Charles streetcar a few blocks from her mother’s Garden District residence that afternoon, she felt physically ill. Not just because of the shouting match she’d had with Roy Chopin, one that had ended with them writing each other off for good. Not just because of how bad her behavior had made her look in front of Greg, who wasn’t just her boss but someone whose opinion she very much valued. Not even because of the time she’d spent in the horrible atmosphere of the police station, turning pages of mug shots that carried energy of countless victims before her—though that had been its own ordeal. She felt sick because, without knowing what her mother would confess, Faith had apparently read enough, subconsciously, to know she wouldn’t like it. She’d suspected that, avoided that, for far too long. Her increasing awareness of Tamara’s secrets was partly why she’d moved out. And now it was time to face them.
