“How are your new jobs going, by the way?” Tommy asked as he took another bite.
He was a tall man, with a thick head of gray hair. He leaned forward, his arms resting on the table, and looked across the table at the two of them. Tommy was someone Tara greatly respected. He was a retired lawyer with a big heart. He was smart and kind and always gave the best advice.
John opened his mouth to speak as another rumble of thunder sounded, followed by a flash of lightning. The windows momentarily illuminated brightly, and John’s eyes wandered to them before directing his attention back to his father.
He sighed. “It’s all right,” he said with a shrug as he looked back down at his plate and took another bite. “I’m starting to like it a bit more,” he added.
“That’s great!” Tommy replied. “I knew you just needed to give it more time.”
It was something he and Tara had discussed multiple times already. It was true; he was starting to like his job as an accountant a bit more. He was starting to enjoy working with his clients, and he had made some friends in the office too. But he admitted that he was envious of Tara’s action-packed career. He needed something more, which was why they decided that getting back into music in his spare time would be good for him.
“I’m just so happy to hear you’re playing the drums again,” Claire chimed in. “You always had a talent for music.” She took another bite before turning her attention to Tara. “And what about you, dear? I know that last case took a toll on you.” She paused a moment and sighed. “You’re a brave woman, Tara, and I admire it. But I have to say, I worry about you. Not just physically, but emotionally with everything, you see.”
Tara felt heat rise to her face.
“Mom, stop,” John suddenly said.
He knew his mom was stoking a delicate subject, much more than she was even aware of, and he wanted to save Tara the discomfort. In reality, her job did affect her emotionally, but it wasn’t the details of the case that affected her most. It was the trauma of her childhood that would surface without warning at the slightest trigger—and she still had yet to deal with it fully.
Tara forced a smile. “There’s no need to worry. I’ll be fine. I actually really like the excitement of it all.”
Another flash of lightning caused Tara’s head to spin, a loud boom sounded in the street, and then the lights went out.
***
The flashlight from Tara’s phone guided her as she made her way to the bed. After dinner, she and John had tried their best to clean up the kitchen in the dark with just the light of a lantern they kept in case of emergency.
Once John’s parents left the room, Tara and John barely spoke, yet Tara sensed that John had something he wanted to tell her. Each time she handed him a dish to dry, she had caught his eyes, fixated on the sink––on the soapy water—until Tara said his name.
But she also knew it wasn’t the place to ask him. Their apartment wasn’t very large. Their kitchen and living room were situated in the center, divided by a barstool counter. There was a hallway on either side of the living room. One led to Tara and John’s bedroom and the other to the guest room, where his parents slept. She knew that they could most likely overhear whatever was said in the kitchen. It was an unspoken understanding that sat loudly in the air.
Tara had a feeling it was related to what his mother had said, that she was worried about her. It was most likely a triggered reminder to John of what Tara revealed to him and that they had barely spoken about it since her nightmares stopped. It was during that time—when they were regularly occurring, when they bubbled into anxiety during the trail killer case—that she realized why she was having them at all. They weren’t just recurring nightmares. They were memories from her childhood, when she was only six years old and her father took her mother’s life. They were memories of when Tara walked into the room, when she saw her mother’s body. But there was always one piece of the nightmare that had taken Tara time to admit to herself and then to John—that her father wasn’t alone, and she had sensed someone else was in the room with him.
Tara and John had agreed that she should go see her father—that it was necessary for her to get answers in order to battle her trauma. But it had now been a few weeks since they last spoke about it, and she still had yet to decide when she would go. At first, she just wanted to wait until her injury healed, but then once it did, she needed to heal mentally. The nightmares eventually stopped, but now she was beginning to question if visiting her father was truly necessary at all.
Tara pulled back the covers and slid into bed. John was already lying down, his eyes fixed on the ceiling in the dark. As Tara lay down, he shifted closer to her. She braced herself for whatever he was about to say.
He spoke in a whisper. “Sorry I was a bit quiet in the kitchen before.”
“Yeah, what was that about?” Tara asked, already anticipating his answer.
John sat up, his back pressed against the headboard. The storm was still brewing, and at each flash of lightning, Tara could see his face, staring off in front of him, deep in thought.
John had always been someone who thought clearly before he spoke. It was something Tara had always admired about him––his self-control, his restraint. Of course, he wasn’t always perfect, and there had been a few moments when he had acted
