The Truth About Tara

by Darlene Gardner

Poor guy, she thought. Her mom didn’t date, not ever, although she’d had her chances. Why, Art Goodnight asked her mother out at least a few times a year. Tara’s former volleyball coach had even finagled it tonight so he and his friend were seated at one of her mother’s booths.

  Tara threaded her way through the tables back to the bar, wondering where her mother was. She didn’t have to wonder long. Carrie stood at the end of the bar chatting up the customer occupying the last stool. Tara could see only the back of his head, but knew from his dark hair and the set of his shoulders that it was Jack.

  So much for steering clear of him.

  She changed direction in midstep, heading straight toward them. Barry would have to wait for his beer. If George O’Malley got wind of her slow service tonight, he might change his mind about wanting her around forever, but it couldn’t be helped. Getting her mother away from Jack was more important than any job.

  “Hey, Mom. Art needs you at his booth,” Tara called as she approached. A white lie, but probably not one her mother would catch her in.

  Carrie rolled her eyes. “Is it too late to switch tables? I’ve got a feeling that darn Art’s gonna ask me out again.”

  “It’s too late,” Tara confirmed.

  “You can handle him, Carrie,” Jack said encouragingly.

  “Don’t you dare use the word handle around Art,” Carrie told Jack. “That rascal will turn it around and make a joke about how he wants me to handle him.”

  Jack laughed. Her mother didn’t crack a smile, heaving a theatrical sigh before trudging off.

  “I like your mom,” Jack said.

  Tara’s mother obviously returned the feeling. Tara wasn’t quite sure what to do about that.

  “What were you two talking about?” She normally wouldn’t ask such a nosy question. These, however, were dire times.

  “I offered to take Danny fishing Saturday morning,” he said. “Carrie was trying to decide whether to come with us.”

  Tara’s heart felt as if it had been zapped with a defibrillator. “She can’t!”

  “She can’t?” he repeated. “Why not?”

  “She has a thing tomorrow.” Tara cast about for details, but came up with none. She needed to fake it. “An appointment. She must have forgotten about it.”

  “Then I guess I’ll just pick up Danny when I come by the house,” he said.

  “No!” Tara blurted out. She didn’t want Jack anywhere near her mother’s house, not when it was inevitable that Carrie would offer him some Southern hospitality and invite him in. “I’ll bring Danny to you.”

  His brows knit. “Why would you do that?”

  Why indeed? Her mind whirred. “Because I want to go fishing with you.”

  “You do?” He tilted his head, appearing confused. And why wouldn’t he be? Just yesterday she’d refused his invitation to spend any part of the weekend with him. The strands of a Latin song filled the bar, loud enough that talking was a challenge.

  She ripped a piece off her order pad and handed it to him with a pen. Leaning in close, she said into his ear, “Write down your address and the time we should be there.”

  She got another whiff of that fresh outdoor scent. The man smelled wonderful, although she didn’t detect aftershave or cologne. It was all him.

  He turned his head and her lips brushed his cheek. She jerked backward. He smiled at her with his eyes before handing the sheet back to her. “I wrote down my address so you’ll have it. Tomorrow, though, you and Danny can meet me at the public pier in Cape Charles. Let’s say one o’clock.”

  He wasn’t speaking loudly, but she could read his sensuous lips. She almost groaned aloud that she had attributed the word sensuous to them, even though they were. She thought about telling him she didn’t need his address, then figured the shorter the conversation, the better. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Can’t wait,” he said.

  She nodded, pivoted on her heel and returned to work. She wouldn’t dare admit she was looking forward to it, too, even though she was.

  * * *

  CARRIE FROZE ON THE WAY to Art Goodnight’s table, her attention glued to the stage where Gustavo Miller sat on a stool cradling a flamenco guitar.

  No wonder Jack had told her he was at O’Malley’s to see Gus. Except Carrie had misconstrued what Jack meant. She’d expected Gustavo to join Jack at the bar to toss back a few while they listened to the music.

  She’d never anticipated that Gustavo would be providing the entertainment.

  Carrie was so unfamiliar with his style of music that she couldn’t have identified it if a customer hadn’t mentioned what was on tap for tonight.

  Gustavo picked at the guitar, producing a pulsing beat that managed to sound both rhythmic and soulful. The instrument, she realized, was in the hands of a master.

  He lifted his head and looked directly at her, as though he’d known she was standing there. A slow smile spread across his face as he strummed the guitar. She felt herself respond with an answering smile.

  “Excuse me.”

  Carrie heard the raised female voice and broke eye contact with Gustavo. A large woman, who was probably a tourist, stood behind her trying to get by, impatience written on her pinched features.

  “Sorry about that, hon.” Carrie shook herself out of her Gustavo-induced stupor and made room for the woman. She hoped Gustavo hadn’t noticed her gaping. Except who was she kidding? Of course he’d noticed. Everybody in the pub had probably seen her acting as if she were in the throes of a crush.

  She immediately banished the thought. A woman in her mid-fifties was too old to have a crush. Even if she weren’t, she hadn’t been in the market for romance for a very long time.

  Noticing that Gustavo was an attractive man was a far cry from wanting to press her body against his and feel his mouth moving on hers.

  She fanned herself and continued on her original path to the table where Art sat with Fred Marshall, a fisherman who was married to one of Carrie’s closest friends in Wawpaney.

  She leaned down so the men could hear her over the music. “Did one of you want something?”

  “You,” Art said with alacrity.

  She’d walked right into that one.

  “Cut that out. You know I meant something to eat or drink,” she clarified.

  “Another round would be good,” Art said, shoving his beer mug to the edge of the table. Fred did the same.

  “Coming right up.” Carrie hurried off before Art could make another move. The problem was that she had to keep returning to their table, first to deliver their beers and then to bring the two men another order of breaded shrimp.

  She deposited the plastic basket with the shrimp between them. “Here you go. Enjoy.”

  Her voice boomed into the sudden silence. On stage, the music had stopped. Applause broke out and Gustavo took a small bow.

  “Thank you,” Gustavo said to the crowd. “I’ll take a short break and come back with more live music.”

  “That’s some crazy music. The guitar player’s not half-bad, though,” Art said, drawing Carrie’s attention back to him. “What did you think, Carrie?’

  “I usually listen to country, but I enjoyed him very much,” Carrie said honestly. “He’s quite talented.”

  “So you like country music,” Art said. “What do you say I get tickets to a show in Norfolk and you and me make a night of it?”

  What was this? Carrie wondered. Ask Carrie Out week?

  “I’ll spring for a hotel room if you don’t want to drive home afterward,” he continued before she could answer.

  It wasn’t an unreasonable suggestion. To get to Norfolk, they’d have to cross the twenty-mile Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel, the only direct link from the Eastern Shore to the more populated Hampton Roads area.

  “I don’t think—” she began.

  “Hell, we can make it a double date. You and Fred’s wife, Stella, are friends.” Art jerked a thumb at Fred. “I’m sure they’d go with us. Right,
Fred?”

  “I guess,” Fred said, frowning. He didn’t seem the type to take in a show.

  “What do you say, Carrie?” Art pressed. “Will you go out with me?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “C’mon, Carrie,” he whined. “I’ve been asking you out for years. What would one little date hurt?”

  His eyes were pinched together. Something inside Carrie weakened, although not enough to acquiesce. Art was a nice enough man and she hated to hurt his feelings, but she wouldn’t date him no matter how many times he asked. She never dated anyone. She searched for a way to refuse him so he wouldn’t ask again.

  “She can’t go out with you because she’s seeing me.” Gustavo approached from behind her, encircling her shoulders with his arm. “Isn’t that right, Carrie?”

  Say no, a voice in her head screamed.

  “It sure is,” Carrie said.

  “Ah, hell,” Art said, disappointment lacing his words. To Gustavo, Art said, “You’ve got a good woman there.”

  “I know it.” Gustavo gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. His arm felt good exactly where it was. But when he walked with her away from the table, she sped up so it fell away. No matter what impression they were trying to give Art, they were not a couple.

  “Why did you say we were dating?” she hissed.

  “Why did you go along with it?” he asked.

  “Art’s been bugging me for years and I want him to stop.”

  “This will make him stop.”

  She ran a hand through her hair. “No, it won’t. He’ll find out we aren’t really dating and ask me out again.”

  “There’s a way to get around that.” He brought his head closer to hers. For some reason, she couldn’t seem to move away. “Go on a date with me. A real one.”

  “No.” She shook her head vehemently. “I don’t date.”

  “We won’t call it a date. We’ll be two people getting together so your suitor stops bugging you.”

  She bit her bottom lip. “That’s all?”

  “That’s all,” he said.

  Carrie didn’t know what she would say until the answer was out of her mouth. “Okay.”

  “Good.” He grinned at her, the same way he had when he’d spotted her gaping at him on the stage.

  For a pregnant moment she thought about rescinding her agreement. She even opened her mouth to do so. Then he stroked her cheek and all thought flew out of her mind.

  “I’ll be in touch,” he said.

  He left her staring after him, her right hand covering the spot on her cheek where his touch lingered.

  * * *

  THE INSTANT DANNY GOT out of Tara’s car, Jack put his fingers into his mouth and whistled. Jack was waiting inside an open-air gazebo on the sand dunes side of the Cape Charles public beach, with only the plastic statue of a dolphin to keep him company.

  Danny looked toward the noise, grinned and raised a hand in greeting. Before Tara emerged from the car, the boy was hurrying toward Jack down the sidewalk that ran adjacent to the beach. He wore shorts long enough to cover his knees, a bright red T-shirt and a wide-brimmed beige fishing hat.

  Tara followed at a distance, seeming in no hurry to reach him, heightening his anticipation of spending the next few hours with her. She wore a sleeveless white top and blue shorts that showed off her slender, athletic build. He especially liked her long, toned legs. He was grateful his sunglasses hid the fact that he was checking her out. Last night at the pub she’d been friendly and welcoming with her customers, which he’d gathered from watching her at camp was the way she usually acted. He’d put her on the defensive because of how they’d met, but he was determined to draw out the true Tara.

  Danny ran straight up to Jack and hugged him, a casual display of affection that Jack thought was kind of nice. Danny drew back. “Do you like my hat, Jack?”

  “It’s great,” Jack said. “Makes you look like a real fisherman.”

  “That’s ’cause it’s a real fisherman’s hat.” Danny fingered the floppy brim with obvious pride. “Mr. J gave it to me.”

  “Who’s Mr. J?” Jack asked.

  Tara reached them and stood behind her foster brother. “A neighbor who lives next door to Danny and my mother. He told Danny it was a lucky hat.”

  Danny tilted his head back to look at Jack from under the brim. “That’s why I’m wearing it.”

  “What are we waiting for? Let’s go try it out.” Jack gestured at the fishing gear he’d brought along. “I need help with some of this. Danny, can you carry the tackle box?”

  Danny nodded, but instead of picking up the tackle box he pointed to a smaller clear container. “What’s that?”

  “Our bait.”

  Danny approached the container cautiously and peered at the fat, squirming worms. He made a face. “Why are they pink?”

  “They’re not regular worms. They’re bloodworms. The guy at the bait-and-tackle shop said fish like ’em.” Jack gathered the rods and a cooler he’d packed with water and soda. “Can you get the fold-up chair, Tara?”

  She picked it up, her mouth twisting quizzically. The sunglasses thing went both ways. He couldn’t see her eyes through her oversize pair. “How did you carry all this by yourself from your car?”

  “Two trips,” he said. “If I like fishing, I might go back to the shop and buy a cart.”

  “You mean you just bought all this stuff?” she asked, a smile spreading across her face. “Haven’t you done this before?”

  “Every kid’s thrown a pole into the water at some time or other,” he said. “How hard can it be?”

  “Plenty hard, considering it’s the middle of the afternoon. The pier gets a lot more traffic in the morning and after the sun goes down. This isn’t exactly prime fishing time.”

  “Spoken like the voice of experience.”

  “Hardly,” she said. “I’ve only been fishing once or twice.”

  Now, that was interesting considering last night she’d jumped at the chance to come with them. “I got the impression you were an avid fishing fan. Did I get it wrong?”

  Her mouth opened and closed, as if she were trying to formulate an answer. He’d known something was odd about her request to accompany him and Danny. He still couldn’t figure out what.

  “Hey! Why aren’t you guys c-coming?” Danny demanded. While they were talking, he’d continued down the sidewalk toward the weathered wooden pier that jutted into the Chesapeake Bay. His body was lopsided, the bait bucket weighing down his right side.

  “We’ll be right there.” Tara picked up the tackle box and headed after her foster brother.

  Jack gathered the rest of the gear and drew even with her. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  She raised her chin. “Just because I haven’t fished much doesn’t mean I don’t like it.”

  “Ah, I was hoping you had another reason for coming,” he said.

  “What other reason could there be?”

  “You could have changed your mind about dating me,” he said.

  She didn’t turn her head. Her steps ate up the ground, closing the distance between them and Danny until they were directly behind the boy. “I didn’t.”

  “You sure about that?” he asked. “I’ve been told I make a great boyfriend.”

  Danny stopped so abruptly Tara almost ran into him. He turned to face his foster sister. “Is Jack your boyfriend?”

  Tara shot Jack what was probably a glare, judging from the tight set of her lips. He tried to indicate with a half shrug that he hadn’t realized Danny would overhear.

  “No, Danny. Jack isn’t my boyfriend,” Tara said.

  “Who is your boyfriend?” Danny asked.

  “I don’t have one, silly,” Tara answered, affection in her tone.

  “Then Jack can be your boyfriend,” Danny said.

  “No, he can’t.”

  “Don’t you like Jack?” Danny asked.

  Tara shuffled her sneaker-clad feet. �
��Of course I do.”

  “Then why isn’t he your boyfriend?” Danny asked.

  As much as Jack was enjoying the interplay between the foster siblings, it was time he came to Tara’s rescue. “If we don’t get out on that pier soon, buddy, somebody else will catch all the fish.”

  Danny’s mouth dropped open. “Let’s hurry,” he said before he took off.

  Jack winced. “My bad,” he told Tara. “I forgot he took things so literally.”

  To Danny, he called, “Slow down, buddy. I didn’t mean it. There are plenty of fish in the bay.”

  The boy ignored Jack, practically running ahead of them, his body tilting to one side because of the bucket.

  “That doesn’t look like the same boy who refused to do the shuttle run at camp yesterday,” Jack remarked to Tara.

  “Yeah, he should have realized your story about someone else catching all the fish sounded—” she paused and a giggle erupted from her lips “—a little too fishy.”

  Jack laughed, too, enjoying the sound of her laughter, pleased she was starting to lighten up around him. They stepped onto a pier that looked less suited for serious fishermen than for tourists out for a scenic walk. It rose above a rock jetty only a few feet above the water and extended out into the bay before making a sharp ninety-degree turn into deeper water. The slight breeze smelled of salt and the sea.

  “Do you have a saltwater fishing license?” Tara asked.

  “The guy at the bait shop said we don’t need one to fish off the pier,” he said. “Something about the city purchasing one. I take it this isn’t one of the places you’ve been fishing?”

  “Nope. But I’ve been here lots of times.” Tara indicated a busy stretch of beach that was to the right of the pier. “See the volleyball net over there? A group of us play there after dinner every Monday until it gets too dark to see.”

  Art Goodnight had claimed Tara was an excellent volleyball player. Jack would love to see her in action.

  “And see all the kids on the beach?” she continued. “I used to be one of them.”

  The bay was so placid that the waves looked more like ripples as the water gently lapped to shore. “Is the water always that calm?”

  “Always,” Tara said. “Why do you think my mother picked this beach?”