A Flash of Red

Chapter Fourteen

Harry

Tara sat with her criss-crossed tucked into the corner of the desk, pulling on her fingers and biting her lip. I sat next to her, leaning against the desk and watching her fingers, my legs straight in my front of me. I reached over and grabbed them with my left hand, stilling their movement.

"You don't have to tell-."

"I want to." She shifted, no longer tucked into the corner and instead leaning against the same straight section of the desk that I was. I moved my hand back into my lap. Her bare arm brushed mine and I suppressed a shiver at the coolness of her skin. She took a shaky breath.

"Okay," she said. She swallowed thickly. "Alright."

"Are you-."

"I'm fine." She cut me off. I stopped asking questions.

She looked forward but I looked at her.

"As you know, I lived in Skaneateles before all of this. It was a really small town. A lot of people visited during the summer and had lake houses up there. That's why my parents wanted to live there. They didn't like hustle and bustle. They wanted Lucas and I to be able to play outside and ride our bikes around town and know our neighbors. And we did." She looked down to her lap.

"It had a hometown feel to it and I loved it. Summers were great. School was great. My high school only had about 900 students in it so you literally knew everyone. I was just really happy, you know? I loved my house. It was blue with white shutters and it was a cute townhouse and it was right on the lake and only a five minute bike ride to the convenient store. I had lived in this town for 19 years and I knew every rock and tree and person and everyone knew me. Some people wanted to leave; they wanted more than the town could offer. I never understood what more they could want. I had everything I needed. I felt safe and I had a functional family and friends and I couldn't ask for anything more."

She absentmindedly began tracing the tattoos on my left arm with her right pointer finger, starting with the cross on my hand.

"My grandfather got really sick on February 2nd. We found out he had stage three colon cancer. My mom flew out to Seattle to try and help my grandma take care of him and to be there just in case, well, you know."

She moved up to the ones on my wrist, tracing over the lock and key, almost distracting herself while she told the story.

"On February 8th, my dad got called down to an office in New Orleans for business. His company sells software and he travels to help clients if something isn't working correctly. So he left the 11th. He was supposed to be down there for a week and left Lucas and I home, which wasn't anything out of the ordinary. But then the bombings started and air traffic stopped and my mom was stuck in Seattle and my dad was stuck in New Orleans."

She moved to the next tattoo without lifting her finger, sliding it up my arm to begin tracing the stem and leaves of my rose, leaving goosebumps in her wake. It soothed me as it soothed her and a small part of me wished she'd move her fingers to trace one of the tattoos on my abdomen, wanting to feel her gentle touch on the currently exposed skin.

"We were able to stay in contact with my mom for a few days, but she stopped answering her phone so I can only assume..." She trailed off and I waited to see if she would get upset. The only indication was when her finger stilled for a second before continuing to run over the leaves of the tattoo.

"We kept in contact with my dad for a while. He kept trying to get Lucas and I out of the north but he wasn't finding anything to help us. Half the town had left without a word. We packed bags in case we needed to leave quickly. We gathered clothes, non-perishables, blankets, and flashlights. Lucas made things less terrifying. He was always taking care of me." I cleared my throat.