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mistymidnight

Author's Notes: To let you know: this may seem like the last chapter, but it isn't! I've got lots of other ideas, and I plan to take this story for awhile, possibly up to Mommy's death. (Sad, yes, but I think it would be interesting to see how Tara deals with it. In the episode "Intervention", she says she did stupid stuff, like sneaking out and staying up all night. And in "Tough Love",  she hints that Donny had a hard time with Mommy's death. Hmm…)

To answer some questions/comments:

-To Alias-BossLady: The way I see it, Tara and Cordy would be about the same age. Tara is almost as old as Cordy (she's her mother's "almost-five-year-old daughter"), and Cordy and Willow were the same age on the show, and Tara was the same age as Willow as well.

-To gidgetgirl: I dunno about the Cordy-thing…maybe the nanny quit last-minute and they had to drag poor little Cordelia along on vacation with them. Yeah, I noticed Tara's out-of-characterness as well, but I was tired when I wrote the chapter and didn't feel like going back and rewriting. That's my laziness for ya.

            To everyone who has reviewed thus far…thanks! And keep it up!

            Also, I just found out that "Nonsense" got nominated at the Barefoot Awards! And it wasn't me nominating myself! Yay! I'm curious: who nominated me? You have my undying gratitude and happiness!

            Okay, enough with the gooey-happy-declarations. On with the chapter!

            "Mommy," Tara said. "Can we buy some marshmallows?"

            "What for, Tara-bear?" Mommy asked, chewing on her pencil. She was writing a thank-you note to Tammy for letting them use the house. Much to Tara's dismay, she and Mommy would be leaving this time tomorrow, heading back home. They'd probably never see the lake again. Tara knew this. She could feel it. Every plant, every grain of dirt, every drop of water, every ant, every fiber of Tara felt it. Everything was pulling her toward the lake, and away from home.

            Home. It's such a stupid word, Tara thought. If home is where the heart is, then this is definitely home. Not my house where Daddy yells and Mommy cries and Bethie tells me what to do and Donny is mean.

            "Tara?" Mommy asked, putting the pencil down and swiveling her neck to look Tara in the eye. "Are you okay?"

            "Just thinking," Tara said vaguely.

            "I hope they were happy thoughts," Mommy said.

            Tara was silent.

            "Well," Mommy said, picking up on Tara's discomfort, "you never answered the first question. What do you want marshmallows for?"

            "Oh. Uh, roasting," Tara said, forcing herself not to think about tomorrow. It would come quickly enough on its own without her thinking about it all day.

            "You want to have a campfire?" Mommy asked.

            "Yes," Tara replied. "With marshmallows. I've never had campfire marshmallows. Only marshmallow fluff."

            "I know, sweetheart," Mommy said. "Why don't we go all-out, and get stuff for s'mores?"

            "S'mores?" Tara repeated.

            "Oh, you'll like them," Mommy smiled. "They're like marshmallow and chocolate bar sandwiches."

            "Yummy." Tara's mouth watered at the thought.

            "Well, let's run down to the store and get some," Mommy said.

.

            Tara wanted to cry as she sat outside by their campfire. Everything thing seemed so final. It was their last night at the lake and everything seemed to be saying goodbye. Every time the fire popped and sent embers flying up into the air, Tara couldn't help but think about her time at the lake. A batch of embers popped and went flying skyward, and Tara thought, House, lake, kayak, Jell-O, fireworks, Cordelia. Then they all fizzled out and Tara went about labeling a new set of embers: splashing, egg mush, cemetery, dirt road, my room. Tara did think of it as "her" room; she felt more welcomed there than she did at Daddy's house.

            "Why the long face?" Mommy asked, spearing a marshmallow on a stick and handing it to Tara to toast.

            "Nothing."

            "Don't wanna go home, do you?"

            Tara nodded.

            Mommy sighed. "I understand. I feel the same way sometimes." Then, as if realizing what she'd said, she added quickly, "and that's something you are not to repeat, Tara."

            "Okay," Tara sighed.

            She really didn't want to go home.

.

            "Well, here we are," Mommy said the next afternoon, parking the truck in the driveway. "Home sweet—"

            Tara ran away before Mommy could finish.

.

            It was a silent ride to the airport the next morning. Tara missed the lake, she missed the house, she missed the kayak, and she even missed the mosquitoes. Sure, they had mosquitoes here as well, but the just weren't the same.

            Daddy and Donny seemed happy. Donny was obviously tired out, but he was bubbling over with information about the plane ride and the buildings and how he got thisclose to meeting the president. Tara had her doubts about the last one, but Daddy wasn't bothering to correct Donny and Tara mentally let it slide.

            She studied her parents faces instead. While at the lake, Tara had been like a sponge, soaking up sights and smells and sounds and feelings. It seemed to relax her, and relaxation was what she needed. She couldn't talk about the trip she and Mommy had taken, and she was half-afraid that if she thought about it, she'd blurt out something she and Mommy would both pay for.

            First she studied Mommy, who was sitting in the passenger seat, having surrendered the wheel to Daddy. She was staring out the window, and her face was unreadable. Tara turned her attention to an easier subject: Daddy. His face was set as he drove, but as she watched Tara noticed it change from a bored driving-face to shock to anger to outrage. Tara wondered what one of the other drivers could have done to make Daddy so angry. Then she realized Daddy wasn't looking at the road. He was looking at the odometer. And then Tara remembered:

            "Hey look!" Donny exclaimed, jerking Tara out of her rhythm of highway-watching. He pointed at the odometer. "Two-three-four-five-six! It's in order!" The six changed to a seven and Donny frowned at it. "Well, it was."

            Uh-oh.

.

mistymidnight