The Truth About Tara

“For adventure,” Mary Dee said.

“And can you imagine the kind of guys who sign up for those sorts of trips?” Tara continued as though she hadn’t heard her. “They’re probably out for sex.”

“So what? Some sex would do you good.” She nodded in the direction of four guys they’d known in high school who were across the patio hoisting beers and singing. Tara had dated two of them. “You seem to have already ruled out every man around here.”

“The timing is bad, too,” Tara said, ignoring her friend’s comment. She gazed out into the bay, where the sun was sinking below the horizon in a blaze of red and yellow. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I made the reservation, with the anniversary coming up on Tuesday.”

Tara had been friends with Mary Dee long enough that she didn’t need to explain the significance of the date. The other woman was well aware that was when Tara’s father and sister had died.

“You weren’t planning to leave until Wednesday,” Mary Dee pointed out. “And I thought your mother was going to treat the anniversary like any other day this year.”

“I’m not entirely sure she can do it,” Tara said. “She might need me to—”

“How about what you need?” Mary Dee interrupted. “They’ve been gone thirty years, Tara, but you’re here and you’re alive. When was the last time you did anything for yourself?”

Tara watched the last of the sun disappear before she answered. “I ran five miles last night and had a yogurt smoothie for breakfast this morning.”

“Would you stop doing that?”

“Stop doing what?”

“Pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Mary Dee shook her head. “It used to work but not anymore. I’m on to you, Tara Greer.”

Was that really her name? Or was it Hayley Cooper? Tara thrust the ridiculous though from her mind, dismayed that she’d allowed it to surface.

“I’m sorry, M.D.,” Tara said. “I know you’re only trying to look out for me. But missing the trip isn’t a big deal. And it’s not like I have a choice.”

“You could have chosen to tell your mom no,” Mary Dee said. “She didn’t have any right to volunteer you like that without asking first.”

“I hadn’t gotten a chance to tell her about Wyoming yet,” Tara said. “Besides, the camp sounds like fun.”

Mary Dee thumped the table with a manicured hand. “Doesn’t matter. She still shouldn’t have volunteered you.”

“It’s for a good cause,” Tara said.

“Yeah, but why are her causes more important than yours?” Mary Dee asked. “She always needs something from you.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

Mary Dee raised her dark eyebrows. “Then why do you live two blocks away from her?”

“You know why,” Tara said. “My place was such a great deal, I couldn’t pass it up.”

“Was that really the reason?” Mary Dee asked. “Or did your mother need you to live close by?”

Tara twirled the tiny straw in her margarita glass, not bothering to point out that while she relished her own space she liked being available for her mother. Mary Dee would probably find fault with that, too. “You’re being awfully hard on me today.”

Mary Dee laid her hand on Tara’s arm. “I don’t mean to be. I’m only trying to get you to be a little more selfish.”

Tara reached across the table, plucked one of Mary Dee’s breaded mushrooms from her plate and popped it into her mouth.

“How’s that?” she asked.

Mary Dee laughed. “Better. Now, are you going to tell me about that guy I saw you with yesterday?”

Tara blinked, blindsided by the question.

“You didn’t really think I’d forgotten about it, did you? So spill.”

“He was nobody,” Tara said.

“What? A guy that hot—he was definitely somebody.”

“A tourist,” Tara clarified.

“What did he want?”

It was on the tip of Tara’s tongue to repeat the crazy tale Jack DiMarco had spun of the abducted three-year-old and Tara’s own uncanny resemblance to the age-progression photo.

“Directions.” Tara wasn’t sure why she lied, especially because she seldom censored herself in front of Mary Dee. Tara often felt as though her sister’s death had created a void in her life that hadn’t been filled until Tara had become friends with Mary Dee.

“That’s it?” Mary Dee’s expression crumbled. “I had such high hopes for you two.”

“You’re a real pain with that stuff since you got married,” Tara complained. “Just because you’re in love doesn’t mean I have to be.”

“Being in love is wonderful.” Mary Dee’s lips rose in the dreamy smile she got whenever anyone referred to marriage or husbands or love. Then again, she was still a newlywed. “If you’d make room in your life for a relationship, you could feel wonderful, too.”

“I’ve had plenty of relationships,” Tara countered.

“Short ones,” Mary Dee said. “You find fault with everybody you date.”

“That’s not true,” Tara said. “I’m just not willing to settle for anything less than fireworks, like you have with Bill and my mom had with my dad.”

“You should have gone to Wyoming to increase your chances of finding someone, then.” Mary Dee gestured to the happy-hour crowd, made up of almost all couples. “Speaking of that, did you at least give that tourist your number?”

“No, Mary Dee,” Tara said with exaggerated patience. “I did not give my number to the stranger who stopped to ask for directions.”

“What good are you, girl?” Mary Dee asked, shaking her head. “I know you want children some day. You need a man for that.”

Tara laid a finger on her cheek. “So now you think the tourist who asked for directions should be the father of my children? I don’t even know if he’s single.”

“You didn’t check out his ring finger?” Mary Dee asked.

She had, actually. It was bare. She was uncomfortably aware that she’d found him attractive. No, not merely attractive. Appealing. If he’d been anybody else, she might have found a way to give him her number.

Mary Dee pointed a finger at her. “You did, didn’t you? I knew you were attracted to him. Too bad you don’t know where he’s staying. You could at least have a fling with him while he’s visiting.”

Tara’s heartbeat sped up at the prospect, although she should not have been thinking about Jack DiMarco in those terms. She had ample reason to hope she never saw him again. “I guess I missed my chance, then.”