Good Girl Bad (49)

Someone safer to attack than his wife.

“I did know,” he says softly. “I just didn’t think that it impacted you. I thought it was just about me. I was wrong. I didn’t think hard enough. I took the easy route.”

He starts to cry again. How is it that his teenage daughters can see things so much more clearly than he can himself?

Tabby isn’t saying anything.

She’s holding his hand though. Holding it tight. And that’s a start. It’s not enough. He has to do better. But this week, this month, this year, even—his daughter still wants to hold his hand, and the relief and gratitude he feels is monumental.

When they opened Nate’s front door, Rebecca running up the front path, trying to take his keys from him, her urgency palpable, Tabby had said nothing.

She looked as though she hadn’t eaten since she left on Sunday night. Always tiny, her hips now jutted out above the waist of her jeans in a way that seemed somehow cruel to Nate. Screaming at him just how badly he had let this child down. She had circles under her eyes so dark she was almost unrecognizable. And her eyes themselves were so vacant, uncomprehending almost.

Nate could barely tolerate that she had been suffering alone. He wanted to howl, to grasp her so tightly nothing could ever hurt her ever again, to fall at her feet.

Forgive me, forgive, me, forgive me.

But he held himself together, pulling her into his arms, kissing her temple. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” he said, over and over, like if he said it enough they would all believe it was true.

But it was Rebecca whose eyes she finally found, coming slowly back to them, gaunt, haunted. Like she’d aged a thousand years.

Casey hung back, in the doorway, watching them quietly, on edge.

Rebecca stepped forward, sure of herself, and reached for Tabby’s hand. Tabby let her take it, but it was limp, lifeless. Her eyes lost focus again, drifting away.

“I’m so sorry, Tab,” Rebecca had whispered, her eyes fixed on Tabby’s vacant ones, and Nate had watched for some menace, some harshness, ready to spring in to action, to wrestle Tabby away from her, to protect her, God help him, for the rest of his life, but Rebecca’s hands were soft over Tabby’s. She didn’t look like the Rebecca he knew. She looked broken and gentle and like she didn’t know what to do.

Tabby had turned from her though, and buried her face in Nate’s shoulder. “I killed him. It’s my fault. It’s my fault.” She was barely audible, her shoulders heaving. Her tiny frame seemed too small, too young, to have to carry such a burden for a single minute, let alone for four days, alone in his house.

Or the rest of her life.

“It’s not your fault,” Rebecca had said, her voice firm. “It’s my fault. It’s my fault you ran away, it’s my fault Leroy followed you.” She doesn’t know what to do, or how to fix it, but she knows that much. “I’m sorry, Tabby. I’m going to—” Here she faltered though. What is she going to do? Be better? How can she know such a thing? She doesn’t want to lie to Tabby. She had taken a jagged breath. “I don’t know how to fix it. But I’m going to try.”

Slowly, slowly Tabby emerged from Nate’s chest. Her voice was vacant, like she was far, far away. “You’ll just buy me another dress, though, right, Mom?” She dragged her eyes up to Rebecca’s. Nate held his breath. Something in Tabby’s eyes caught in his throat, spiky and lumpy and heart-wrenching. Like she’d dragged up some bravado, some spite, but underneath, she was longing for Rebecca’s words to be true. For her to be sorry, and to fix it.

For Rebecca to be the mother she always wished she would be.

Even after all the times she’d been let down, there was still a tiny seedling of hope growing there, and Tabby was working to crush it by provoking her mother, by making the inevitable happen, by fast tracking it so it was over, and she could know.

Nate thought his heart couldn’t break any more, but it does.

But then, Rebecca leaned in closer to Tabby, never looking away, her face soft.

“No more dresses,” she whispered, and Nate started to cry.





Now, Nate holds his girls to him.

He can see how far Tabby is from forgiving herself. He catches her staring at a photo of Rebecca and Leroy on their wedding day, and worries the grief and guilt will crush her.

Once, he found her with an unsent text message open to Nancy. She hastily shut the phone when he walked past.

He’s organized for her to see a therapist. Gen too.

Cheryl and Rob have offered to come back down when Rebecca returns, to support them for as long as they need, with whatever they need.

They have a long way to go. But Nate has never been so proud of them, and he tells them so.

Tabby looks disbelieving. “Leroy’s dead because of me. Nancy’s marriage is over. Freddy hates me.” Her voice is leaden.

“And I betrayed my sister,” Gen says dully. “Tabby and Leroy would never have gone to that bridge if I hadn’t told Freddy.” She starts quietly to cry.

“But you’re both here. You’re both talking about it. You’re showing up, which is more than your mother and I have done. We could learn a thing or two from you both. You’ve done amazing things with a shit hand. It wasn’t your job to solve this. It was our job. So if anyone is at fault, it’s your mother and me. Not you, do you understand? And I know that won’t mean you stop feeling bad. And we will support you through that. For as long as it takes. But everything you did, you shouldn’t have had to think about, or decide about. You should have been able to come to us. And you couldn’t, and that’s on us. Not you.”