Back Where She Belongs(4)

Looking at her mother’s face, Tara saw lines that hadn’t been there three years ago when she’d come for Faye’s wedding. Her mother was nearly sixty, so her age had to show some. The veins in her hands were more pronounced, the skin crinkled like parchment.

One day she’ll be gone and you don’t even know her.

The thought startled Tara. Her visits home from college had been short—full of tense silences and brittle exchanges, with her parents lobbing thinly veiled insults about her classes, her major, her appearance and her ideas—so after she graduated, she’d never returned. Why put everyone through that misery? Faye visited Tara twice a year and they spoke often by phone.

Tara had lost the chance to connect with her father, but her mother was right here. Could they make peace? Become friends? That might be too much to ask. But, dammit, she was going to try. The idea filled her with tenderness, hope and a sense of purpose.

She could hear Dimitri speaking to someone in his office, so she sat with her mother for a few more minutes to settle her own emotions.

When Tara heard Dimitri’s office door open, and what sounded like two people saying goodbye, she said, “Mom?”

“Huh?” Her mother jerked to a sit, her face blank, eyes dazed.

“It’s all done. We can leave.”

“Oh. Yes. Well.” Her mother seemed to push past her confusion and gather herself, sitting taller. “I was a bit sleepy.” She tugged her blazer straight, poked a strand of hair in place and arranged her smile. Tara averted her gaze, feeling like she’d accidentally seen behind the Wizard of Oz’s curtain, and the Wizard preferred his privacy.

They went to Dimitri’s door.

“You just missed Mr. Ryland,” he said with a smile.

“We did?” Tara asked, her heart jumping a little.

“He arrived just after we finished.”

She’d wished for Dylan to appear and he had. In high school, they’d believed they could sense each other from far away, draw each other closer by wishing very hard. It made her smile to remember how ridiculously romantic they’d been.

“So it’s official. The auditorium is ours?” her mother asked.

“It is. Our Mr. Ryland gets things done,” Dimitri said.

“I gathered that,” Tara said, looking at her mother, who’d sung Dylan’s praises in the hospital, if in a backhanded way.

Her mother hadn’t minded when Tara started dating Dylan, probably because Tara stopped getting into trouble. Not that Tara and her mother had talked much. Mostly they glared and slammed doors in each other’s faces.

That changed when Tara announced she would be going to Northern Arizona University, the state college Dylan had chosen because of the famous observatory there. Her mother went nuts, railing against Tara choosing a state school when she had more prestigious options, that it was childish to ruin her future over puppy love, which, of course, made Tara even more determined to go there.

Then Dylan changed his mind.

The funeral director held out a card and Tara realized she’d missed why she would need it.

“My email is there,” he said. “To send what you want on the program.”

“Oh. Right. Yes.”

“Where is your mind, Tara?” her mother said.

Lost in the past, where it didn’t belong. She’d better quit that. She needed a clear head and a calm heart to handle what lay ahead—helping her mother, watching over Faye and keeping her business afloat. She had no time or energy to relive lost loves or revisit broken hearts.

* * *

STANDING UNDER AN olive tree in the mortuary parking lot, Dylan looked up from his confirmation text to the bus company to see Tara help her mother into a car. Funny, he’d just been thinking about her.

They used to believe they were so tuned in they could sense each other from across a room...a football field...the whole town.

They’d been so young, so wrapped up in each other.

The embrace at the hospital had been automatic, and it was as if their bodies remembered. She’d melted into him and he’d closed himself around her. He’d felt the same lovesick jolt he used to get when they were reunited after being apart for a few hours.

He’d felt the same heat, the same bone-deep commitment to do whatever it took to soothe the tough, tenderhearted girl who let herself be weak only in his arms.

Seeing her so devastated had torn him up inside. He knew how much she hated breaking down. When was the last time he’d held her?

When he told her he couldn’t go to NAU because his father was falling apart, bitter, broke and about to sink every penny he had into a pointless lawsuit against Abbott Wharton, her face had blanched, her eyes filled with tears. She’d trusted him and he’d betrayed her. That was a big deal, since the only other person she counted on was her sister. He’d hated letting her down.

It wasn’t fair to make him choose between his father and her. They’d said ugly things to each other, stabbed at the most tender spots, hurt each other as only two people who’d been as close as they’d been could.

She’d cut all contact after that—ignored his emails and calls, shut him down completely. He’d been angry, but he should have known. With Tara you were in or out, friend or foe. He’d had this childlike belief that their love would outlast this trouble. He been so caught up in their love, so enmeshed with her, that the breakup had almost killed him.

He hadn’t seen her since. He’d missed Faye’s wedding, sending a gift in his stead. Tara had been a pretty girl. She was a beautiful woman. Her eyes were the same startling blue, even through her tears, but they had more power, more ability to assess and evaluate. She knew what she wanted now.

She was curvier, too, and he liked that. She wore her hair in a sleek style, not wildly spiked with color like in high school. She smelled like an expensive perfume, not patchouli and vanilla oil.

He was glad he’d fixed the funeral for her, though he hadn’t appreciated Tara’s amazement that he had the town job or her assumption that he was just his father’s employee, not his second in command, the guy who’d practically put the place together, who’d set the company on the path that would lead to steady profits and a solid future.

Rachel’s dig about him being part-time manager hit him wrong. It was true the town needed full-time leadership. Dylan planned to provide it. It was his dream. Within a year, he’d have completed his mission at Ryland Engineering and he could go for it. He intended to build up the town, bring in new business, more housing, boost tourism for the river area with its bird sanctuary. He’d pulled together a decent leadership team already. He needed to write some development grants, and do some outreach. All he needed was time.

And time was at a premium with the recent headaches over the Wharton Electronics deal. The contract had been the linchpin on his plan and now it was at risk.

He drove over to the Ryland Engineering plant. When he got out of his car, he paused, taking in the new sign he’d had done by a local graphic artist. The sleek sign, the dark brown gloss paint and the chrome accents gave the building a modern, streamlined look.

Inside, the redone reception area had white-leather furniture and apricot walls that subtly suggested Ryland’s logo. It wasn’t a showcase like the reception area at Wharton Electronics, but it was respectable.

Anticipating the increase in clients, he’d decided they’d needed a more polished public face. The sculpture he’d commissioned looked like an abstract fountain using Ryland circuit boards, curving up and out, wired so they seemed to float in the air.

His father had fought him on the renovation, but his father fought him a lot. It felt like he’d dragged his dad every step of the way to success.

Now that Dylan was near the finish line, he’d become weary of the struggle. He longed for the time when he could be friends with his father, when he could admire his brilliance and passion, instead of fighting to harness it.

“Your dad’s asking for you,” the receptionist called to him.

“Got it.” He walked down the hall and entered his father’s office.

His father looked up from some papers. “Where have you been?”

“Arranging to use the high school for Abbott’s funeral.”

“With all we’ve got going on here, you don’t have time for that town-manager crap.”

“I can handle it.” He took pride in being a problem solver. He was good with difficult people—his father being a prime example.

“It’s thankless work. You’ll be begging for your job back in six months.” His father thought his dream of becoming a town leader was foolish. “So did you get the funeral set?” His father held his frown, but he was clearly concerned. He’d been shaky and red-eyed since he heard that Abbott was dead. The two men had been fraternity brothers at MIT, then business associates for almost thirty years, with Ryland Engineering supplying parts to Wharton Electronics.