Good Girl Bad (43)

He’s done that so many times, and thought that he’d diffused things.

But all he’d done is postpone the next hurricane, he can see that now. Let Rebecca believe she was justified. All he could see was the way to calm her in the moment, not the way to deal with the problem so it didn’t happen again, and again, and again.

What an idiot he’s been.

His chest feels tight. He grips Tabby’s shoulders, tries to look in her eyes. She’s like a wild animal, her pain and her fear emanating from her like a cornered rat. Leroy can’t help it; he starts to cry. “Listen, Tabby. You’re right. I did it all wrong. I thought I was helping, but I didn’t fix the problem and the problem isn’t you. But I can see that now. I’m going to fix it now, okay? And I’m going to find you somewhere safe to stay.” He pauses for a second, fishes out a hanky and blows his nose. He’s not used to crying, it feels weird, and wet, and gross.

He’s crying not just for Tabby, or for his failures, but for what he’s losing too. Because admitting the scale of the issue means his relationship is in danger, too. And whatever she is with Tabby, sometimes, Leroy still loves Rebecca. She’s mostly wonderful.

She’s always wonderful to him.

“Why are you fighting with Freddy?” Leroy realizes with a shock that he can’t think of any other of Tabby’s friends he could ask for help, ask for Tabby to stay with for a while. They’ve all disappeared over the last year. “Why were you meeting her out here?” He can’t make sense of what happened with Charlie and Rebecca ending up with Tabby and Freddy fighting on a bridge.

But he can’t get an answer out of Tabby. It’s like all the fight has gone out of her, and she falls into his arms shaking quietly, and sobs and sobs and sobs.





“I let Freddy down.”

Tabby is leaning against Leroy, the cold damp asphalt uncomfortable beneath them. She’s limp. She suddenly doesn’t know why she took all her anger out on Leroy. He, at least, was trying to help. He sucked at it, but he was the only person who noticed how much Rebecca affected her, and tried in his own inept way to intervene.

Where was her dad?

Where was anyone?

“I let you and Gen down,” Leroy responds. “But I’m going to work really hard to fix it. Maybe you can fix it with Freddy, too.”

Tabby shakes her head. “I don’t think so,” she says. “I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me. I don’t blame her.” She’s silent for a minute, then says, “I’ve lost Freddy. I’ve lost Charlie.” I’ve lost Fred, she thinks, but doesn’t share that with Leroy.

Freddy was right.

“You were only good to fuck,” she had jeered at Tabby, recounting all the times she’d heard her parents making love, all the sex toys she’d found. “Dad doesn’t care about you, don’t you get it? He got your messages and went and cuddled up with Mom on the couch to watch a movie. He didn’t give you another thought. He doesn’t know where you are and he doesn’t care.”

“But he said to meet me here,” Tabby had cried so hard she could barely get the words out, and Freddy had looked at her, half pityingly, half satisfied. For a short time, she thinks she’s fixed this mess. Put Tabby back in her place. Saved her father from having to read any more of her pathetic messages.

Kept her family together.

It’s only later that she realizes her mistake.

She might have made sure Fred didn’t come out to meet Tabby, but the mess is far from fixed, and her family far from saved.

“He’s watching Fargo. I texted you to meet here. So I could tell you how much I hate you, you two-faced, lying slut.”

Even through everything piling on top of her right now, the sense of being crushed under the weight of it all, Tabby knows that to some degree, Freddy is right. Fred had abandoned her in her hour of need. She’d never told him she needed him before, never asked for anything. And he couldn’t even come and comfort her when her dog was killed.

What a jerk.

She’s not even sure if she’s referring to Fred, or to herself.

How did Freddy know?

It must have been those texts to the wrong phone, Tabby reasons, and kicks herself. She wonders if Freddy will tell Rebecca. Or Nate. Or Nancy.

She shudders.

She tried really hard not to think about Nancy these whole five months.

She feels the worst about Nancy.

Instinctively, her hand goes to her pocket, to check her phone, but neither phone is in her pocket and she pats herself frantically.

What if Fred was texting?

What if Nate was?

“My phones,” she says, panicking.

What if Rebecca found them? Managed to open them? Was holding them when Fred or Nancy messaged?

“I’ve got it,” Leroy says, reaching into his pocket, then frowning. “Wait. It must have fallen out.” Leroy realizes he’s left his phone behind, too, and shivers. He suddenly feels very alone, on a bridge with Tabby in the middle of the night. He wants to call Nate, or someone. Get backup, get someone who can actually help, instead of just bumbling around like an idiot by himself.

“I don’t want Mom to find them,” Tabby says, her voicing rising, her hysteria making no sense to Leroy—would Rebecca finding her phones be any worse than everything else that’s just gone wrong?