The Last Invitation (55)
Now Jessa sat at the bar as she pretended to wait for Faith to show up and their table to open. She ignored the entrance of a notoriously late-for-everything couple, more Faith’s friends than hers, as they snuck in the door and slipped into the private room.
“Congratulations.”
That voice.
No way. If Faith invited him . . .
Jessa turned on her bar stool and saw Tim. That pretty face and stupid grin. He cried out to be slapped, and she toyed with making that happen. “For what?”
He frowned. “The partnership?”
“Right. I forgot how you knew about things happening in my office at the same time as, and sometimes before, I did.” She turned back to her drink, pretending like the blackberry mojito in front of her was the most interesting companion in the world.
He shifted his weight from foot to foot but didn’t leave. “I know you worked really hard for this. It’s a hell of an accomplishment. I’m happy for you.”
“Uh-huh.” She took a bigger sip than intended and had to fight off a coughing fit.
“Look.” He slid his arm along the bar and leaned down until their faces were only a few inches apart. “We should talk about what happened.”
“When you dumped me because I failed to fulfill your expectations of being perfect and maintaining a shiny reputation that made you look better?”
The bartender’s eyebrow rose. She seemed to be hovering, listening in, ready to take on an obnoxious guy, if needed. Jessa appreciated the support.
“It was a temporary separation. Everything I said made you angry back then. You wouldn’t listen to reason or any advice, really.” Tim shrugged in his poor me, what was I to do? way. “I thought you needed some space to figure out your work issues.”
Somehow, he made kicking her out of the house they shared when she was at her lowest point all her fault. He really was begging to get slapped.
“‘Temporary’ as in ‘be out by tomorrow.’ Those were your words, or close, right?” Jessa asked.
She thought she heard a slight hiss, the kind that might come with a dramatic wince, coming from the direction of the overinvested but supportive bartender. The reaction fit the moment.
Tim shook his head. “That’s not what I said.”
“Oh, Tim.” Jessa shifted in her seat, putting a bit of room in between them and forcing him to stand up straight again. “My dear Tim.”
“Okay, you don’t have to—”
“No, you started this. You could have seen me sitting here and slinked out again, but you came over.” With every word, she grew stronger. Power filled her. Rage turned to energy with the lethal force of a swinging sword. “So, for once, you’re going to listen.”
He let out a loud exhale. “Go ahead.”
She thought about his abandonment. The hollow emptiness that left her reeling. His dismissal started a chain reaction, a screaming in her head that whined about how pathetic she was. A worthless loser who didn’t deserve support. Then she thought about Retta and her warning and knew her mentor had never been more on target than in her assessment of Tim.
Jessa unloaded. “You need a woman who will hang on every word, praise you, stay in the background, and agree with everything you say. A pretty ornament who is allowed to have a life outside of you, but not much of one. Who enjoys a career, but only one that you approve of or even possibly pick for her.”
“That’s not who I am.”
“It is, and I’m not her.” She stood up, taking her drink with her. “I need a man. A partner. Someone who appreciates and supports what I want. That’s not you. It could never be you.”
He wore that you’re beneath me expression that she’d once pretended didn’t exist, but now it was all she could see. Retta and Faith had been right. She deserved better.
“Fancy speech. Are you done?” he asked.
“With you?” She downed the rest of the drink, deciding that it was too tasty to waste on throwing on him. “Yeah, I’m definitely done with you.”
She had her friends. She had Faith. She had the Sophie Foundation.
A surge of energy pumped through her. Emboldened her. She carried a secret. The kind of secret that gave her power, and she refused to waste one more minute of her life on guys like Tim.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Gabby
Gabby spent all night rereading the papers Rob gave her. She’d copied them and stored one set in a safety-deposit box and mailed one to her great-aunt to put somewhere safe near her, along with orders that she give another copy to her attorney for safekeeping.
The woman had a backbone of steel. If Gabby had asked Great-Aunt Isabel, the woman who’d taken her in when her mom died, to drive here from Ohio and rip down the house with her bare hands, she would have. She was that woman. Strong. Decent. Pissed. A retired prosecutor and the reason Gabby had gone to law school in the first place. The perfect ally.
Gabby looked at the copies she’d kept. Wrinkled, with sticky notes posted all over them. Each death reviewed, analyzed, and cataloged. The companion list Tami had started about possible related cases led in more directions, added more fuel, but finding common denominators across the cases proved futile.
Some cases had one therapist, but just as many cases had other professionals, or none. Different judges and lawyers. Some of the deaths had nothing to do with a court case or divorce. In every single one, if she looked long enough, she found a nasty rumor or an allegation that eventually got dropped.