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but not quite, to petrify all feeling inside of him. Tara was occasionally mentioned in passing, and Genevieve had always listened calmly whenever he spoke about her, knowing that even his sisters name had been a plug, a cork to a reservoir of hurt that should be faced but never would be. Taras name had occasionally surfaced in conversation with the rens grandparents, perhaps if they opened a family photo album; or referenced if they wanted to locate a particular time in the familys history. But it was always a name that flared for a second or two and was ushered on, a spark from a burning log watched briefly for its danger and allowed to smoke out. Tara was very smart, pretty, and intriguing, and she left a lot of people her own age and older way behind. She had a cool look about her: an unsettling calm, and nutbrown eyes that blinked with intense appraisal. She had her own effortless style and she was genuinely interested in other people at an age when most teenagers were passionately devoted only to themselves. s and s were drawn to her, but she didnt need them. She was a natural leader, but one who didnt want any followers. Tara came across as someone with an agenda lodged elsewhere: a private agenda, mysterious and esoteric. It had been Peter who had introduced her to Richie Franklin, her friend at the time of her disappearance. Peter and Richie had put together a rockandroll band, of sorts. Pete kept strict time on drums while Richie, with frontman ambitions on guitar, marshaled various hapless and mostly useless teenagers in and out of the band. Richie was someone who could forgive anyone for playing a wrong note, but not three.

They allowed Tara to come with them to watch their band play in pubs, or to see other bands in clubs, to camp with them at rock festivals, to smoke a joint with them, to let her pretty face and shy smile help them gatecrash parties. She never cramped their style; on the contrary, without even knowing it her simple presence loaned them a radical and chic appeal that neither of the s had naturally. She plugged them into something. If only she had a voice to go with it, Richie had said more than once. All of which made the loss of this fey but exciting creature doubly hard to bear at the time. After shed gone from their lives many people repeated clich??s about her being too beautiful for this world. It was said too often and by too many. She was nearly sixteen when shed been spirited away. Or rather, as it now seemed, spirited herself away. At last there came the sound of a car horn, a double toot, Dells little signature of arrival, something he always did when he came visiting. And this time he would have with him not just Mary but also Tara, the now semilegendary Tara, not, after all, a corpse rotting in some shallow woodland grave but living and breathing, and not, after all, too beautiful for this world but, in the blink of a lizards eye, a mere twenty years older without looking it. Peter sat at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. Come on, Genevieve said. Pull yourself together. Answer the door. With a great heaviness like that of clanking chains, Peter pushed back his chair and hauled his large frame upright. He took a deep breath and made purposeful strides to the door, seizing the door handle at the same moment that a finger pressed the doorbell outside. The door stuck in the frame and he had to wrench it open, and there was Mary with bags stuffed full of Christmas gifts for the grandren she spoiled, and she was in, kissing his cheek, pushing past him. And there was Tara, again with that shy halfsmile and her burgundy lips slightly puckered, that shy kink, an incomplete curlicue at the corner of her mouth; hed seen it before many times but never noted it, and now it had him mesmerized. But his momentary trance was broken when they were propelled forward by Dell, bringing up the rear, going chuff chuff chuff.

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