everyone knew them and their family, and had opinions about everything they said or did.
Unlike Tara, Faye had shaved off her corners to fit Wharton’s round hole, and Tara had thought she had to wake up Faye to what she’d sacrificed. Faye loved her life here. Tara knew that deep down. Faye loved Joseph. And she loved Wharton Electronics. Only Tara was the misfit.
“She shouldn’t have been in that car,” her mother wailed suddenly, turning the picture facedown on the counter, her face raw with pain. “Why would he do that to her?”
The prickling sensation came again. “You mean why did Dad ask Faye to drive? Is that it?”
Her mother just shook her head, looking down at the counter.
“Do you think Dad got drunk playing poker? Is that why Faye was driving?”
Her mother raised her gaze. “Abbott drinks iced tea in a highball glass...pretends iz whiz-key.... For a clear head... He hates to lose.”
That made sense to Tara. Her father had always been competitive.
“But...that night...” her mother said. “Maybe...he did drink...” Her mother stared at Tara, urgent again. “Do you think if they were quick...er?” Her mother was really slurring now. “The E...M...Ts? Bill said it was quick. But if they were quicker, maybe she wouldn’t be—”
“Who’s Bill?”
“Bill Fallon.”
“The police chief?” Tara had been in his office several times for lectures about how she was killing her mother by staging protests, drinking, driving too fast, or smoking pot. “So someone called 911 and he came? Wait, doesn’t he play poker with Dad?”
“He missed poker. He wazz pazzing by.” Her mother turned her glass with both hands, miserable. “Bill swore the helicopter was quick. He watches out for us, Bill does.”
“He’s a first responder, Mom. It’s his job to help when there’s an accident.” Goose bumps rose on her arms. Her mother seemed worried, too. Something was amiss. “What else, Mom?”
There was a long, long silence. Tara could hear the grandfather clock ticking. Her pulse seemed to thrum in time.
“We quarreled,” her mother said so softly Tara almost didn’t hear her. “Faye and I. I lost my temper. If I could take it all back, I would.” She seemed to be pleading with Tara.
“What did you fight about?”
Her mother shook her head, not willing to say.
“People say things they don’t mean out of anger. Faye knows that. Faye’s a forgiving person,” she said to make her mother feel better. Meanwhile, her mind raced. So the police chief had missed poker, but seen the crash somehow. That alone seemed strange. “Who else played poker that night?”
“I don’t know. Jim Crowley, Mitch Bender, Paul Robins, Gary Hicks. Why?”
“Maybe they know why Faye was in the car.”
“Oh, no.” Her mother blinked at her. “Your father did not tell tales.”
What the hell did that mean? Tara would find a way to talk to one of the men. Maybe at the funeral.
“If Faye dies...I can’t go on,” her mother said in a choked voice. Tara had never heard her mother sound so desperate.
“Mom...” Tara put a tentative hand on her mother’s back.
Her mother tensed, then sat up straight, as if Tara’s touch had been a warning. “I’m not myself. I apologize.” She cleared her throat. “We’ll discuss the program tomorrow. It must be perfect.” Her mother’s voice cracked. “Everyone loved your father.”
She pushed up to her feet. She started away, then turned back and leveled her gaze at Tara. “Your father loved you. Don’t forget that.” With a sharp nod, her mother walked away, moving stiffly, the way people pretending not to be drunk walked.
Her mother was so formal, so strict. She wouldn’t even allow herself a comforting pat. Tara hoped it wasn’t that she couldn’t allow herself a comforting pat from Tara.
No. Don’t think like that. You’re here to make peace. You can’t look for ways to be hurt.
It might be easier if her mother gave any sign she wanted peace with Tara. She might be better off just leaving it alone, but she couldn’t do it. She had to try to fix this, to make it right. Her whole career was about healing wounds between employees and managers. Shouldn’t she be able to do that with her own mother?
Tara sat in the silent kitchen, feeling deflated and sad.
Your father loved you, her mother had said.
Yeah, right. That was her first reaction. She forced herself to be more positive. He loved you in his own way.
And what way was that exactly?
He’d let her come to the shoe shop that time. And once, when she was