He knew how she felt. He was lonely, too, and filled with regret. He could taste it on his lips—German chocolate, vinegar chips and Tara.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
TARA HUNG HER DAMP, paint-spattered clothes on the drying rack in the laundry room so they wouldn’t mildew before Judith did laundry, her heart in turmoil.
Dylan. He’d said his feelings for her were serious, that they’d killed his marriage to Candee. When he’d said they were better as friends, Tara’s first reaction was hurt that he could set her aside as he had done years ago for what he found more important. But that was the old Tara, the girl eaten alive by her insecurities, the one who demanded all-consuming love because she didn’t love herself.
The more mature Tara understood him and agreed...except that she’d wanted him so much. When he’d touched her cheek, looking at her with such tenderness and pride, she’d felt lifted up, floating on air.
There was attraction, sure, but so much more.
Was she still in love with him?
The possibility hit her like a paintball bullet in the sternum, sharp, hard and bruising. It scared her. How could she still be lost in that teenage fantasy of perfect love? What if she never got past it? What if she was locked forever dreaming of the impossible?
She flipped off the light with a snap and headed down the hall.
“Tara?” her mother called to her from the sunroom, where she stood with a list in her hand, her eyes red-rimmed, her face swollen. She’d been crying. “Good Lord, you look even more homeless than when you left,” she snapped. “Is that mud in your hair?”
Tara bristled, then realized this was how her mother told her she cared. On impulse, Tara put her arms around her mother and hugged her. “I love you, too, Mom.”
Her mother backed out of the hug. “Have you been drinking?”
Swept up in new affection, Tara said, “Of course not. You don’t have to hide how you feel, Mom, or put on a face for me.”
“What is with you?” Her mother sounded vicious. “Why are you so extreme? On or off, black or white, thrilled or enraged. You’re so difficult. You’ve always been difficult. That’s your trouble.”
Hurt coiled around Tara’s heart. Just when she’d thought they were making some headway. She could hardly breathe for the pain. She’d tried, but her mother always rebuffed her.
“No, Mom,” she snapped back. “My trouble is that you wish I’d never been born. I was a mistake. We both know that.”
Her mother stared at her. “No child is a mistake,” she said in a low voice. “You’ll see when you have your own.”
“What makes you think I want any?” She did, though. In her heart of hearts, once she proved to herself that she was capable of that level of love.
“You’ll do what you’re called upon to do. One step and then the next.” She thrust the folder at Tara. “These calls won’t make themselves. Call Raven’s Dry Cleaning right away. They close early. It’s the Jewish Sabbath.” She turned on her heels and walked away.
Tara stood there, reeling. She should probably be angry, but she realized she wasn’t. No child is a mistake. Somehow that soothed her—balm to the sting—and eased the lonely hollow she’d always felt inside knowing that she was not wanted.
For the first time, it occurred to her that her mother might have doubted herself, worried she wasn’t up to motherhood, that she’d done the best she could with what she had, who she was.
Her mother had assumed Tara would have children. She had more faith in Tara than Tara did in herself. That touched Tara.
Something bloomed in her, a new sturdiness, a new confidence. All from the smallest hint of honesty from her mother. Coming from her mother, she realized, that was big. Very big.
Buoyed by the feeling, she decided her first call would be to the insurance adjuster. She was determined to reach him this time. When she told the secretary she needed to touch base with the adjuster before she took any legal action, he was suddenly on the phone.
“I understand you have some concerns, Ms. Wharton,” he said, cutting her off before she could say more than hello, his voice icy, “but I have been in contact with your family’s attorney, and I assumed he would answer your questions. Since that seems not to be the case, I’ll repeat what I told him. I’ve examined and rated the car