Chapter 5: Everything She'd Been Carrying
Tara didn't come into the kitchen.
She stayed in the doorway, one hand on the frame, like she needed it to stay upright.
"What did she tell you?"
"Enough," I said.
"Marcus—"
"Derek." I said the name flat, no question attached to it this time.
She closed her eyes.
When she opened them, something had shifted — not guilt exactly, but the particular exhaustion of someone who has been holding a door shut for a long time and just felt the latch give.
"It's not what you think," she said.
"Tell me what it is, then."
She came into the kitchen slowly and sat down across from me.
She didn't look at the phone.
She looked at her hands.
"He reached out about eight months ago," she said.
"He was in a bad place.
He'd lost his job, he was behind on rent, he had nowhere to go."
"And you helped him."
"I lent him money.
Small amounts.
I was going to tell you."
"When?"
She didn't answer.
"Tara.
When were you going to tell me?"
"When it was over." She looked up.
"When he was back on his feet and I'd gotten it back and there was nothing left to explain."
"So you were going to tell me about a loan to your ex-boyfriend after the fact.
Once it was cleaned up and I'd never have to know the details."
"It wasn't like that."
"Then what was the $50 today?"
Her jaw tightened.
"He needed it for a prescription.
He texted me this morning.
I took it from my own wallet and I was going to replace it before you got home and I — I miscounted.
I thought I had more in there than I did."
The room went quiet.
"And then you came home," she said.
"And it was gone.
And Maya was right there."
I looked at her.
"And it was easier to blame her."
"I panicked." Her voice broke slightly on the last word.
"I panicked and I said the first thing that came out and I know — I know how that sounds."
"It sounds like you accused my daughter of stealing to cover for a man you've been secretly sending money to for eight months."
"I know."
"She's fifteen, Tara."
"I know." Her voice was quiet now.
Almost a whisper.
"I know what I did."
I stood up from the table.
Not in anger — I didn't have the energy for anger yet.
I walked to the bottom of the stairs.
"Maya," I called up.
A door opened.
Footsteps.
Maya appeared at the top of the stairs, still in the same clothes, her face careful and watchful.
"Come down," I said.
"Tara has something to say to you."
Maya came down slowly.
She stopped a few steps from the bottom, close enough to hear, far enough to run if she needed to.
She'd learned that distance the hard way, long before she ever lived with us.
Tara stood up from the table.
She looked at Maya for a moment — really looked at her — and something in her expression changed.
Not softened exactly.
More like it cracked open.
"I was wrong," Tara said.
"The money wasn't yours.
I knew that when I said it and I said it anyway.
That was wrong.
I'm sorry."
Maya didn't say anything.
She looked at Tara, then at me, then back at Tara.
"Okay," she said finally.
It wasn't forgiveness.
It wasn't warmth.
May you like
But it was a door left slightly open, and Tara knew it.
What none of us knew yet was that Derek had already made his next move — and this time, he hadn't waited for Tara to answer his text.
