“He knows . . .” Jessa struggled to find the composure she needed to get through the next few minutes. The string of shaky days dumped her in a dark place that she dug and clawed at but couldn’t climb out of. “I mean, of course you talk, so . . .”

Retta poured a cup of tea and sat back in her chair. “Knows about what?”

“About the group.” Was she allowed to mention the group? Jessa had no idea what the rules were or if it was okay to bring the topic up again. “What you do . . .” This conversation could not go worse. “I don’t really even understand what I’m talking about.”

Retta smiled. “Jessa, please calm down.”

“I can’t.” The energy revving up inside her had her shifting in the antique chair. Jessa tried to hold in the pulsing ball of exasperation, anger, and terror, but it spilled out. “Tim told me to leave the condo. I’ve lost my job. I might be disbarred. I have nowhere to go, no extra money, and now I might not be able to earn any.” She gulped in a deep breath and kept going. “Reporters are snooping around my past, and . . . We all have stuff we don’t want people to know, right?”

“Well. That’s quite a day.”

“Too much.” Jessa reached her breaking point then went soaring past it. “I can’t—”

“Jessa.” Retta set her cup down on the table. “Tell me you want help.”

“I don’t . . .”

“Say the words.”

Is this a test? Jessa dropped into the chair. “I want help.”

“There.”

Uh . . . “There?”

“Do you understand that accepting help means accepting the ties that come with the assistance?” Retta asked. “It’s about holding up your end of the bargain. Responsibility.”

Jessa wanted to scream, Yes, to all of it . . . no matter what it was. “Please just tell me what you want me to do. I’ll do anything, but I can’t deal in riddles right now.”

“First, you’re not special.” Retta stopped there, as if to let the harsh reality of her words seep in. “You’re experiencing the same thing that many people without power, money, or resources in the legal system deal with every single day.”

“Justice shouldn’t depend on not having a rich person attack you.”

“You’re on the defensive. People will lie and hurt you. Belittle and disregard you.” Retta didn’t sugarcoat. If anything, she ramped up the tension by shoveling on the painful truth. “You’ve lost control of the conversation, to the extent you were invited in the conversation in the first place.”

That defensiveness she mentioned kicked up and demanded Jessa’s attention. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You don’t need to lie.” Retta picked a piece of lint only she could see off her pants. “Perfection is not the price of admission to the group. Your drive comes from being imperfect, and that drive is what the group needs.”