Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
January 2025
Seattle
I t was obvious to Tara that everyone on the airplane knew the intricacies of her broken heart. They’d heard her entire conversation with Josie, after all. She hadn’t been able to keep quiet. As they milled from the aircraft, several of the other passengers gave her worried smiles or furrowed their brows at her, and as a result, she kept her eyes on the floor and nearly ran into the stewardess at the top of the aisle. “Thanks for flying with United!” the stewardess said. She’d probably heard Tara blubbering, too. Tara had half a mind to pull the stewardess to the side and ask her opinion on everything. What do you think? Should I go see my grieving mother? Should I contact the daughter who ran away from me? Is it true that everyone I love will always ultimately abandon me? Do they leave me because of who I am?
Am I cursed or just unlovable?
But instead, Tara exited the plane as she was supposed to. She told herself she’d never see any of the people who’d overheard her again. Maybe they’d think of her down the line in their own lives. Perhaps they’d make different decisions—better decisions—because they didn’t want to end up like her.
That was a dark thought.
Josie was clearly exhausted from the flight. She ducked into a bathroom, and Tara followed her. After using it, she scrubbed her hands in scalding water for as long as the tap would allow.
Josie was taking a long time. Tara was suddenly frantic. What if their conversation had worn Josie out so much that her illness very suddenly got the better of her? She stared at the stall into which Josie had disappeared and couldn’t breathe. Should she call Josie’s name?
But then, the door opened, and Josie appeared. She had her wig off, and her bald head was covered in only downy hair, which was what she’d been able to grow back since she quit chemo.
“Everything’s itchy,” Josie said. “I can’t care about the wig anymore. I can’t care about any of it.”
A few women milled by and assessed Josie’s bald head and the wig swinging in her right hand. From Josie’s slender and weak look, it was clear to anyone she was suffering from cancer.
Cancer isn’t contagious , Tara wanted to scream at the woman who looked terrified. But she knew why they were scared. Nobody wanted anything to do with cancer. It happened to other people in other families until it suddenly happened to somebody in yours.
“Should we stop somewhere and get my head shaved, too?” Tara asked.
Josie rolled her eyes. “This isn’t a Lifetime movie. Nobody needs to shave their head. What would it do? It wouldn’t take the cancer away. It wouldn’t grow my hair back any faster.”
Tara laughed nervously. Josie was always right.
“Besides, who knows what your head looks like under there?” Josie joked.
“It’s true.” Tara blinked back tears. “I might have a weird skull.”
“It’s a risk you shouldn’t take.”
Tara suppressed her urge to throw her arms around her sister and sob.
“Let’s go get our bags and get out of here,” Josie said.
“Fine by me.”
Theirs were the first suitcases to come down the luggage ramp. Tara leaped on them and hauled them out, then led Josie to the nearby car rental counter. Because it was a random Thursday in January, just an ordinary day for almost everyone else, only a few people were waiting for a rental in front of them. They were in line for no more than seven minutes.
“Let’s get something fancy,” Josie begged. “A Porsche or a convertible.”
“A convertible? You know it rains all the time in Seattle, right?” Tara teased. “And it’s winter?”
Josie pointed out the big window behind them at a sky that was as clear and blue as any they had back in Nantucket. “Think again.”
Tara decided the time was now to be frivolous. When she told the woman behind the counter they wanted a convertible, the woman chuckled but booked it immediately. Because Josie refused to ride anywhere on the go-cart the airport had handy (she was too proud, Tara guessed), it took another five minutes to find the car, and once there, Josie begged Tara to put down the top so she could “feel the wind through her hair.” Tara cackled as Josie strung her fingers through her downy hair.
Tara put the top down and drove slowly through the fifty-five-degree day. They were bundled up with Nantucket winter gear, and the later afternoon sunlight was like a benediction, drawing them into their mother and father’s adopted world. Tara wondered if, when Cindy and Bob had moved out here, they’d driven all the way from the East Coast or if they’d flown to that very airport and gotten off and said, We’ll start a new life.
Tara wanted to get a hotel room first, but Josie insisted they head to their father’s wake.
“It’ll be like ripping off a Band-Aid,” Josie said. “If we go back to the hotel, I’ll sit around feeling nervous, and you’ll find a way to back out.”
Tara sighed. “I do tend to back out, don’t I?”
Josie typed their parents’ address into her phone, and a woman’s voice gave them directions, guiding them around the chaos of the inner city to a quaint neighborhood in Queen Anne.
“That’s it on the corner,” Josie said, her voice thick with fear.
On either side of the big stone house were cars parked all the way down the block. Grim-faced people in black approached, carrying trays of food. Tara parked behind a minivan and put the top back on the convertible. Black clouds rolled along the horizon, and the sun was setting fast. She guessed that was the last time they’d put the convertible top down.
“Are you ready for this?” Tara asked, her hands shifting along the steering wheel.
“I’ll never be ready for this,” Josie said with a laugh.
“Hey! I thought you were the brave one.”
“I’m not brave,” Josie said. “I just don’t have a lot of time to wait around.”
Josie tried to open her car door, but it was a little too heavy for her. Tara hurried around to pull it open and help Josie to her feet. It felt as though she was suddenly wasting away before her eyes.
“I’ll put the wig back on,” Josie said hesitantly. “I don’t want Mom to see me like this.”
Tara helped Josie position the wig into place and used a mirror so Josie could approve it.
“I guess we should have brought a bottle of wine or something,” Tara said. “I feel weird coming here empty-handed.”
“We traveled the farthest distance,” Josie said. “That has to count for something.”
Josie and Tara ambled up the walkway to their parents’ place. Just as their Nantucket childhood home had been, the yard was decorated with flower beds, big bushes, and lush-looking trees. Their mother had always had a green thumb. It was strange and a little comforting that she hadn’t changed. Through the window to the garage, they could see two cars, presumably one for their father and one for their mother. Tara wondered what Cindy would do with Bob’s car. She guessed she hadn’t considered that yet.
At the front door, Josie and Tara locked eyes a final time.
“Are we supposed to knock?” Tara asked.
“It’s an open house,” Josie said. “I think we just go right in.”
So just as they had thousands of times in their youth, they walked right into their parents’ place. It was surreal.
The house was packed with mourners. Three middle-aged women in black dresses ate chips and guacamole, standing in a line in the foyer. They murmured hello to Josie and Tara and then continued their private conversation. There was no risk that anyone would recognize them, as neither Tara nor Josie really looked like either of their parents anymore. Tara scanned the foyer and the living room next to it to find photographs of Bob and Cindy on various trips—Paris, Egypt, and scuba diving deep underwater. In the living room was a piano because Cindy had always been very good. And by the door was a man’s thick boots, presumably Bob’s. He wouldn’t need them. As with the car, Tara wondered what would happen to them.
Near the kitchen was a long table piled with food. Even more people were milling in and out of the kitchen, checking on things, and talking about setting timers and hot plates and meatballs. Tara took stock of every woman’s face, looking for their mother.
Josie touched Tara’s elbow. “I have to sit down for a second.”
Tara’s heart jumped. “Let’s go over here,” she said, guiding Josie to a beautiful floral cushioned chair near the back window. “Can I get you water? Tea? Food?”
Josie shook her head and touched her wig nervously. “Do you think she left town again?”
“She knew we were coming and got out of here when she could,” Tara said, trying to joke, although their jokes were falling flat right now. “But you know she wouldn’t just leave Dad’s wake like that. No matter what.”
Josie offered a meek smile.
But that’s when Tara noticed there was someone outside.
Beyond Josie’s shoulder was the window, and beyond that window was a woman in a black dress, standing with her arms crossed, her chin up as she watched the storm clouds roll toward her. Her gray hair whipped around ominously.
Even from behind, Tara knew this was her mother.
Josie followed Tara’s gaze to see Cindy out the window. Droplets of rain pelted the glass. But Cindy gave no sign of leaving the backyard any time soon. It seemed she wanted to get swept away.
This was the woman who’d abandoned them.
But this woman now stood outside all alone.
She had no one.
She was just like past versions of Tara.
Suddenly, Tara bolted to the door, opened it, and hurried into the rain. Josie was right behind her, so Tara slowed to take her hand. They walked up behind their mother slowly to avoid frightening her and stopped a few feet behind. Tara’s throat swelled. It occurred to her that their mother might turn around and not recognize them. That would hurt worse than anything , Tara thought.
Thunder rocketed the evening sky. Cindy flinched as though she’d been daydreaming, then turned on her heel to face the house. When she saw Tara and Josie standing before her, she froze again. A look of wonder and fear crept over her face.
“Tara? Josie?” she stuttered.
And then she was suddenly on her knees in the mud and grass.
Tara and Josie hurried to help her up, with Tara doing most of the work and batting Josie away. The woman with her knees on the ground was in her sixties, and her face had aged incredibly due to distress and sorrow. But she was still every bit the Cindy Tara remembered from twenty-four years ago. She was still her mother.
Cindy sobbed and then wrapped her arms around Josie’s and Tara’s shoulders. Bits of mud got on Tara’s pants.
“I don’t know what to say?” Cindy rasped. “I don’t know what to say?”
“Let’s get you inside,” Tara said.
Tara and Josie led Cindy to the back door and into the living room. Three mourners got up to clear the sofa for them. They looked at Josie and Tara confusedly. Had Cindy or Bob ever mentioned them before? Had they ever told anyone they’d had a whole other life—with children? Tara hurried into the kitchen to grab a rag for Cindy’s knees and made eye contact with several sets of curious eyes. They seemed to ask, Who are you? What’s all this commotion?
Tara returned to the living room with a wet rag and a raggedly beating heart. It was showtime. Cindy was already on the sofa next to Josie, and Tara sat on the other side of their mother and tried to use the rag on her mother’s tights. Cindy was too distracted to care. She turned her head back and forth to look at them. “My girls?” she whispered. “How did you find me?”
Tara blinked back tears. She didn’t know what to say.
“My girls, your father died.” Cindy’s eyes widened. “He died four days ago.”
“What happened?” Tara asked.
“It was a heart attack,” Cindy said. “I wasn’t with him. Isn’t that awful? For decades, I’ve spent almost every hour with that man. And he decided to die when I wasn’t there.”
Tara’s heart felt crushed.
Cindy blinked around the living room with even more confusion. “I really need everyone to leave soon,” she muttered. “I need them to leave so I can be with my girls.”
Tara prayed that nothing was medically wrong with Cindy. She was acting strangely and seemed out of it.
It wasn’t till later that Tara learned that Cindy’s friend had given her a pill to calm her. It was why she was acting so childlike.
But right now, Tara decided to help her mother with the final hours of the wake. She sat beside her, got her water and food when she wanted it, and introduced herself to everyone who approached Cindy to pay their respects.
Everyone seemed to say the same thing. “He was a great man, Cindy. He loved you to pieces.”
“He did,” Cindy said over and over again. “And I loved him back.”
Nobody ever asked Tara or Josie where they’d been all these years. But confusion filled awkward silences between them.
Josie couldn’t sit at the wake for long. Exhaustion had taken hold of her.
“Is there anywhere I can lie down for a while?” Josie asked quietly.
“Of course. You must be tired from the trip,” Cindy said, furrowing her brow with worry.
Tara thought, Why are you so worried now, Mom? We needed your worry twenty-four years ago! It’s a little late!
But she tried to quiet her mind. Those thoughts wouldn’t help her.
“There’s a guest bedroom down the hall. Third door. There are clean sheets and clean pajamas in the drawer. Take whatever you want, darling. My Josie.” Cindy took Josie’s hand and squeezed it gently.
Josie winced. Tara guessed that everything hurt right now.
Tara watched Cindy’s eyes as Josie left the room.
“She’s tired, Tara,” Cindy repeated. “Why is she so tired?”
Tara guessed the cancer news wasn’t hers to share. But it also stood to reason that Cindy could see Josie’s illness plain as day. Cindy was Josie’s mother. She knew her. She always would.
“It was a long journey,” Tara said tentatively. “But we’ll rest up at a hotel tonight. We’ll leave you alone.”
“No,” Cindy blurted, her eyes darting. “Please, stay here tonight. I’ve been alone since he died, and I haven’t been able to take it.”
Tara knew she should say no. She should draw a boundary between herself and her mother and her mother’s heartache. But she thought of Josie, asleep in the guest bedroom, and she imagined soft mornings with their mother, drinking coffee and talking about forgiveness, and she leaped at it.
Maybe she would regret it. Right now, she didn’t care.
It wasn’t till thirty after eight that everyone cleared out of the house. A few of Cindy’s closest friends hung around the longest, including one of them who, Tara guessed, had answered Cindy’s phone for her when Josie called. Cindy introduced Tara as “my baby,” and only one or two of them seemed to understand the significance of their relationship. Tara felt too soft and gentle and tired to care.
Near the food table was a large bulletin board of photographs from Bob’s life. When Cindy went to the bathroom, Tara stood by the board and examined the eras of her father’s life—when he’d been a boy on Nantucket, when he’d graduated from high school, when he’d joined the Marines and gone off to war. Tara had never asked her mother what it had been like when Bob was gone. She guessed his leaving had something to do with how much Cindy loved him, even now. She’d seen what her life was like without him, and she hadn’t liked it.
There was one photograph of Bob holding a baby Tara.
Josie was nowhere on the board at all.
And there weren’t any photos of Tara later on. It was almost as though, in the photo, Bob was holding some random baby rather than his own.
Tara felt woozy. She was beginning to regret having come.
Cindy crept back into the living room with two glasses of wine. “I haven’t drunk all day,” she said. “I feel like I deserve an award for that.”
Tara laughed nervously and sat on the sofa next to her mother. She could feel her mother’s eyes studying her.
“I’d ask you to say cheers to your father’s life,” Cindy said hesitantly. “But I imagine it’s complicated for you.”
Tara raised her shoulders.
“If it were me who’d died, I imagine you’d feel the same,” Cindy offered.
Tara flared her nostrils. She couldn’t look at her mother. Why was she being so forward about the darkness in their shared past? Then again, hadn’t Josie dragged Tara out to Seattle for a conversation like this? But where was Josie? Josie needed to be here. She needed an apology from their mother, too.
Cindy drank too much of her wine at once. “Your sister is sick, isn’t she?”
Tara forced her eyes to her mother’s. It wasn’t hers to tell, but she couldn’t lie, not now. She nodded.
“What is it?”
“It’s cervical cancer.”
Cindy closed her eyes. “She had chemo?”
“She did,” Tara said.
Cindy pulled at her nails and watched the rain outside. “How did you find out your father died?”
“It was a coincidence,” Tara answered.
Cindy sniffed. “How’s that?”
“We were coming to Seattle anyway,” Tara said. “Josie dragged me out here. She wants everyone to talk about what happened. She wants us to forgive each other.”
Not that I did anything wrong! Tara thought now.
But immediately after that, she felt crushed with a wave of guilt. The truth was, all those years ago, she’d convinced herself she’d done something to chase her mother and father away. She’d built a foundation of belief so powerful that she couldn’t dismantle it.
Her grief therapist had talked about this over and over again: the idea that Tara had been punishing herself for her mother and father leaving since 2001.
“I guess it’s too late for you to forgive your father,” Cindy said. “It’s too late for him to ask for forgiveness, anyway.”
“Would he have asked?”
Cindy raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think he ever apologized for anything in his life.”
Tara laughed nervously. The room was spinning around her. Was she brave enough for this conversation? She wasn’t sure she was. Maybe she should go wake up Josie. Maybe Josie could take over.
“I just never thought I’d see you again,” Cindy said then, her eyes filling. “It’s been nearly twenty-four years, Tara. Twenty-four years since I heard your voice! Twenty-four years since I saw your face!” Cindy hung her head. “It’s ridiculous. I can’t fathom it.”
Tara swallowed the lump in her throat. “Then why did you do it?”
Immediately, Tara felt ashamed for asking. But it was all she could do.
Cindy drank the rest of her glass of wine. “Maybe I’m finally ready to tell you,” she said. “But I have to warn you. I don’t look good in this story. Neither does your father.”
Tara wanted to say, That doesn’t surprise me.
But she urged her mother to answer the question that had burned inside her since 2001. Why did they leave like that?
It was time to face the truth.