The Elizas: A Novel(68)

It’s an iPad. I don’t even need to take it out to see that the texts from her phone have also shown up on the screen. Doing okay?

It must be Dave, the boyfriend. I want to write to him to say he should make sure to sit with his son at the hospital, even through stupid moments, even when he’s sleeping, because he really needs someone there. From one sick patient to another. And, oh yeah. Don’t lie to him. Don’t cover shit up. It’s not very much fun.

There’s another ping. When I look down, there’s something in this text that I didn’t notice on the first one. A name is attached. For a moment, my brain doesn’t make sense of it, and I assume that it’s only what I want to see, simply because I’ve been too much in my own world lately, too engulfed in my own problems. So I look again. And one more time, because it’s not a name you see very fucking often.

Leonidas.

I read the second text. The cops haven’t called you, have they?

My heart goes still.

Outside, Gabby is still talking on the phone. She probably hasn’t checked the texts that have come in yet, but I’m guessing they show up on this device and her phone simultaneously. Her back is to me, so I slide the iPad from her bag. I stare at Leonidas’s name in the bubble. And then something else flashes to me, hot and flinty in my mind. That’s why one of the numbers on the screen shot I’ve gotten of Leo’s call screen seemed familiar. It was Gabby’s. He’d been talking to Gabby . . . about me.

I try to remember what I’d overheard Leo saying at the Cat Show. I mean, why would they ask you? And you don’t need to bring up Eliza or Palm Springs.

Another text pings in. Leonidas again. If they do, remember what we talked about, it reads. Just stay the course.

I grip the iPad tightly, wishing I could type something but knowing that as soon as I swipe the screen a password request will come up and those texts will disappear. I stare at the words, willing for more to come up. Anything to explain this.

A shadow falls over me, and I jump. Gabby has her phone in one hand, the texts clear on that screen, too. She stares at her open bag and my fingers wrapped around her iPad. When I meet her gaze, her expression is eerily calm—not caught, not frantic, not bumbling, not scrambling. It is as though she was expecting this might happen, and as though she formed a plan in case it did.

“Gabby,” I whisper. She grabs the tablet from me, whirls around, and runs.

? ? ?

“Gabby,” I call out, bursting onto the street. “Gabby, wait!”

Gabby is scrambling in her suit and heels, her purse bouncing against her back. She banks around a corner, sweeping right past her parked car.

“Gabby,” I cry, chasing after her up the long street. She keeps running. “Gabby!” I scream. “Stop! I need to talk to you!”

“Just go, Eliza,” she calls over her shoulder. “Please.”

“I’m not leaving. Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on.”

She has run into an alleyway, and there’s no way out. She halts and spins around, shielding her hands against her chest. She looks frightened of me. Which is ridiculous, because it should be the opposite. Right now I have no idea who I should be afraid of. Maybe everyone.

“Tell me why Leonidas is texting you about the police,” I demand.

“It’s all a misunderstanding.”

“Bullshit.”

“Just let it go!”

“I’m not letting it go! You know something. Just like Mom knows something. How do you even know Leonidas?”

“We’ve been friends for a while. Out of worry for you.”

“Why is everyone so worried?” This last word explodes off my tongue, salty, fizzling.

Gabby’s bottom lip twitches. She is digging her thumbnail deeply into her palm.

“Why are you and Leonidas talking about Palm Springs?” I press. “Why is he talking about the police? What are you guys trying to cover up?”

Gabby juts her chin toward the sky. “Eliza, this isn’t some kind of conspiracy!”

“Really? You could’ve fooled me!” The blinking neon lights on the hotel across the street are only enhancing my dizziness. I turn away from them. “I know you have answers, so you’d better start talking. What are you keeping from me? Tell me what you know!”

I’m inches from her face now, my breath mingling with hers. Gabby tucks her chin into her chest. Her shoulders heave up and down. “Eliza,” she squeaks out. “Trying to figure out this pool thing, you’re just harming yourself. It’s making you so paranoid. So troubled, like before. We’re not trying to hurt you. We’re not the bad guys here. You’re sick. Whatever was happening to you before your brain incident is happening again.”

There’s part of me that wants to buy into what she’s saying—after all, I think it might be true, too. But I keep seeing those texts on the iPad screen. No. This isn’t just my brain. Not all of it. “I’m not just randomly falling into pools. And I heard Leonidas saying something sketchy on the phone the other day, and I remember Mom in that parking lot. I know you know something, maybe everything. You can be arrested for withholding evidence,” I warn her. “You know that, right? If you know something, you have to tell me. I can go to the police.”

Her eyes are shut. “Don’t go to the police.”