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Notes: thanks for following this story!! I'm a little nervous about this chapter because it hasn't been as fine-toothed, but I didn't want to wait any longer. Hope you like it!
Ch 45: Seattle
Tara yawned widely, pushing back against her seat so she could stretch out her right leg, her foot hovering slightly over the gas pedal. Traffic had been stop and go since getting into Portland and finally eased up as she crossed the bridge over the Columbia River and into Washington State. It amazed Tara how taxing driving was, at least in these long distances; the interrupted sleep of the night before adding to her sluggishness.
After talking with Regan, she’d slipped back into the shared room, falling asleep quickly in her rented bed. Mere hours later, as sunlight faintly stained the drawn window curtains, her eyes had opened again. Something had tossed her from slumber, a grip of something being deeply wrong. In the messy and sudden wakefulness, Tara’s first thought was of her mother, that sensation tattooed in her psyche from years ago. She blinked into the fading darkness, and turned her body to the room, gaining her surroundings. There was nothing but a woman, dressed for the cold air, packing her belongings quietly on her bed. They met eyes, the woman’s bemused, Tara’s embarrassed, before each gave a slight awkward smile and returned to their own worlds. Covers wrapped around her, Tara cocooned herself, trying to contain the shivers of tension that rattled her. Her messenger bag lay beside her, facing the inside wall for safety. She reached inside and pulled out the phone. No messages.
Later, the feeling lingered like residue, a slick of discomfort that remained on her skin. Tara’s busy mind tried to pinpoint its source, but, she conceded, there was a lot to feel uneasy about. She’d been so close to her hometown. She was so far from home. There was a stranger, who should be familiar, that didn’t know she was coming.
She would call Anya when she stopped. Just in case.
On an open stretch of highway, Tara briefly closed her eyes, absorbing the crisp wind that whipped against her cheeks through the open car window. She breathed deeply, inhaling the unique, mossy, scent of the land and let it soothe her.
There was an ancient magic to the Pacific Northwest, something otherworldly and yet deeply earthbound - where local land spirits inhabited the hollows of cedars, weaving dreams in the mist. It was the magic of people who lived there long before her, whose land it was first- it was the magic of her childhood.
She’d felt it as she crossed into Oregon yesterday, the thick pines and redwoods humming, welcoming her back. She felt it when she’d entered Portland through a tunnel of ever reaching branches that whispered secrets amongst themselves. It lived in the unpredictable rivers that she drove beside, then over on a zigzag of bridges. The magic was in the overgrowth and the ring of fire mountains that rumbled reminders that the land was alive.
It wasn’t the throbbing pulse of magical energy that beat below Sunnydale. It was just as alive, just as potent, but less in your face about it, at least if you were a witch. Magic in the Pacific Northwest was ubiquitous, but accessing it was like finding a treasure in a secret cave. In Sunnydale, it was a package left on your doorstep, there for the taking if you knew how to unwrap it, but not always the gift you hoped for.
Rolling the window up halfway, Tara thought back to the shift she’d felt as she left Sunnydale. Willow had grown up in that energy, had learned magic with that constant offering. It had come so easily to her,
of course it had, Tara shook her head fondly, lost in her perusal as she drove on autopilot. Willow was brilliant, and powerful, and had always taken a scientist’s approach to magic, always wanting to push the parameters.
Sometimes it was the only thing that saved us. Tara took a deep swig from her water bottle and pulled her attention back to the road. This wasn’t a good topic while driving, too many dark alleys to lure her to dangerous distraction.
For now, she tried to focus on the land, the lush green with specks of gold. They were the lush of Willow’s eyes.
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After driving for two days, Tara grumbled at the fact that now she had arrived, finding a place to park became the most difficult part of her journey. Finally, after looping the surrounding blocks a few times, Tara squeezed the Hyundai in a recently abandoned space, secretly proud of her ability to parallel park.
The hostel was near Pike’s Place Market, which bustled with tourists and the smell of fresh fish.
Good thing I’m a pescatarian, Tara thought, chuckling at her inner dirty joke as she took the narrow stairs that led into the hostel.
A young man stood behind the small check-in table and smiled warmly as Tara gave her information. His accent, West African Tara believed, added a warm lilt to the rundown of usual information and the brief tour. The space catered to the young and unique. Travelers on a budget. Tea and granola were available at all hours but one was expected to wash their own dishes. There were rooms full of games and books and someone played Wonderwall on a guitar nearby.
Dawn would love it here, Tara decided, her heart missing the younger girl.
Reaching her shared room, Tara entered a space both bare and overfull, clean though, warm to the point of being stuffy. Tara shyly ducked past a trio of women chatting excitedly between themselves. American, maybe Canadian. Tara tried not to be annoyed with the chatter. She had chosen to get a shared space to save money after all, and that meant there would be others around, doing as people do. Like talking when she was a tired introvert and needed some quiet to lull her brain.
This was what you signed up for, Tara reminded herself, a sluggish kind of pep talk.
Finally, after trying to determine which bed was actually free, she moved to an empty one by the far wall, unsure if it was actually open or just tidy. She glanced at the talking women a few times then faced them, head lowered, waiting for an opening in the conversation.
“Um, s-sorry to interrupt,” Tara started when there was a brief gap, three heads turning her way, “but, um, do you know if this bed is taken?” She pointed a thumb at the bed behind her.
“Not that I know of,” the taller woman replied with a quick smile before turning back to her friends.
“Thanks,” Tara said, stowing her suitcase into the small storage space and locking it with the key. For a moment, she sat and let in the fact that she was here, in Seattle. She sighed, as much as she longed for a nap, it was time to make her next step.
She checked her phone, again finding no messages. Anya had said everything and everyone was fine when Tara had called her from the gas station. The feeling from this morning now too entangled with the excitement and nerves of what lay ahead to be decipherable. Checking that her aunt’s address was still stored in between the pages of The Little Prince - the book she carried like a security blanket, she tucked it securely back into her messenger bag and stood, smoothing her hands down her corduroys.
It’s time to be brave.Wrapping her scarf around her neck she moved out of the room, wishing the still talking women a good night, quietly daring to interject herself into their ongoing flow.
By the time Tara had reached her destination, after a thorny twenty minute drive into Northeast Seattle, the nerves had returned in full force. She sat in the front seat, more than a little nauseous as she matched the address on the light blue craftsman house to the increasingly crumpled sheet of paper in her hand. Somewhere, where her thoughts functioned like a machine, Tara thought the house was cute.
She stepped out into the fresh air when her head began to swim, the reality of being there proving too much as she felt momentarily like she would pass out, or sob uncontrollably. She sat on the curb, hidden behind the Hyundai and pulled deep breaths into her abdomen trying to exhale all the thoughts that told her this was a bad idea. What was she expecting? Did she really want to dig up the past? But, she argued back, the past never left. There were so many ‘what ifs’ so many reasons why this could all go terribly, starting with the fact that she could be near hyperventilating in front of the wrong house, only Anya’s weirdly gotten info to point her here. Part of Tara wanted it to be true, that her aunt had moved, and she could turn around and go to sleep, and head back to Sunnydale tomorrow. Maybe, she’d go see that mini Stonehenge on the way back.
A voice, rising up from where she was strong and stubborn, rebelled, refusing to be disappointed. She’d fought monsters. She’d told her father, the man she could barely look in the eye, to go. She’d shattered her already devastated heart when she left Willow, knowing it was the only thing she could do. And this, this was scary too, but she needed to. If she were to try to start making peace with the ghosts of her past, she needed to.
Using the door handle, Tara pulled herself back up and regarded the house that was anything but foreboding. Mind held as blank as she could, she collected her bag, slung it across her body like a seat belt, and stepped into the street. She walked up the short staircase to the maple colored door. Swallowing once, she squeezed her bag to her side, and knocked.
Tara listened as steps drew closer and then the door opened. The woman was beautiful, in her early to mid thirties, dark curly hair that sat at her shoulders, friendly brown eyes set in caramel skin. It wasn’t Jaime.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked, her eyes narrowing curiously, trying to puzzle out the figure before her. Tara imagined she looked like a deer in headlights standing there. She blinked and swallowed, pushing herself through the moment.
“Hi, I-I’m sorry to bother you. I was given this address. I’m l-looking for Jaime Byrne.” The woman leaned against the door jam, protectively blocking the opening. Behind her, Tara could see a lit Christmas Tree in the room beyond.
“And you are?” The woman asked, friendly enough but with an edge that left no room for mistakes.
“Tara, I’m, um, I’m her niece?” Tara fluttered nervously, hearing the fact go up in inflection. The woman regarded her for another few seconds, then yelled over shoulder to someone further inside.
“James!” Tara twisted the metal button of the bag clasp under her fingers.
“Yeah, babe?” The answering voice moved closer.
“Someone’s at the door for you,” the woman with the curly hair turned back to Tara, eying her thoughtfully. Tara shyly avoided the gaze, tracing the small patio littered with dormant plants and lingering dew. Approaching footsteps brought her gaze back, and then the footsteps stopped.
“Oh my god, Tara?” Jaime stood at the edge of a floor rug, just before the rust brown tiles of the foyer disappeared under it. Her brown hair swept up into spikes, the sides much shorter than the front. She wore loose fitting light jeans and a black faded band t-shirt. Jaime’s pale skin stood in contrast, almost colorless as she gaped at the visitor. Tara felt her own cheeks burn as she smiled and waved awkwardly.
“Hi, Aunt Jaime.”
Jaime stepped forward in a rush, engulfing Tara in a hug, the woman who answered the door forced to move back to avoid being trampled. Tara felt herself shaken from side to side in her aunt’s strong embrace.
Jaime, pushed back, hands clasped around Tara’s arms so she could fully take in the sight of her niece, “I thought I was seeing a ghost,” Jaime shook her head with mirth, “you look so much like Katie.”
“S-sorry.”
Tara winced and fought the impulse to apologize for saying sorry in the first place. Her mother was beautiful, and to resemble her was tremendous praise. But her mother was also gone, and Tara felt guilty in her imitation. She’d come there to unearth things long buried and already felt the guilt of future conversations. She once more doubted that she should even be there, but Jaime slung an arm around her shoulder, escorting Tara into her home, and that was enough to make the trip worth it.
“You’ve met Mari?” Jaime nodded to the woman now closing the door behind them.
“No, I was rude and didn’t introduce myself,” Mari offered her hand and Tara returned the firm shake, “Hi, I’m Mari,” she said before gesturing them further inside.
The house was older, signs of its age held in the scuff marks on the chestnut wood floor and the tiered molding around the ceiling. It was a house that had seen a lot of life yet was obviously well cared for. A mix of earth tones made the space cozy. The clutter of papers on a side table gave it a lived in feel. Jaime pointed and gestured as they ventured inside, naming off rooms until they reached a thick cream colored shag rug that sat like an island home for a rust couch with cream flecks and two deep brown fabric armchairs. Indicating to the couch, Jaime invited Tara to sit, taking one of the chairs herself, a coffee table sitting between them.
“Tara, can I get you something to drink?” Mari asked, trailing in behind them and hovering at the entrance to the kitchen.
“Water would be great, thank you,” Tara answered politely.
Mari nodded, her smile formal, before turning into the kitchen. It was clear that Mari was assessing her, deciding on whether or not she was welcome and the familiar feeling of being an intruder dropped in Tara’s stomach and she recognized the urge to bolt from the house. But she had come too far to run. She would go, if she was unwanted, but she wouldn’t make that decision preemptively. One of the greatest gifts of the past few years, of the growth she’d made, was beginning to accept that it was ok to take up space in the world.
Even if I did just drop in out of nowhere, Tara thought ruefully, turning her attention back to Jaime. There, she found a beaming smile.
“Holy shitballs, you’re here!” Jaime slapped her own thigh in excitement.
Tara grinned at her aunt’s exuberance- at least she was half-welcome.
“I’m having a bit of trouble believing it myself.” Tara giggled, dropping her head shyly.
“How did you find me, anyway?” Worry twitched in Jaime’s dark blue eyes, disappearing as quickly as it had arrived, as long gone memories shifted to the now.
“Um, I have friends that are good with c-computers and stuff,” Tara raised her head, blushing sheepishly, “ I’m sorry I didn’t call or anything f-first- I just, I wanted to get out of town, and, um, th-thought I would try my luck. Th-thank you.” Tara smiled courteously at Mari as she was handed a glass of ice water, the smile melting into a delighted half grin as she watched Jaime accept a glass of ice tea with lemon she hadn’t requested from Mari, clearly grateful for the familiarity of the gesture. Mari smiled lightly in return, brushing Jaime’s arm as she started to move away, Jaime caught her hand, squeezing it, a brief look passing between them. Mari took the other chair and regarded Tara.
“So, why now?”
“What?” Tara’s brow furrowed slightly.
“What made you decide to look for Jaime now?” Mari expanded, still cordial, still on guard. And, Tara figured, fairly.
Tara took a sip of the icy water and placed it on the coffee table, careful to use one of the knitted coasters nearby.
“Well, like I s-said, I wanted to get out of town for a bit,” Tara looked directly at Mari before shifting her gaze to Jaime, “and, I w-was going through some things. I found this stack of pictures, and you were in one of them, and I w-wanted to see if I could find you.”
“Well, good work, detective, you did! I’m glad, kiddo.”
Kiddo. Images connected around the endearment of riding bikes hard through the trees, trying to catch up with Jaime. Of the jolt of the front tire against a determined root, of falling and Jaime’s voice asking if she was alright, calling her kiddo. So much time had passed, so many memories lost in the undertow of surviving her childhood.
“Thank you, me too. But I know I just kind of am-ambushed you. I-I’ll be in town for a few days if this isn’t a good time.”
“Nah. It’s ok. We were being lazy.” Jaime flopped her arm over the back of the chair, slouching further into the seat cushion.
“The only plans we had were snuggling up and watching a movie, but we can do that anytime, right, babe?” Mari added.
Both women regarded Tara expectantly, as though Mari had let out a secret that hadn’t been obvious from the moment Tara had arrived. Tara knew this test, she and Willow had done the drop unsubtle hints thing. Some people still hadn’t gotten it. Both women seemed so comfortable with themselves, with their relationship, the almost challenging stare, in Mari’s case, and almost nervous gaze, in Jaime’s, surprised Tara. But Jaime didn’t know anything about Tara anymore, except where she had come from.
“How long have you been together?” Tara asked easily, comforted when both women relaxed. Jaime looked to Mari with a grin.
“You better know the answer to that,” Mari took the opportunity to tease her partner.
“Three years, eight months,” Jaime answered, nodding like a star student.
“That’s wonderful,” Tara smiled softly at both women.
“It’s alright,” Jaime shrugged, earning a shove on her arm as Mari leaned across the space between them. The look Jaime gave Mari back was pure adoration.
“I c-can’t believe it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other,” Tara said, pulling the conversation away before they returned questions about her own love life. Revealing her similar sexuality would bring up questions Tara wasn’t ready to field, not with the broken heart she wouldn’t be able to hide. Soon though, she would tell them.
Jaime sipped on her tea, the ice making it watery, “Tell me about it. You went and grew up.”
“Yeah, you know, time…it does that,” Tara giggled, her lips quirking up on the left side.
For a long moment Tara and Jaime regarded each other, connecting through blood lines. Mari stood quietly and slipped back into the kitchen, giving them space.
“It’s good to see you, kiddo.”
“It’s r-really nice to see you too.”
A lump formed in Jaime’s throat as she took in Tara’s features, her niece’s soft smile curving full lips, the shape slightly crooked, shifting her high cheekbones unevenly. They were her sister’s features, passed from mother to daughter. Extending her hand over the coffee table, she reached for Tara, her thinner lips smiling sadly when Tara filled it.
“I am really sorry you lost your mom.”
Tara nodded, “I’m really sorry you lost your sister.” Tears slipped free before Tara could blink them away. Jaime nodded in return and Tara wondered if, like her, this was the first time Jaime was sharing her grief with someone who knew Kathryn. At home there had been grief, in its many different forms, but it hadn’t been shared. Here was the last real connection to her mother, and she had no idea why Jaime hadn’t come to say goodbye.
A carved wooden box slid across the tabletop and into Tara’s side vision. She followed the engraved art work up to the sprout of tissue paper, noticing that Mari had come back into the room. She accepted the offering, smiling awkwardly as Mari placed a kettle of tea and cups on the table before her.
“So Tara, did you fly here?” Mari asked, breaking the heavy moment, reaching for a moment to brush her hand over Jaime’s tight shoulder. She poured herself some tea, nodding at Tara to help herself, and sat on the edge of her chair, cradling the hot beverage in her lap.
Tara wiped at her eyes, her wet cheeks hot with embarrassment. She shook her head in answer, reaching for a cup.
“I drove.”
“From Oregon?”
Jaime didn’t need to fill in the details, Tara knew she was asking if Tara ever left Prineville. The ability to answer in the negative cued the embarrassed, shy girl to step back and she sat a little straighter. She would always be proud of getting out of Prineville.
“No, I’m in California,” Tara began, “for college.”
And so many other reasons.
The conversation eased from there, turning to more restful topics like work and areas of study. Mari was a lawyer, which was about the last vocation Tara would have guessed for the woman clad in a t-shirt dress and leggings. Maybe, a masseuse or a social worker.
I guess, she conceded to herself,
lawyers probably don’t wear suits all the time. Tara considered that maybe it was constant scrutiny of facts and people that made Mari apprehensive of her. Her edge had softened, significantly, but Tara knew Mari would still cut if needed. And she knew it had nothing to do with being a lawyer.
Stirring in several spoonfuls of sugar into her own cup, Jaime had resumed her almost roguish charm, delighted to find that both she and Tara were in the arts. Though they were perhaps opposite ends, Jaime a graphic designer and Tara an art history major, Jaime claimed camaraderie with Tara like they were on the same softball team. Tara remembered this about Jaime, the ease with which she made Tara feel safe to come out of her shell. At least, when it was just the two of them, or three, when her mom was there too.
“Do you paint?” Mari asked.
“No,” Tara swallowed the sip in her mouth and placed the cup down carefully, “I would love to, but I n-never really took it up. I sketch though, sometimes. I’m hoping to be a curator, put shows together and the like.”
“Well I say you got the arty gene from me,” Jaime preened, chest puffed with a swagger, causing Tara to burst into giggles and Mari to roll her eyes in mock annoyance.
“Grandpa Jim was an artist too, right?” Tara asked of the man she’d never met and had only heard snippets about. She wondered if Jaime got her slimmer frame from him.
“Yeah kinda,” Jaime scrunched her nose making the ring that looped around her nostril shift into an angle, “he did, like, window displays for one of the department stores. He was a master of the holiday light display though. I remember having to squint to keep from burning out my retinas.” Mari had sat back into the chair now, her full laughter warming the room. Tara smiled as Jaime snickered at her own story, “he was kooky.”
“I wish I could have met him,” Tara said fondly.
“Yeah, me too,” Jaime replied, the space falling into a lull.
The room had grown dimmer, the night hours creeping in. Tara watched Jaime flick on a nearby lamp, knowing it was time to go, give the women their house back, but she wouldn’t feel right if she wasn’t completely honest with the intentions of her visit. She shifted in her seat as she struggled with bringing up a past best left alone, but-
Be brave, Tara.She pulled in a slow breath to steady herself, ground her energy. Still, she played with the edge of the couch, flicking the rough material that created a border.
“Aunt Jaime?” The air behind her voice was effortful as Tara struggled to make it audible. Her aunt met her gaze and Tara was aware of Mari’s attention, “I do have some, um, questions?”
Say it Tara, but carefully.“I mean, I c-came here, because I, I need to kn-know some things, about the past,” Tara hurried on, wincing slightly when Jaime’s lips squished together, frustrated that her stutter was making the words more awkward, “n-not tonight, I-I just,
w-wanted to put it out there.”
Being brave sucks.Mari stood, clearly working her face out of the tension it wanted to reveal, but she couldn’t hide the agitation in her voice, “I’ll be in the bedroom.” Tara watched her go, fighting back the tears forming in her eyes.
“Excuse me for just a minute.” Jaime followed Mari, leaving Tara sitting alone on the island made of shag.
Nervously studying the thick fibers under her feet, Tara tried not to listen as voices traveled to her like distant ghosts. They rose and fell, words unwilling to be ignored as her ears caught them.
Snippets that formed a rough picture: ‘Don’t trust!’ ‘Little kid’ ‘I
know that!’ ‘Please’. Sounds rippled and became distorted, hollow, joined by an inner ringing in her ears, as if trying to keep the noises out. Tara closed her eyes tight and when she opened them again, she stood.
When Jaime returned, Tara had gathered her things, her jacket already on and her seatbelt bag fastened. She was standing in front of a print of one of Frida Kahlo’s self-portraits, eyes tracing the bird that hung around the subject’s neck.
“Hey, kiddo, sorry ‘bout that. Domestic squabbles and all.” Jaime shoved her hands in her jean pockets, “don’t feel like you have to go.”
“N-no, it’s ok,” Tara wrestled away the crinkles on her brow, “I’m really tired anyway, and I barely got checked in.”
“Where are you staying?” Jaime asked, then called out, “Babe, Tara is taking off,” quirking a relieved smile when Mari returned to her side and took her hand.
“The Green Tortoise?” Tara said and asked, checking with her tone if they knew the place. As the trio moved toward the foyer, Jaime and Mari looked to one another, communicating silently again. Jaime asking something, Mari answering with indecision.
“Well hey,” Jaime let go of Mari’s hand to face Tara at the door, “We have plans tomorrow, but Tuesday I’m off at noon then am free for the rest of the week. Holiday’s and all,” Jaime shrugged and Tara saw just a little more of herself in the woman before her.
Tara nodded, feeling the weight on her shoulders ease. They exchanged numbers, Tara again thankful for the cell phone she had on hand, and made plans to meet for lunch.
Jaime hugged Tara tight, “It’s so good to see you.” It was the most vulnerable she had looked all night. “I’m so glad you got out of that place,” she added when they were face to face again.
“I had to.” Tara met the blue gray of Jaime’s eyes, knowing that Jaime would understand her.
The flicker in Jaime’s gaze told Tara she was right.
“Tara,” Mari stepped forward, her features soft, almost sad. She clasped Tara’s forearm lightly, “see if you can’t get out of your reservation for Tuesday night, and the nights after, you’re welcome to stay here.” Tara tried not to blink in surprise, murmuring, “Th-thank you, I will see what I can do.”
Both women hugged Tara and she returned their firm embraces.
Tara drove through the dark cold streets of the strange city, elated, confused, and exhausted, hoping that she could change her room to a single when she got back to the Green Tortoise. She needed the quiet to clear her head.