Every muscle in Tara’s body stiffened. The pulsating in her head roared in her ears. She stared at the door as everything else darkened around it. It felt like minutes were going by, when it had only been a matter of seconds. She could hear movement, then a figure stood in the doorway. She noticed the orange jumpsuit first, but then her eyes moved up his body, and she noticed that someone else stood behind him—an officer, escorting him in. They stopped walking once the door was closed, and Tara stared at the man in the orange jumpsuit’s wrists as the officer removed his cuffs.
The officers then stepped back as the orange jumpsuit moved toward her, and for the first time she looked up at his face, at her father. He had the same dark brown eyes that had intimidated her as a child, the same large, sharp jaw, and the same large, masculine nose that always reminded her of Robert De Niro. But he also looked different. He had lines on his face that showed the passage of time; his skin was no longer tight and youthful but hung slightly under his chin; and his brown hair was now speckled with white.
He smiled at her as he took a seat, and Tara could feel the tiny hairs on her arms suddenly stand up. It was the smile that had given her nightmares, that had always stuck in her mind. It was the smile he had given her as a child as he stood over her mother’s body.
He reached for the phone, and Tara did the same. Her hand was slick with sweat, and she held the phone tightly in her grip.
They sat quietly for a moment, both unsure of how to even start a conversation, but then he spoke.
“Tara,” he said in one exhale, like a sigh of relief to be able to say her name.
He stared at her a moment, studying her face. A look of pain momentarily washed over him. Tara knew it was because she was grown. It signified how many years he hadn’t seen her. After all, she was six years old the last time she saw him, when he was charged with her mother’s murder, and she was now twenty-five. But she also knew it was because of the woman she’d grown into. When her grandmother was alive, she’d told her many times how much she resembled her mother. She had her green eyes, her long lashes, her petite little nose, and her olive skin. She could see that her father saw it too. He knitted his eyebrows, and his mouth hung slightly open as he studied her face—it was shock and sadness.
His eyes momentarily fell, and then he looked toward her again. “Well, how are you?”
Her hand that gripped the phone shook slightly. “Fine.”
A smile formed on his face, and Tara could feel anger rise within her. He had a look of satisfaction, a moment of happiness, but he didn’t deserve even a fraction of it. She wished she could slap the look off his face. It felt like a betrayal that she caused it—her mother’s daughter. Her stomach twisted into a knot at the thought. What would her mother think if she saw this moment? Would she be hurt? Would she feel betrayed?
A fire swirled within her, but then she felt his eyes studying her, and she remembered her purpose. It’s not betrayal, she reminded herself. I’m here for the truth. My mom would want me to dig deep and find it. At that thought, she knew that making him feel flickers of happiness was exactly what she needed to do. She needed him to feel comfortable. She relaxed slightly in her chair.
“How are you?” she finally replied. He smiled again, and Tara quickly extinguished her natural emotional response.
He shrugged. “As good as I can be,” he started and then hesitated, as if afraid to speak what he was about to say. “But I have to say, my day just got a lot better,” he finally added.
An awkward silence fell around them. That’s odd, Tara thought. To see him not drunk or angry.
She knew he wanted to ask her why she was here, but he didn’t want to ruin the moment, and she let him enjoy it.
“So, what have you been up to in here?” she asked. It was a stupid question. What could anyone be up to in prison? But she had to keep the conversation going, and she didn’t want to be the subject of it.
He let out a chuckle. “Well, just trying to keep busy,” he started. “I get my plumbing license renewed every year, so that’s something I help out with around here.”
Tara nodded. Her dad had been a plumber. She clearly remembered him coming home each day, his clothes tattered and stained, as he reached for a beer in the fridge before wanting anyone to say a word to him.
“They try to give us each a job around here,” he added. “Certainly saves them a few bucks.” He smiled. “But I can’t complain. I’d rather be doing that then lying in my cell all day.”
Tara nodded again.
“But enough about me, what about you?” he asked. “You working? Married yet?”
His eyes moved to her finger wrapped around the phone, and she suddenly felt vulnerable.
She shook her head. “I’m working, but not married yet.” She didn’t want to go into detail. She didn’t want to tell him about John, about how good he was to her. It would bring him too much joy.
“Where do you work?” he asked as he stared at her with eager eyes.
She shifted slightly in her seat. She didn’t know if she should tell him, and she felt a slight panic wash over her. She knew if she told him the truth, he would be less likely to confide in her about the details of the night of her mother’s murder.
“I’m an accountant,” she replied. It was the first occupation that popped into her
