I TRY TO TELL DEVERAUX about how Tabby started showing up at the Stop & Shop when she knew I was working.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” she says, “but did you not say yourself that the Stop & Shop is the only grocery store in town? I don’t suppose Tabitha had any other options. Presumably, she didn’t go there just to see you.”
“But—” It’s impossible to explain. Tabby waited in my line, even when it was busy. One time, she was eating a Popsicle she didn’t even pay for and she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“Do you have any proof that Tabitha was there to see you?”
“She told me she loves a man in uniform,” I say, and I swear, the entire courtroom holds in a laugh, and I don’t blame them. It sounds ridiculous, like I’m grasping for an excuse that doesn’t exist.
The one person I can’t look at is Tabby. I have to pretend she doesn’t exist. I should have done that from the start.