with that once he calmed down.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Of course I do. We loved each other, your father and I, no matter what you think. We built a life that worked. We were content.”
“I believe you.” It made Tara sad that her mother had settled for less. Tara would not do that. She wanted to be content, but she also wanted joy and passion, even if it got scary, even if she had to lean back and trust she would be caught.
That Dylan would catch her. The thought of him made her stomach jump and her heart turn over. They were going to talk today. He’d texted her that if his father didn’t lose his nerve, they’d be coming to the hospital to be moral support for her mother.
“We should tell her, Mom. She would want to know. She’ll understand. She knew Dad well. She worked with him every day. Secrets have only hurt this family.” Faye had cried when Tara told her that their father had been killed in the accident, but she’d accepted it bravely, ready to go forward—exactly as she’d handled the difficulties of her therapy.
“I suppose you’re right,” her mother said, giving Tara a new look of respect. “I hope I can be half as brave as Faye when I hear what I’ll be charged with.”
Her mother’s lawyer expected to hear soon from the county prosecutor on what charges he intended to file against her. With the police chief’s behavior mitigating the situation, her mother was likely to get probation and community service. Everyone involved was asking for leniency.
Rachel’s conscience would punish her plenty, along with the good citizens of Wharton. She has friends, Tara reminded herself. Not all the minds in town were small. More and more, Tara was opening her eyes to the good things about Wharton, and the people who lived here. She was letting the imprint fade.
As far as the rest of those involved in the accident, Chief Fallon maintained that he’d removed Tara’s mother from the scene so the investigation could continue. Though he would likely not be charged with anything, Dylan had offered him early retirement, which he was expected to take.
Because everyone wanted leniency, Matt would likely be charged with assault or reckless endangerment, a misdemeanor for which he would likely receive probation.
Jeb had fired him, but Miriam Zeller had made sure his family would be kept on the insurance roster through the baby’s birth. Employees from both Wharton and Ryland had started collections to help the family. Their generosity had made Tara feel even better about the town.
Faye’s survival far outweighed Tara’s anger toward either her mother or Matt for what they’d done.
The meeting with Ryland the day before had gone well. Dylan and Sean had accepted Wharton’s offer of compensation for financial losses due to the false tests, and hadn’t pushed for punitive damages. The feud between the two families seemed to be over for good.
Inside Faye’s room, bouquets and houseplants covered every surface, and bunches of Mylar balloons caught the light in bright flashes. As soon as word had gotten out that Faye was awake, gifts, flowers and cards had flooded in.
Faye was crossing the room using her walker. She stopped and formed a smile, slower than usual, but a Faye smile nonetheless.
“M-Mom...Tara.” She let go of the walker to open her arms for hugs. Their mother went first, holding on tight, eyes squeezed shut.
Then Tara wrapped her arms around Faye, still rail thin. Her fragility set off a pang in Tara’s heart. “You get better every day,” she said, which was true.
Faye made a face and pulled at the hair on one side of her head. It was frizzy. “Not...my hair.”
“I’ll fix it for you. I did your hair while you were sleeping. Did Rita tell you?”
Faye lifted one hand from the walker and wiggled her fingers. The neon polish flashed in the light. “You...do...this?”
“I did.”
“Not...my color.”
“Orange sherbet? Come on. It’s all the rage.”
This time, Faye’s smile filled her face.
“Could you sit down, Faye?” her mother said. She sat in a chair, back straight, hands in her lap. “I need to tell you something.”
Faye considered her mother’s face. “It’s...bad?”
Her mother nodded. “It’s about the accident.”
Faye’s features assumed a resigned look. She’d had to hear plenty of bad news the past few days. She made her way to the recliner, which faced her mother’s chair, and lowered herself onto the seat. “Tell...me.”
“The accident was my fault,” her mother said. “You and I argued that night.