Good Girl Bad (5)

Tabby and Freddy have been best friends since grade four, and Fred, the father, has promised he’ll get Freddy to call Rebecca when she gets home from school, in case she knows anything. The way he says it makes Rebecca’s stomach churn again.

In case she knows anything.

But Rebecca shoves that feeling aside and calls the police.





4





Monday

By the time Nate arrives, the police have already been at Rebecca’s house for an hour.

A bored-looking officer stops him at the door, asking for identification and a reason for being there.

“My daughter is bloody missing with that man!” He has to stop himself from shouting the last two words, his voice rising unusually high.

Rebecca looks over at him, disdain written all across her face. Even disdainful, she’s still a striking woman, with her aquiline nose and astonishing blue eyes. She’s fitter than when they were together, too—always shapely, she’s now toned as well, and her posture is that of a lioness, queen of her terrain.

The officer’s ears prick up at Nate’s tone, though. “We don’t have any reason to suspect anything suspicious at this stage, sir,” he says. “But can you tell me why you refer to Mr. Giovanni in that manner?”

Nate can’t though. He’s never gotten along with Leroy, but do you usually get along with your replacement in the husband department? Leroy is too smooth, too handsome, and Nate is sure he’d be a player. The thought of him living with his teenage daughters is a constant thorn in his side. When Leroy had first moved in, he’d had to be very firm with Rebecca about some boundaries.

Leroy can’t shower the girls.

He can’t be in the bathroom with them.

At the time, they’d been ten and twelve, and Rebecca had just nodded and smiled sarcastically at him, but he could see how close she was to rolling her eyes. Because of course the girls didn’t need any help in the shower, and of course even Rebecca would have thought it weird if her new boyfriend had wanted to spend time in the bathroom with her tween daughters. Rebecca was clearly humoring him. But she didn’t know men the way that he, Nate, knew men. Tabitha was a knockout. Even at twelve, men did double takes on the street. She looked like she was a model, with those long, lean, tanned legs and waist-length beach-blonde hair. She didn’t look away, either. She’d fix those smoldering eyes on whoever stared, her face deadpan, neither shy nor embarrassed nor egotistical.

He often wondered what went on behind her eyes, but he never asked.

She was going to break hearts, though, and Nate would be damned if he’d let a grown man spend any time with her naked.

Now, though, he’s forced to backtrack. Because what could he say?

The man would have to be blind to not ogle her, to not notice her in a sexual manner?

No. He was being ridiculous. He knew that. He was just paranoid. You hear so many awful things these days. It was a terrible time to have a daughter.

To be a woman, he corrects himself. It was a terrible time to be a woman. Or had it always been a terrible time, and now they were just starting to shout about it? #MeToo had shaken him. And then there was the “incident” on Messenger. Here he cringes slightly, the police officer watching him curiously. It was all too difficult to think about, and he’s whittled it down to a simple concept, one which was, however, impossible to enforce: he did not want men thinking about his daughter in a sexual manner at all.

Ever.

For the rest of her life.

Did all fathers feel like this? It was a constant mild panic, a sense of tension he could never quite shake. How dangerous the world might be for someone so beautiful.

Now, he wishes he’d asked what Tabby was thinking behind that blank expression when men stared at her. At the time, it was too uncomfortable. Embarrassing, even. What do you say to your daughter about men his age staring at her on the street? He always felt mortified, as though he was part of that group, like he needed to collectively apologize, like he was tainted by their stares, too. Like she might think less of him because weren’t they all just a little bit like him? On the surface, at any rate. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. But it was awful and uncomfortable and he pretended it wasn’t happening at all.

Now, he wishes he had some idea what her views were on middle-aged men. He wishes he’d been more proactive in talking to her. Guiding her.

Protecting her.

He shakes his head at the police officer. “Nothing, sorry,” he says. “I don’t trust my ex’s new husband, that’s all.”

“But it’s just a gut feeling, isn’t that right, Nate?” Rebecca interjects, her voice jeering at him ever so slightly. Nate ignores her.

“Is there any news?”

“Well, no one has been able to locate Mr. Giovanni or Tabitha, but given there was no sign of forced entry, and Mr. Giovanni’s car is gone, it does suggest that he and Tabitha have gone somewhere together. We do understand that Mrs. Giovanni feels that that is extremely unlikely, but at this stage, I’d suggest waiting until tomorrow to see if this all sorts itself out. These things usually do. Alternatively, if you want to file a missing person’s report, we need you to come down to the station.” The officer snaps his notebook closed with an air of finality, nodding to his colleague, a silent agreement that it was time for them to go.