WE WERE GOING TO HAVE a viewing party for the interview, just like we do for The Bachelor when it’s on, just me and a few girlfriends and some of my mom’s rosé. But now it’s not happening, and I’m kind of relieved. I mean, what kind of girl wants to give an interview, which millions of people will watch, just to say she didn’t do it? The kind who wants attention. The Tabitha Cousins kind.
I almost, almost started to feel sorry for her. But stunts like this remind me that even if she’s innocent of Mark’s death, she’s guilty in other ways. She’s a taker. She takes what she wants, no matter who wanted it first. She took Blanche and she wanted to take Beck and now here she is with the world in her lap like a new toy, and I’m sure she’ll want more than it can give her, too.
When my mom came home last night, I asked her who she’d been with. I do that, sometimes, just to see if she looks guilty. I mean, if there’s one thing I have in common with my mom, it’s that we’re both good at reading people.
“I saw a patient” was all she said. But I didn’t believe her.
So today, when she’s in the shower, I sneak into her home office. Well, I don’t even have to sneak, because she leaves the door open and her laptop is on, and she has these documents up on the screen. It takes me a couple minutes to figure out that I’m reading a patient’s file, a real-life person. Somebody seriously fucked up, I might add. Someone’s life in sections: HISTORY, MENTAL STATUS, DIAGNOSES, RECOMMENDATIONS. History of trouble with boys. Quick to anger. Quick to defend herself. Resistant to therapy. Likes to talk to me about my life, as if we’re friends. Has not wavered in recollection of events on August 16. Known history of manipulation.
When I don’t hear the shower anymore, I click the screen back to where it was and get out of the room. There’s a picture of us on her desk, me and her and my dad, from Before. Maybe everyone’s life is split into Before and After. Before one person goes and ruins everything. Before my mom cheated, she told me things, and I told her things. After, she’s this big mess of secrets.
The name on that file. T. Cousins. How long has my mom been seeing Tabitha? And what are her recommendations for a girl like that?
I pull on my coat and leave the house before I have to talk to her or hear any more of her bullshit. I’m never going to figure out anything by asking my mom. She’ll say something about patient confidentiality, but maybe it’s just in her genetic code to protect another fuckup, another girl who will probably grow into somebody just like her.
Maybe I’m wrong, and Tabby isn’t the problem. Maybe everyone else around her is. Maybe Beck is. (Okay, he definitely is, because he broke up with me. Ugh.) And as much as he’s an asshole, I can’t forget how scared he looked that day on my porch. He genuinely thinks he could go to jail, and I might be the only person who can figure out the truth in time to stop that from happening. Except I can’t do it alone.
Keegan’s at the Stop & Shop, just like I knew he would be. I’m hoping he’s not one of those lifer types, then I realize I don’t actually care. He’s not my problem. None of this is. But I’m making it my problem anyway, because I need to know.
“Keegan Leach,” I say. He kind of eyes me up and down, totally slimy. I wonder if he thinks I’m hot. I’m definitely not his usual party type.
“What do you want?” he says.
“Same thing as you,” I say. “I want her to get what she deserves.”