Page 11 of Before the Storm

Will I ever feel normal?Tara wondered, then laughed at herself. What was normal? Did anyone feel it? She turned up the radio, then changed it when Mariah Carey’s Christmas song came on. She felt like the Grinch.

Tara parked in the garage and went inside to turn up the heat and put on warm pajamas. It was only eight thirty, so she put on an old episode ofFriendsand remembered, inexplicably, a time when she and her roommates from the University of Massachusetts would “do their homework” and watchFriendsat the same time. They’d given roles to each other, saying that Tara was most like Jennifer Aniston because “everyone likes Tara.” Tara didn’t feel especially likable right now.

At nine fifteen, Tara’s phone buzzed. Tara was sure it would be Hilary checking in. Her first instinct was to ignore it. But when it buzzed again and again with a call, Tara pulled her phone out from between the cushions on the sofa and read the name: JOSIE.

Tara’s heart slammed.

Josie was calling. How many years had Josie been calling for the first time? Three? Five? Tara had lost count.

It felt as though Josie was reaching out to her from a black abyss.

Tara’s hand shook. But what could she do but answer it?

“Hello?”

Josie’s voice cracked. “Tara.”

Tara stood and stared through the dark window that looked out upon the black Nantucket Sound. She tried to picture Josie. But the face her mind pulled up was Josie’s at twenty-two, not now. Tara was forty-four, which meant that Josie was forty-five.

“It’s good to hear from you,” Tara said, hating how formal she sounded. She took a step through the living room because she couldn’t sit still.

“I figured one of us had to break the silence eventually,” Josie tried to joke. “I’m not too proud to lose the battle.”

Tara’s lips twisted into a smile. Her heart opened. “I was always too stubborn for my own good.”

“You’re telling me.”

Tara let out a laugh that was more like a sob. “Are you calling from Manhattan?”

“I sure am. I call it ‘the other island,’” Josie joked.

“The lesser island,” Tara said.

“Nobody would say Manhattan is the lesser island,” Josie said. “Except for us.”

Warmth flooded Tara’s arms, legs, and belly. She had half a mind to jump in her car and drive to Manhattan immediately. But of course, a ferry didn’t run at this hour. She was trapped on the island in the middle of the Atlantic. She’d have to wait till morning.

“It’s Christmas,” Josie said hesitantly. “You must be planning the festival again?”

“Oh yes. I’m in the middle of a thousand messes,” Tara said. “But the Christmas Festival usually runs itself. It’s the other events that are getting to me. Weddings and private Christmas parties and birthday parties and retirement parties and so on. But I have a few assistants; there are people to help me out.”

“Your career is really something.” Josie sounded proud.

Tara grimaced, hating herself for bragging. “But how are you?”

Josie let out a soft, ironic laugh. “I’m not sure how to tell you that.”

Tara’s gut twisted. “What do you mean?”

Josie exhaled deeply. “It’s weird, Little Sis. Truly weird.”

“Just tell me.”

“No sugarcoating?”

Tara wanted to scream. “Come on, Josie.”

“Fine. I have cancer.”

---