“Ahh, a number cruncher.” He sat back in his chair, letting his body relax. “Good for you, Tara.”
Tara forced a smile as the room fell silent.
He suddenly stiffened, moving closer to the window, as if about to tell a secret. “You know, I was surprised to hear you wanted to see me…after all these years.” He met Tara’s eyes, clearly hoping she would reply before he had to ask the question. But she didn’t. “What made you want to?”
Tara’s mouth was dry. This was it: it was time to ask. A moment of doubt seeped into her mind. Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe I should just go. But then she remembered the promise to herself. She couldn’t allow herself to leave unless she asked.
“Dad, I have to ask you something.” It was her first time addressing him as “Dad” since she was a child, and it tasted sour rolling off her tongue. But she knew she had to. She couldn’t be cold to him if she wanted him to give her an answer.
He raised his eyebrows, waiting, but she could see a tinge of worry in his eyes.
“I’ve been having these dreams,” she started. “About Mom…about you.”
He stiffened. “About what?” he asked, loud and proud. He was trying to play dumb, but Tara could see the complete panic in his eyes. He wouldn’t blink; he wouldn’t dare lose focus with her. He was afraid to miss the slightest hint of what would come next.
His reaction fueled her. He was afraid she would bring something up, she could feel it, and it only solidified her desire to ask.
She leaned in closer. “It’s always about the night it happened,” she started, being careful how she worded it. “When we lost Mom,” she added.
Small beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, but she was careful not to look at them. She knew her father would never be receptive if he felt he was being attacked or purposely made to feel uncomfortable.
Tara swallowed hard. “It always starts out with me in the closet, but then I come out and I see you in the living room, standing over Mom. But you whisper something to the corner of the room, which I couldn’t see. It almost seems as if someone was—”
She was about to say “there” but he abruptly spoke. “Dreams are dreams, Tara,” he spat with annoyance. “I don’t think I can help you. I’m not a psychologist.” He looked toward a camera in the corner of the room and waved at it, signaling he was done with the meeting.
Tara began to panic. She knew he heard what she was trying to say, that someone was in the room, and now he was acting odd. She was on the brink of something; she could feel it.
“Wait,” she said as an officer began to open the door. “It’s not just a dream. It’s a memory. Someone was in the room, I—”
Her father stood up. “We’re done here,” he uttered as the officer entered the room and began to place the cuffs on him.
Tara stood up. She knew now; there was something suspicious about that night. There was someone there. He wouldn’t be acting this way if there weren’t.
“Who are you protecting?” she yelled. “Who else was there?”
Her father acted as if he hadn’t heard, but she knew her voice was still slightly audible through the glass. The officer looked at her for a split-second, but then her father leaned in closer, whispering in his ear. As he pulled back, the officer nodded. It was clear that her father was telling him he wanted to leave the room now, that he didn’t want to reply to her, and he got what he wished. The officer led him to the door, reached for the knob, and was soon escorting him through the threshold. The door slammed shut behind them.
Chapter Five
Tara stood in the lobby. They had led her out of the room and down the hall to where she first checked in. She had nowhere else to go but leave, and she was heading to the entrance of the building until her feet stopped short. She was still trying to make sense of what had just occurred. Her head was spinning. She had come for answers, but her father only refused to hear her. What did I expect? Deep down, she knew her father wouldn’t react welcoming to the memory, but she was so busy preparing herself for how to confront him that she hadn’t prepared herself for the outcome.
Now what? Her skepticism was heightened more than ever. Her drive to find the truth was now in full gear. She had touched a nerve. So much so that he couldn’t even formulate a response. She just hoped that she didn’t ruin her chances of being able to see him again, to ask him once more. She knew he could always deny her future visits, and she had a worried feeling that he might.
“Everything all right?” she heard.
Her head turned to Owen, still sitting behind the counter where he had checked her in when she arrived. He was staring at her with a concerned look, reminding her that she had been standing there, consumed by her thoughts, for a moment too long. She turned to him as it suddenly occurred to her that she had signed her name on the way in and that everyone who had come to visit an inmate had to do the same. It was an obvious thought, but it was motivated by something she knew might help her. She had come all this way, and she didn’t want to leave empty-handed. Maybe she could see the visitation records. She couldn’t think of anyone that would come visit her father, but maybe there was. It would give her a lead, if so.
Owen continued to stare at her, his bushy brows raised, confused. She moved closer.
“Sorry,” she started. She looked around her; no one was nearby. The few chairs placed in
