Page 42 of Before the Storm

“I hope you’ll come to the wake. I’m sure Cindy would love to see you,” the woman said. “It’s at 4377 Marigold Drive. Five to eight. Gotta go.” She hung up the phone before Josie could respond.

Gently, Josie set the phone on the table, clutched her thighs, and looked at Tara.

“What is it?” Tara demanded. “What’s going on?”

Josie tried to form the words, but all she could think of was her strong, handsome, domineering, angry, cold-hearted father—Bob—who’d always made her feel less than, who’d hardly ever told her he loved her, who’d made it his mission in life to let Josie know he didn’t really like her that much, at least when compared to Tara, his favorite. A part of Josie had been grateful that Bob and Tara would be able to mend their relationship. Bob couldn’t have just lost his love for his youngest daughter. It was still in that heart of his. Or it had been before he’d died.

It was horrible timing.

“Josie?” Tara demanded. She looked panicked.

“It’s our dad,” Josie said in a small voice. “He’s gone.”

Chapter Thirteen

July 2016

Nantucket Island

From the kitchen window, Tara could just barely see Winnie at the far end of the dock. She was wearing a yellow bikini, an older one they’d picked out together in Boston last year, and she extended her arms, straightened her legs, and took a deep breath before doing a swan dive into the Nantucket Sound. Tara dried her hands and wandered out to the back patio with a glass of wine and a book, half hoping Winnie would decide to come up the beach and join her. But Winnie swam laps back and forth in front of the dock for nearly thirty minutes before she came up the beach, wrapping herself in a towel. Her skin was tan, and her freckles had exploded on her shoulders and cheeks this year despite Tara hollering at her to use sunscreen.

“Hi, honey!” Tara’s voice was overly bright and gave her away.

Winnie arched a single eyebrow and gave her a look that meantwhy are you bothering me?

“Why don’t you grab a soda and come out and join me? It’ll be a great sunset.”

Winnie groaned and rubbed her ear with the end of her towel.

“Please?” Tara asked.

Winnie rolled her eyes and stomped inside. Tara was left jagged and alone on the patio as the big orange sun dunked itself into the sound. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she nearly gave up on Winnie, on everything. But then Winnie came back outside, having changed into a pair of shorts and a big T-shirt, and she sat across from her mother with a Dr Pepper and a handful of M&M’s.

Tara tried her best not to focus too much on her daughter. But her heart ached. It had been many months since she’d had a conversation with Winnie that lasted longer than five minutes. Winnie got away with it because she was respectful and polite and never outwardly volatile. She got good grades, showed up to school on time, and did her chores. But ever since Josie had gone, Tara had recognized a strange and horrifying fire in her daughter’s eyes. It was like she couldn’t forgive Tara for Josie leaving. It was like Winnie loved her aunt far more than her mother. And maybe that was so.

Tara reasoned that Winnie had known Josie just as long as she’d known Tara. Just because Tara had given birth to Winnie didn’t mean that Josie wasn’t just as much a mother to her. Together, Josie and Tara had shared responsibilities. They’d picked Winnie up from school in equal measure and made money via event planning to ensure that Winnie had everything in the way of school supplies and clothes and spending money for hobbies and friends.

“Can I go to Sal’s tonight?” Winnie asked.

Tara blinked at her. Was Sal the guy Winnie was maybe dating? Or was Sal short for Sally, a girl Winnie was friends with at school? Tara knew that if she’d been Josie, she would have found it easy to ask questions and retain important information. But something about Tara and Winnie being the last residents of a house that had once sheltered four of them lent an intensity to their mother-daughter relationship. Tara didn’t know how to handle it. It was as though she was perpetually at war.

“Can I go?” Winnie asked.

Tara filled her lungs. “Um?”

“It’s really important. And I can’t stay home another night this week. I’ll go insane,” Winnie said.

“Insane?” Tara balked. “Look at this house! Look at our view! Look at all we have!”

“It makes me stir-crazy,” Winnie griped. She popped up from the patio chair and went back inside, slamming the door behind her.

Tara watched her go and listened to her own heart thudding. Was that a fight, too?

Tara followed her daughter inside. It was quiet, eerily so, and the television was black. Tara crept upstairs, listening for signs of Winnie, and then heard her voice on the other side of her bedroom door.

She overheard Winnie saying, “Oh, do you know when she’ll be back?”

And then, “Can you tell her Winnie called? Her niece, Winnie?”

---