Good Girl Bad (37)

Charlie runs to her, her voice waking him from where he had been sleeping in his basket up the hall. She bends down to pat him, making cooing noises, as though to a child.

“Who’s my favorite little baby, hey bubba boo,” she says, making kissing noises, and she can feel the change in the air, which was tense anyway, like her words have drifted out there and poked and stabbed at something, electric.

What was Rebecca angry about now?

This didn’t fit the pattern. She was home by curfew. She was just patting her dog. Nothing here should tip her mother over the edge.

Tabby slows her patting, tries to keep her movements calm and slow. As though it might be contagious, as though Rebecca might be calmed by it herself.

Inexplicably, she feels like crying.

Couldn’t Rebecca just be happy to see her for once? Couldn’t she just say hello and give her a hug, like Nancy does with Freddy?

The thought of Nancy and Freddy makes Tabby jump.

Everything feels terrible.

She doesn’t want Rebecca to see her cry. She knows it changes things, it makes Rebecca gentle, but it’s not real, it’s not true. She can’t trust it, she can’t lean in to it. She can’t be fooled into thinking it changes anything. It doesn’t matter what she does, if she’s angry and mean, or teary and vulnerable. In the end, whenever she shares herself with Rebecca, the only end point is ever rage. Like all roads lead to the one place.

Tabby takes a deep breath, then smiles at her mother in the gloom. She doesn’t want to provoke her, not tonight. She just wants to go to bed.

“How was your night, Mom?” she asks, trying to be disarming, trying to win her mother over. “Are Gen and Leroy in bed?”

“Yes. Which is where I would be, too, if I didn’t have to sit up worrying about you.”

Seconds tick by between them, strained and dark. Tabby tries to think about what to do, but it’s so hard to think once adrenaline has kicked in. Her heart pounds, she can’t even hear properly. Every muscle in her body strains, without a destination. She doesn’t know where to run to, where to hide.

She strokes Charlie’s ears methodically, thoughtlessly. “Hey little bubba, little one,” she murmurs, trying to think, trying to buy time to come up with a better plan. But she can feel Rebecca lean forward, in the darkness.

“You love that bloody dog more than you love me,” she hisses, and Tabby feels something shift inside her, and maybe it has to be tonight, maybe she can’t stand this insanity for one more single second.

“So what if I do?” she says coolly, one hand reaching for the light switch, the other reaching for her phone.

As Rebecca’s chair scrapes backward on the kitchen tiles, Tabby takes a deep breath, and hits record.





32





The sun is bright, and the little girl is filled with happiness.

It’s random, and she knows it will be fleeting, but in that moment there is sunshine and hope and her heart swells with something uncontainable.

Her mother will be so proud.

She’s done well at her swimming lessons.

Like everything she does, she works hard. She puts all of her efforts into it. She can now swim a whole lap of the pool, her little legs working overtime.

She can’t keep up with the other kids, but they’ve all been having lessons for years, her teacher tells her.

She’ll catch up.

Now, she hugs her little sister. “Bubba boo, bubba boo,” she coos, beaming at her, taking her hand.

Her exhaustion from the sleepless night is forgotten under her excitement, her special secret. Her sister will be so happy! She wants to do everything her big sister does, she hates being left behind, being left out of things. She hasn’t been allowed to have swimming lessons. Her mother can’t get her to class, it’s earlier than Rebecca’s, it’s during work hours, it’s too hard.

It’s Rebecca’s job to teach Moira how to swim.

Her mother doesn’t know it, but she is going to teach her today.

She imagines her mother’s face when she gets home, when she tells her, “Moira can swim! I taught her today!” She imagines the pride, the thanks she will get.

She’s made careful notes of the important things her teacher has told her. She doesn’t have floaties or kickboards, but she will make do.

She’s always managed to make do. She’s a remarkably resourceful girl—her teachers have told her that on many occasions.

Now, she holds Moira’s hand carefully as they wade into the river. She’s overflowing with excitement—that she can share this lovely thing with her sister, who is her best friend, even though she’s four years younger. She’s so adorable, so sweet, so lovely to cuddle. Her little love. Her little bubba boo.

But the excitement is also because she might manage to please her mother, and she glows with pride in anticipation.

The water is colder than she expected, and Moira makes a little whimpering sound, and tugs on her hand as though to back out, go backward up the riverbank, and Rebecca feels a moment of frustration. She doesn’t want a little bit of cold water to ruin her plans.

She frowns at Moira, one hand coming to her hip. “Just for a little bit, Moira. Please?” And Moira looks at her uncertainly, because she wants to please her sister, but it’s very cold, and suddenly the moving water looks scary to Moira, not exciting. She can see a leaf whipping past in the current, gone in seconds, and involuntarily she steps backward, back up the bank.