“No, thanks,” she said. “Can you give me a ride to the McDonald’s? I left my car over there.”
Allen drove her and talked the whole way about his favorite band. The Beatles. She couldn’t tell if he was being ironic or not, but thought he probably didn’t have the brain power to pull it off. When he pulled up to the McDonald’s, he said, “Hey, that guy you’re looking for—-your husband or whatever? Does he have, like, weird eyes? Different eyes?”
“When he’s on crack, he definitely has weird eyes,” Nessa said, remembering the way his eyelids seemed to disappear when he was high. The bloodshot sclera had shone all the way around the iris, giving him a demented appearance.
“Yup. That was him.” Allen scratched his head.
“If John gets in touch with you again, could you call me during my radio show?”
“Sure,” he said, looking her up and down. “You want to go out sometime?”
“Still married,” she said, trying to keep her face from contorting with disgust. “But thanks.”
Nessa walked away from the car. She now had the locksmith and the dealer on the lookout for her. Not a bad night’s work.
Then she found a bush and threw up her dinner. She’d been sober six years, six months, and six days. The PBR wasn’t quite as smooth coming back up as it was going down.
Chapter Twenty
WHEN NESSA PARKED her car in the garage at one--fifteen, Isabeau came charging out of the back door and stood with her arms crossed over her chest until Nessa closed up the garage.
“Where the hell have you been?” Isabeau said.
“Well, I—-”
“I’ve been worried sick! I tried to call you, text you, everything but Pony Express! Where were you?”
Nessa held her hands up in front of her. She felt terrible for upsetting her nanny. “Take it easy, Isabeau.”
“You take it easy! Where. The hell. Were you?”
She looked into Isabeau’s sweet face, this face that was filled with pain and anxiety—-that Nessa had caused. And not just by worrying her. By keeping her at arm’s length.
Isabeau didn’t want anything from her. She truly cared about Nessa.
Nessa felt a surge of protectiveness and affection.
“It’s a long story. Let’s go inside.”
Once they got into the living room, into the light, Isabeau’s jaw went slack.
“What happened to your face?”
Nessa’s hands flew up to her cheeks and she remembered her druggie stage makeup. “I needed to make myself look like a junkie.”
“What?” Isabeau was incredulous.
“Sit down,” Nessa said.
Isabeau sat rigid on the couch, her expression demanding an explanation. Nessa told her all about her evening, leaving nothing out, including the visit from Child Protective Ser-vices the day before, which Isabeau had missed.
“Wow!” Isabeau said. “I can’t believe you did that. I would have gone with you. It would have been safer.”
“Well, it’s done now, and I have confirmation that it was John who bought the heroin.”
Isabeau pressed a finger to her lips and shook her head, staring off at nothing. Then she looked over at Nessa. “Hey,” she said. “I just realized that you’re not wearing long sleeves. You always wear long sleeves.”
Nessa looked into Isabeau’s honest eyes and thought of everything Isabeau had done for her. Loved Daltrey like family. Saved Nessa from the rapist. Helped set up the security system. Did absolutely anything Nessa asked. Held nothing back, ever.
Isabeau was the real thing. A friend. What might it be like to open up to another human being? What would it be like to have a real friend? But what if Isabeau betrayed her somehow? Nessa could never know for sure that she wouldn’t. That was the chance you had to take. With trepidation, Nessa held her breath, braced herself, and jumped off the cliff.
“It’s to cover up my lasered--off tattoos,” Nessa said.
“It looks like you had a full sleeve on here,” Isabeau said.
“I did,” Nessa said.
“I’m sorry, but I’m a little drunk.” Isabeau looked at Nessa guiltily. “It must be hard to be around -people who drink, huh?”
“No,” Nessa said, melting back into the couch, weariness overtaking her. “Booze was never my real problem.”
“What do you mean?”
Nessa hadn’t even told Marlon about this. But a weird thing had happened tonight. She’d tracked down John’s dealers and lived through it. She’d done something courageous, though stupid, and it made her feel brave.
“I mean it was just a gateway drug for me,” Nessa said. “I could kind of take it or leave it—-no addiction there. It just led to other things.”
“So—-wait. You’re not an addict?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Crack?” Isabeau said.
“Oh, hells no,” Nessa said. She gulped. If she let this out now, there was no taking it back. But she was so exhausted from trying to hold up this wall, this wall that threatened to flatten her, that had nearly stolen her humanity.
“It was heroin.”
Isabeau looked shocked, and her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Nessa,” she said.