hand back and forth on Talia’s knee. She places her hand on top of his to still the movement.
“To eat,” Burrows clarifies.
“Oh.” Townsend gives a little laugh. “Tacos. From this little food truck called Granny’s.”
Burrows smiles. “I know that place. They run it out of that Airstream, right? Over off East Seventh?”
“That’s the one.”
Harris gives Burrows a subtle nod. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Fuller,” she says. “I’ll leave you my card, and you’ll follow up if you think of anything else that may be helpful, yes?”
“Sure thing,” Townsend says, though Harris isn’t really asking.
They leave, and Townsend turns to look at Talia for the first time in what feels like hours.
“So,” he says, “should we finish the movie?”
Talia’s head is spinning with all the information that was just relayed—missing person reports, estates, DUIs—and she can think of a dozen questions she’d like to ask Townsend.
But then she sees the pleading look in his eyes, a look that says Please, can we talk about it tomorrow and just go back to our movie like none of this ever happened? “Okay,” she says.
Later that night, as Townsend snores, Talia scrolls through Amanda Reade’s Instagram.
Since learning about Amanda last year, she’s visited this profile dozens—if not hundreds—of times, and by now, the pictures feel as familiar as her own.
But no matter how many times she revisits these images, a blind rage consumes her, never dulled or diluted in the months that have passed.
The worst image: the most recent one, posted on March 6, which shows Amanda standing practically naked in front of the picture window in Townsend’s bedroom.
Talia recognizes the room, the view, and even the men’s boxers slung around Amanda’s curvy hips—a pair of silk pinstripe shorts from Derek Rose, Townsend’s preferred underwear brand.
There’s a special place in hell for boyfriend stealers, Talia has decided—especially for those who do so without any discretion or apology.
For months, Amanda’s grid has remained unchanged—no new photos, no new updates.
But now, Talia notices a colorful ring around the profile picture in the top left-hand corner: Amanda has added to her Instagram Story.
Her curiosity piqued, Talia clicks to watch, not caring that Instagram will tattle on her for snooping.
A paragraph appears, written in white text on a black background, and as Talia reads it, her hands start to shake.
Hi all, the note reads. Amanda’s sister Kaitlyn here. As some of you have noticed, Amanda hasn’t posted for the last few months. Today I filed a police report—she is officially considered a missing person. If anyone knows anything about where she may be, please send me a message.
None of this is new to Talia; the police just told her and Townsend as much. What really unnerves her are these last few lines:
And if anyone has info about Amanda’s most recent boyfriend, Townsend Fuller, I’d like to hear from you. I can’t say much here, but I will say this: I know he’s involved in Amanda’s disappearance, and I have proof.