Bereft [UPDATED VERSION]

II - Little Disasters

II - Little Disasters

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"Do you want to tell me what that was all about?"

Standing by the curb waiting for the hotel valet to bring Tara's car, Sara stared toward the rushing traffic and didn't respond. The sun had dropped below the horizon, but a simmering heat still lay over Verweald, daylight a hazy afterthought dying out like a camera's flash. It was loud and crowded despite being a Sunday evening. The full moon crested the line of buildings.

As if sensing her anxiety, Tara's hand tightened, and her thumb brushed Sara's knuckles. Sara cleared her throat and ignored the question. "I can take my own car, you know."

"Oh no," Tara rejected, mouth quirked as she looked her over. "Because then you won't be able to find a place to park, and I'll get a text thirty minutes later saying you're so sorry, but you went home, and 'how about a rain check?'"

Sara didn't deny the scenario's plausibility but could resent her sister's perceptiveness.

Tara's car arrived, and the four of them clamored inside, Sara in the passenger's seat with her sister behind the wheel. As Tara pulled away from the curb, Sara turned to study the hotel's entrance, not finding the woman anywhere among the tourists or employees crowding the carport or the lobby's entrance.

Am I being paranoid? What did I even hear?

"Is there a reason we had to bolt?" Rick asked from the backseat, checking his phone. "I know you're in a rush, Tara, but we don't want to get your sister in trouble."

Tara shot him a look in the mirror. "I'm not in a rush. Sara's the one who wanted to leave. Jesus, Rick."

"Everything all right, then?"

"Yeah," Sara replied, straightening in her seat. She rubbed at her eyes until spots blotted her vision. "I just—walked in on a strange conversation and thought it'd be best to go. It doesn't matter. Martha's already mad at me and made a passing crack about reporting me to HR. Took all of ten minutes."

The boys in the backseat guffawed.

Tara didn't laugh. She eyed Sara, headlights drifting across her face before directing her attention toward the traffic again.

Exhaling, Sara drew her fingers through her hair, tucking back the fringe that had fallen into her eyes again. The smell of orange juice still soured her nose, and she could feel it clinging to the front of her damp dress. She plucked at it with nervous, anxious fingers.

"The company will retaliate—and you'll—."

"I'll what? 'Pay for this?' Is that what you think?"

Sara wiped her mouth, wishing she'd opted for something a tad heavier than juice, or that she hadn't let her inquisitiveness get the best of her. Perhaps the woman hadn't seen her. Perhaps it was all in her mind.

"You're going to be very helpful, girl, and stand up. Lead us to Gregor Eoul."

Why did she say that? Why did I stand? What was that? Why did I do that? Why—?

"Tara," she said in a bid to distract herself, closing her eyes. The red of the taillights bled through her eyelids. "Do you remember those stories Pépé used to tell us when we were kids?"

"No?" She glanced toward Sara, then back to traffic, hitting the brakes when a minivan swerved into their lane. "Idiot! People drive like trash in this city! What were you saying?"