The Last Invitation (59)

Faith sat sideways on the couch, with her shoulder pressed into the cushions and her focus on Jessa at the other end. That made it tough for Jessa to duck or hide her expression or even sigh without it being dissected.

Jessa gave up on trying to eat and set the food container on the coffee table. “Do you ever get this dragging feeling, like things are about to take a turn for the worse? Like it’s all too good and a downslide is inevitable?”

Faith groaned. “Jessa, no.”

“What?”

“Do not mess this up. You are on a roll. You are on the verge of having everything you ever wanted.”

“Or momentarily lucky.” But she knew lucky was only a small piece of the explanation for having her world turn right again. Retta. The backdoor dealing. The evidence that appeared or disappeared at her whim. Right now, the whim worked in Jessa’s favor, but what if it didn’t in the future? What if the tiny bit of control she’d wrangled out of her job and her life crashed down on her?

“Look, I know you’re still upset about Tim, but that scene in the bar was spectacular. The fact you dismissed him. Literally waved him off.” Faith laughed. “The bartender will be telling that story for a year.”

The thing Jessa couldn’t say nagged at her. On seeing Tim, she’d experienced a spark she didn’t want, followed by a momentary pulse of power . . . then it faded. “I thought I’d feel something else when I saw him.”

“Hate?”

Jessa ignored the sarcasm. “Sadness. We left so much unfinished between us.”

Faith stabbed at the noodles but stopped eating. “Is this some sort of fear-of-success thing? Because if it is, we’re going to buy you a self-help book or get you a therapist. You can’t self-destruct right now.”

“I don’t intend to.”

“But . . . ?”

“I’m assessing who I am and if I can be better.” Some days the Sophie Foundation sounded like the right avenue. Other days the weight of the responsibility pressed down and Jessa’s resolve wavered. She had blind spots in her personality. The surge of power fed a sleeping need inside her, but that might be the worst part of her.

Right now, she could recognize the light and dark, the undertones and the pitfalls. Potentially losing that perspective scared her. She didn’t want to be Darren Bartholomew or his family or anyone like them.

Faith balanced the container on her lap. “Explain what you’re thinking.”

“You’re a compassionate person. You worry about the women at work. You fundraise and do whatever you need to do to be there for those families.” Faith had dedicated her life to untangling people—mostly women and children—from abusive, shocking, and unthinkable situations. She pleaded and educated, pulled and guided. Jessa couldn’t imagine believing in anything so much. “I’ve been here and watched you struggle with depression and devastation when a woman went back to her abusive spouse.”

“I suck at losing, but people are not always ready for help. They want to believe their partners can change or feel too guilty or are too beaten down to believe they deserve better. It’s a long-term process to break that hold.”

“And that pain and damage, it pricks at you, tries to change you, but somehow you manage to separate their decisions from your life and move forward.” Jessa envied the skill. She looked back and reran every failure in her head, tortured herself with the instant replay of her poor decisions. “Look at the Young case.”

Faith sighed. “That family name seems to keep coming up lately.”

“You were accused of hiding the mother, helping to kidnap the child, and you stayed calm. Instead of flipping into denial, you stood in front of the press and gave a speech about how easy it is to violate a protective order and put everyone’s attention back on the husband and abused spouses.” Jessa stepped around the accusations and the ongoing sense more than one family lawyer held, that Faith had assisted the wife in some unknown way.

“Maybe, but I still couldn’t save them. He killed them. I’d bet everything I have on that, and it’s the debilitating part of the job that I keep to myself. Thinking about it, reliving it, would make doing this work impossible.” Faith shook her head. “But I’m still lost about what any of this has to do with Tim.”

“Nothing, really.” Jessa rested her head against the cushions. “It’s more like . . .”

“Just say it.”

I’m a terrible person. “I watched a man die. Before that, I listened to Gabby unravel.” A vicious, empty person consumed by my own needs and getting ahead. “I felt nothing.”

“Okay.” Faith sat up a little straighter. “I think it’s more that you don’t let feelings in.”

“I feel pretty annoyed at Gabby. That snuck in without trouble. You pointed out that we were close once. Not like Gabby thought, but . . . I don’t know. I guess I’m just in this position where good things are happening, but all around me there’s chaos.”

“Except with me.”

“Yeah, you’re solid. You’re always solid.” Decent, smart, beautiful, focused. Jessa should hate her, but Faith never judged. She accepted and supported, providing the type of unconditional love Jessa had spent her whole life chasing.

Faith shrugged. “You’re not empathetic, in general.”