by Sharon Sala
There was a moment when she felt like she was coming undone, and then she remembered what she’d come here to do. She took his hand and then leaned over and began talking to him in a low, quiet voice.
“Hey you, it’s me, Tara. I know you’re lost, but you saw me didn’t you, and I know you can hear me now. You need to come back so you can get well. You want to get well, don’t you?” Tara’s voice started to shake. “I want you to get well. I heart you very much, remember? I know you’re lost, but when you hear your mother or me talking to you, follow the love, Flynn. We’re trying to help you come home.”
She watched his face, praying for a sign that he could hear her, but he didn’t even flinch. She tried not to let it get her down.
“That’s okay. I know you’re in there. Just come back to us. Please. Don’t listen to your Dad. I’ll help the both of you later. Trust me on this. Come back. Please, come back.”
Tara wrapped her hand around his wrist and closed her eyes, trying to key in on that part of Flynn that made him real, but it didn’t happen. Still, she wasn’t about to give up.
“Look for me tonight,” she whispered. “I’ll try to find you again in my dreams, okay? We’ll come back together.”
And just like that, the visiting time was over.
“I have to go now, but I’ll be back. I won’t let you go, Flynn. I promise. I’ll find a way to get you home.”
She left ICU with a knot in her belly, but she wasn’t about to give up.
Mona was waiting for her when she came out. “Did you talk to him? Did you tell him to come home?”
“Yes, and when you go in again, you do the same. I told him to follow the love. He’ll be listening for the sound of your voice.”
Mona pressed a hand against her belly. “This is a nightmare.”
“I agree,” Tara said.
“Pat’s in the waiting room. Follow me,” Mona said.
Tara was right on her heels as they headed back to the waiting room. As they stepped aside to let a nurse pushing a food cart pass, Tara caught movement from the corner of her eye. When she turned to look, she saw the backside of a red-headed woman disappear around the corner. It made her remember the weird redhead who’d tried to come into her room, but when they got back to the waiting room, she promptly forgot about it.
As they walked into the room, even more kids from their class had arrived. Bethany Fanning and her boyfriend, Davis Breedlove, were sitting on the floor against the wall, talking to Nikki and Corey. When they saw Tara they quickly got up.
“This is awful,” Bethany said. “We’re so sorry this happened to you guys, and while Flynn has a ways to go to get better, we’re so grateful you’re okay.”
“Hey, I came out of it, remember? Flynn will, too,” Corey said.
“I remember, and I’m counting on it,” Tara said.
Mac and Penny walked in and when they saw Tara, they both began to cry.
“We’re so sorry,” Mac said, as she gave Tara a hug.
“Everyone is meeting at the gym tonight for a candlelight vigil,” Penny said. “We tried to call you to let you know, but you didn’t pick up.”
Tara sighed. “That’s because my phone is at the bottom of Boomer Lake.”
They looked stunned. “OMG . . . we didn’t think.”
Pat moved into the conversation. He was getting concerned about Tara. She was pale and slightly stooped. He knew her chest and ribs were still sore from when they’d done CPR. He wanted her home and in bed, resting.
“Tara?”
Tara saw the worry on her uncle’s face. “I’m okay, but I am ready to go home.”
“Will we see you at the vigil?” Mac asked.
“No, she’ll be home and in bed,” Pat said.
“He’s right,” Tara said. “I’m about out of steam, but thank you . . . all of you. Flynn will be so grateful when he finds out what a great job you’re doing taking care of his mom.”
“If you need anything, call me,” Nikki said.
“Thanks,” Tara said, waved at the kids from her school, then left with her uncle’s arm across her shoulder.
Pat eyed her closely as they got on the elevator. “You’re exhausted, aren’t you?”
She nodded.
“Bed. As soon as I get you home.”
“I won’t argue.”
They drove home in silence, both of them lost in thought.
Once when they stopped for a red light, Tara thought she caught a glimpse of a man on a motorcycle a couple of cars behind them, but then forgot about it. Motorcycles were everywhere. It didn’t mean it was the guy who’d pulled them out of the lake.
When they got home, Tara paused before going to her room.
“Uncle Pat, you need to go back to work tomorrow, okay? I’m fine and we can’t afford to lose the pay.”
“I don’t know. I hate to—”
“No. I promise I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
He hesitated then finally agreed. “I’ll call in.”
As soon as he sat down to make the call, Tara went to her bedroom. The dream-catcher was lying on her bed and Pat had done as she’d asked and put a nail in the wall above her bed. She picked it up and slipped the cord over the nail, tilted it until it was hanging level, then stood back to see how it looked.
The feathers shifted, as if a breeze was blowing through the room, but the windows were shut. Tara’s eyes narrowed. It wasn’t Millicent or Henry. They didn’t sneak around when they came through.
“Who’s here?” she called. “O’Mara, is that you?”
The room stayed quiet and no spirits materialized, leaving Tara unsettled, and without answers. Disgusted with the ghost’s stubborn behavior, but at a loss as to how to stop him, she crawled into bed, covered up with a blanket, and closed her eyes.
The phone rang intermittently, but she ignored it. When she heard someone knocking on the front door, she was glad Uncle Pat was here to run interference. She knew hiding wasn’t going to change anything, but she needed this time to regroup.
You know who pulled you out of the car.
And just like that, Tara was wide awake. She sat straight up in bed.
“What do you mean, I know who it is?”
You know him.
“How do I know him? What’s his name? Why did he leave?”
To Tara’s disgust, Millicent had nothing more to say. It was days like this that made her crazy. She got out of bed, changed into her oldest pair of jeans, her favorite sweatshirt, put on socks and her house shoes and headed for the kitchen.
Pat followed her. “What are you doing?”
“I’m looking to see what we have to make for supper.”
“You’re not cooking. We can go out, or I’ll pick something up and bring home.”
“I can’t go out and you know it. People will be weird.”
“Then I’ll have something delivered. What are you hungry for?”
She thought a moment. “Pancakes. I could eat pancakes.”
Pat grinned. “That’s easy, but I will make them. You rest. I’ll call you when they’re done.”
“Do we have syrup? If we don’t, we can make syrup like you used to, remember?”
Pat’s smile widened. “Yeah, I remember. Poor man’s pancake syrup, right? Equal parts of brown sugar and water, heat to a boil, and stir until the sugar is dissolved.”
“I like that syrup even better than what we buy,” Tara said.
Pat laughed. “That’s because it’s all we ever had for years. Want me to make some tonight?”
She nodded.
“It’s a deal,” he said. “Now, either take yourself back to bed or use the living room sofa. Take your pick.”
“Sofa. Maybe I can sleep after we eat.”
She went back to the living room, dug the remote out from between the sofa cushions and turned on the TV while Uncle Pat began banging skillets and cabinet doors. The programming was mind-numbing as she stared blankly at the screen. But
she didn’t see the shows. She saw Flynn, lying in that hospital bed, dead to this world and lost in another.
It began to rain just before dark. At the first rumble of thunder, Tara bolted out onto the back porch and looked up at the sky, scared it was going to storm.
Pat followed her out. “What’s wrong, honey?”
“Is there going to be another tornado?”
“No. I just listened to the weather report. It’s just a thunder storm. Not a bit of bad weather predicted anywhere in the state, okay?”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m very sure.”
She sat down in a chair beneath the covered porch and let herself relax as Pat went back inside. She’d always enjoyed rainy days, and falling asleep to the sound of rain on the roof used to be a good thing. It was going to take some time to get back to that mind-set again.
I once made love with a count inside a carriage with the rain blowing in the windows.
Tara rolled her eyes. “OMG, Millicent. I do not need to know this.”
My boop.
Tara grinned. “If you meant to say my bad, then yes, it definitely is.”
I have to say, the rain did dampen his ardor.
Tara laughed out loud, and then the moment she did, was shocked that it happened.
Laughter heals. It is a good thing.
Tara sighed. “I don’t know what I’d do without you and Henry, but I sure wish you could run interference for me with Flynn. If you know a magic word or two on how to send Michael O’Mara into the light, let me know.”
It is his choice alone.
Tara sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
A gust of wind blew rain beneath the porch and onto Tara’s bare arms and feet.
“Brr, that’s cold,” she said, and got up and went inside.
The kitchen still smelled like pancakes, but the dishes were done. She could hear the television in the living room, which meant Uncle Pat was settled in for the night. Tomorrow was Friday, but there was still no school, which in one way was a blessing.
She felt unsettled and naked. Her deepest secrets had been revealed to the public in the most blatant of ways. Her psychic abilities had always been hers to tell when the need arose, not broadcast willy-nilly to whoever happened to be watching TV. And yet with all those seemingly magic skills, they were useless to help her sweet Flynn.
Her shoulders slumped. Standing alone in the middle of the kitchen, she closed her eyes and bowed her head.
“Please God, help me to help Flynn.”
Thunder rumbled overhead, rattling the windows.
Tara lifted her head. She sure hoped that meant she’d been heard. Now all she had to do was pay attention.
She went back to her bedroom to lie down. The last thing she remembered looking at was her dream-catcher before sleep finally took her under.
The mist was thicker than before, but the ground was moving beneath Tara’s feet. She kept trying to keep her balance, but for every step she took forward, the ground rolled her back two steps, as if trying to throw her back to where she’d come from.
Only she’d come for a reason and wasn’t leaving until she’d accomplished it. She began calling Flynn’s name, determined to reconnect. As she did, the mist began to encircle her, wrapping her into a vortex and trapping the sound of her voice inside. She knew immediately that was O’Mara’s work. He knew she was here and was trying to block her from Flynn. She felt helpless and angry, and began screaming taunts, trying to make O’Mara come to her.
“You’re a coward, Michael O’Mara! You’re an unnatural father, putting your only child in danger and then hiding behind this weak excuse for precipitation. What kind of a man does this? As for this stunt you just pulled, it’s nothing. It can’t hurt me. You can’t scare me. But you’re killing your son. Let him go! For the love of God, let him go!”
The vortex stopped as suddenly as it had begun and Michael O’Mara was standing before her, but this time he wasn’t alone. Without speaking, he put Flynn’s hand in hers and disappeared.
Flynn looked at Tara, almost as if she was a stranger.
“It’s me,” Tara said. “It’s Tara. Come with me and I’ll show you the way home.”
“Home?”
“Do you remember home?”
He shook his head.
“Do you remember me?”
He looked like he was going to cry.
Tara’s heart sank. He’d been in here too long. This didn’t bode well for what he’d be like when he woke up—if he woke up.
“It’s okay, Flynn. I’ll remember for you. Come with me. I know the way back.”
Chapter Nine
“Tara, Tara, wake up, honey.”
Tara gasped as she opened her eyes. Her uncle was standing over her bed, still in his old tie-dye pajamas.
“Uncle Pat? What’s wrong?”
“You were screaming, honey. It must have been a bad dream.”
Tara sat up in bed and shoved the hair away from her face.
“Screaming? What was I saying?”
“You kept crying, ‘Say my name, say my name.’”
All of a sudden Tara remembered. She glanced up at the dream-catcher hanging over her bed as her shoulders slumped.
“Oh, yeah. Now I remember.”
“Are you going to be okay?” Pat asked.
“Yes. I’m sorry I woke you.”
“It’s almost time to get up anyway. Are you sure you’re going to be okay on your own here today?”
“I’ll be fine, Uncle Pat. I swear. I won’t go anywhere. I don’t need anything except rest.”
He smiled. “Okay then. So, how about I take you out for supper after I get home from work, and then we’ll go by the hospital so you can see Flynn again?”
“Yes on seeing Flynn, again, but not sure if I’m ready to face another onslaught of people wanting their fortunes told,” she muttered.
Pat frowned. “Well you’re damn sure not going to hide in this house for the rest of your life. We’re going to go about our business, and if anyone meddles in it, then we’ll send them packing. Okay?”
Tara sighed. He made it sound so simple. If only that was the case.
“I’m going to make some scrambled eggs. Would you like some, too? You can always go back to bed when I’m gone, and at least I’ll know you had one good meal before I left.”
“Scrambled eggs sound good,” Tara said.
“Give me about fifteen minutes and then come and get it,” he said.
Tara waited until she heard him leave the bathroom across the hall and then she got up and went to wash her face and brush her hair. She grabbed a hair band, put her hair back in a ponytail and then returned to her room to dress. Fall of the year was closing in and the mornings were cooler. She dug a pair of house shoes from the back of the closet and slipped them on, then stopped in front of the mirror over her dresser.
She still looked the same—a too-tall girl with long dark hair. She used to fool herself by thinking if she squinted her eyes just right, she almost looked like Angelina Jolie. But she didn’t see that today. All she saw was a girl with a bruised and battered face and an out-of-control life.
Before the tornado, it had seemed as if time was standing still. Being a high school senior was like standing on the edge of a high diving board without being allowed to jump into the pool. They were waiting for the time when they’d be out on their own, finding out what growing up and being an adult was all about. So many devastating things had happened since the storm Tara felt like time had taken wing, and the faster it went, the farther it was taking her from Flynn.
“Breakfast is ready!” Pat yelled.
Tara stuck her tongue out at herself and headed for the kitchen.
But Tara didn’t go back to bed when her uncle left for work. She put a load of clothes in to wash and then got her iPod and stretched out on the sofa to listen to some tunes. When the washer stopped, she put the load into the dryer and then stopped in the k
itchen to get a cold can of Pepsi before going back into the living room.
She glanced at the clock as she sat back down, marking the time so she’d know when to check on the dryer. She was shuffling through her playlist for something upbeat and missed seeing a van pulling up at the curb in front of the house.
Henry popped up at the end of the sofa and started waving his arms and pointing toward the door. Tara took the ear-buds out of her ears and laid the iPod on the coffee table. She was about to go see what had stirred him up when she heard a knock at the door.
Ah. That explained the warning. She peered through the curtain, saw the logo on the side of the van and knew it was from a Tulsa television station. How had they found where she lived?
They knocked again, only louder and longer.
Tara hesitated. She’d told Uncle Pat she’d be fine, but she hadn’t counted on the media running her down.
We’ve got this.
Tara hesitated. “I think I should call someone . . . maybe the police?”
Au contraire, mon cher.
Tara rolled her eyes. Usually, when Millicent began speaking French, weird things happened. She peered through the curtains again, careful not to let the news crew see her, and recognized the woman from late-night news casts. The camera the man was carrying gave away his reason for being there.
Just as they were about to knock again, a huge flock of blackbirds suddenly appeared out of nowhere, flew across the yard, and swooped under the porch roof. Between the cacophony of chirps and squawks, and the random unloading of bird poop, the pair on the porch never had a chance to duck.
The man began swinging the camera and cursing in intermittent bursts and shrieks as he jumped off the porch and made a run for the van.
The woman’s scream was a high octave E Flat as she tore down the steps, waving her arms and pulling birds out of her hair as she went. She jumped into the van and then slammed the door behind her.
