Emerson came closer and read over her shoulder. “Reforestation of the Eastern seaboard.” He read some more. “Says here the trees are coming back on their own accord. What, they’re allowing in good news for a change?”
Tessa chewed her lip. “The trees are coming back because the economy sucks. As industries close down, people move out of small towns and the land regresses to wilderness.”
“Oh,” said Emerson. “So it’s what, bad news? Or a mixed bag?”
“You tell me.”
“What do you think?”
“That I don’t want to talk to him.”
“Is it okay if he talks to you a bit?”
“About what?”
Emerson looked at me.
“About what Reed Muscadine did to you,” I said. “I know it’s true. Muscadine’s scum and he’s in jail.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Why?”
“This is going to be tough to hear, Tessa, but you’ll learn it soon enough. He’s the prime suspect in Professor Devane’s murder.”
Her eyes got wild. “Oh!” The word was as much animal cry as human speech. “Oh, oh, oh!”
She sprang up, fingers in her hair, crossing the three-pace room, returning and crossing again.
Stopping, said, “Oh God . . . God GodRobbie!”
“What about Robbie?” said Emerson.
“Where is he?”
“Back home with your mom, Tess.”
“How do I know?”
“Why wouldn’t he be?”
She stretched her hands in front of her, fingers curled, tremoring.
“The phone!” she exclaimed.
“You want me to call home?” said Emerson. “Have your mom tell you Robbie’s okay?”
“I want to call! I want to speak to him!”
“It’s almost eleven, Tessa, I’m sure Robbie’s aslee—”
“I have to, I need to—please, Dr. Emerson. Let me call, please, please, please!” Sobbing. “Oh, please, let me speak to my little Robbie—”
“Okay, hon.” Emerson tried to put his arm around her but she backed away. Confusion tugged at his blue eyes as he unlocked the door and let her out.
At the nursing station, he got her an outside line and both of us watched as she dialed.
“Mom? Where’s Robbie? You’re sure? Go check . . . please, Mom. Please, Mom . . . just do it!”
She waited, pulling at her hair, blinking, rolling her shoulders, twisting the skin of one cheek, shifting her feet.
Emerson observed her with a mixture of pity and fascination.
“You’re sure—did you check to see if he’s breathing? What? I’m serious—from the nursing station. He let me, he’s right here—yes . . . no, I’m not tired . . . I was reading. What? Soon, soon . . . yes . . . you’re sure he’s okay, Mom? I know—I know you wouldn’t . . . sorry, Mom. Sorry for bothering—what? Okay, yes, thanks. Sorry to bother you. Just take care of him. Take real good care of him . . . loveyoutoo.”
She put down the phone. Sighed. Buried her face. Looked up.
“I’ll go back now.”
In the room, I said, “Robbie was the wedge Muscadine used on you. He threatened to kill Robbie unless you dropped the charge at the hearing.”
She looked at me with what seemed like new respect.
Nodded.
I didn’t ask the next question: Why didn’t you tell the police?
Because I knew the answer: She’d told the police before, had been sent away a liar.
His word against hers.
“He can’t hurt Robbie, now,” I said. “He can’t hurt anyone.” Wishing I were sure. Almost hoping Muscadine would walk so that Big Micky could apply his own brand of justice . . . God help me.
She slumped and began sobbing again.
Emerson let her go on for a while, gave her a tissue, stepped back.
Her pain was reflected in his eyes but he could tolerate it.
At the least, I might have found someone to refer to.
Finally she stopped and said, “He killed her because of me.”
“Definitely not,” I said. “It had nothing to do with you. It was between him and Professor Devane.”
“I wish I could believe that.”
“When the facts come out you will.”
“Robbie,” she said.
“You protected Robbie,” I said. “At your expense.”
She didn’t answer.
“Did Professor Devane know about the threat?”
Headshake. “I couldn’t—I didn’t want—she understood me but I didn’t want her . . . didn’t want anyone in my mess.”