The One You Fight For (The Ones Who Got Away) Page 5

  “Momma…”

  “That’s such bull,” she spat out. “You know it, baby. You do all that research. There were things those parents could’ve done. She just doesn’t want anyone pointing fingers. She got out of those lawsuits with that excuse. Bad genetics, my rear end.” Her fingers balled. “It just makes me so angry. She raised a killer, maybe two, based on the stories I heard about the brother a few years ago. Don’t act like a victim. How about taking some responsibility? Makes me want to sue her myself.”

  Taryn blew out a breath, stood, and put a hand on her mom’s shoulder. “This is why you shouldn’t watch things like that.”

  She turned to Taryn, brown eyes ablaze, and put her hand over her daughter’s. “You’re going to show her, and everyone else. When you get your program in schools, people are going to see the difference it makes. This could’ve been prevented. We didn’t have to lose Nia or all those other children. The world needs to know that.”

  Taryn gave a little nod. “I know, Momma. I’m almost there. The program is ready to go. I present to the school board on Thursday.”

  “Thank you, Jesus,” her mother said softly. “That’s my brilliant girl. I knew you’d do it.”

  Taryn looked up, finding her mom fully focused on her. The effect was like sunlight warming her skin. After so many years of seeing her mom struggle, she cherished these moments when her mom was totally present with her. Seeing her get angry was better than seeing her wallow in despair and anxiety.

  Taryn put her other hand on top of their clasped ones. “I told you I would. I just need the school board to say yes now. One of the members all but assured me it would get approved.”

  Tears filled her mother’s eyes. “Your sister would be so proud of you, baby.”

  Taryn’s throat felt stuffed with cotton so she simply nodded.

  Her mother put a hand on Taryn’s face, her palm cool against her cheek. “How about we go downstairs and have some dinner with your dad? It’s not very nice of us to make him cook and then let him eat alone.”

  Taryn smiled. “What you really mean is that you’re afraid he’s going to eat all the fish and forget to leave some for us.”

  “Exactly.”

  Taryn helped her mother out of the chair and glanced at the wall covered with theater bills—the wall she’d shared with her sister. The wall Nia had tapped on when Taryn sang and played guitar. She could still picture herself and her sister sitting in this room and talking about nothing and everything. It was as though she was looking at a scene out of someone else’s life. Maybe she was. That life had died along with Nia.

  * * *

  Later that night, Taryn took a long sip of coffee, her belly still full from dinner with her parents, and stared at the wall of her home office. Over the last couple of years, she’d covered the blank wall opposite her desk with floor-to-ceiling cork and had turned it into a massive bulletin board. On it, small black-and-white photos of school shooters were spread out like a map, red strings connecting them to different points on her diagram. It was her masterpiece—and also the most depressing office artwork ever.

  Her eyes were getting blurry with the need for sleep, but she lifted her glasses to rub them and wake herself up. Only a little longer. After her talk with her mom, she was determined to get this school-board presentation perfect.

  On the wall, she’d separated the shooters into four main groups—the psychopaths, the psychotic, the suicidal, and the traumatized. Then she’d pinned different elements around the board to connect strings to data points such as whether the shooter worked alone or with someone, whether they told someone their plan, if there were signs that were missed, if they were bullied, if they’d committed previous crimes. She’d gone through all the published research, the family histories, and the police reports, examining hundreds of characteristics and conducting a meta-analysis that had taken most of her adult life to assemble. But she’d done what she’d set out to do. She’d isolated common factors and identified the areas that could potentially be impacted most for prevention.

  She was finally ready to use what she’d found to help. To change things. She simultaneously wanted to cheer and rip all the ugliness off the wall because she was so damn tired of looking at those faces and statistics.

  But she kept her hands at her sides. She wasn’t done with this wall yet. She wouldn’t be until her program was rolled out in schools and making some kind of difference. Research was just information. It was useless without action.

  In a time capsule letter she’d written after graduation with her friends, she’d promised to dedicate her life to action. Action for those who hadn’t survived, action for her sister, and action for her family. Back then, Taryn had been obsessed with answering the question why? Now, she was standing before a wall filled with years of work, and the reality of it settled over her. There were a thousand answers to the question. She hadn’t known that at seventeen when she’d made the promise, but she’d realized it pretty quickly once she’d gotten into her studies. So much influenced a person that there could be no x + y = school shooter. That didn’t mean there was nothing to be done. She had a plan and felt confident it would make an impact.

  If she could get people to believe in it.

  She needed to get a group of local schools on board to allocate some funds and pilot the program to prove the method first. Taryn turned her back to the corkboard wall and sat in front of her computer again. Her eyes were burning from being up late last night, and she had to get up early in the morning, but she needed to put together a few more PowerPoint slides. She stretched her neck from side to side, giving herself an internal pep talk like she used to do when she ran track and her lungs started burning and her muscles wanted to cramp. Just one more lap. Almost to the finish line.

  There would be time for sleep later. Once she had the pilot program in place, she could finally take a breath for the first time since everything had happened. Give her mom something tangible to hold on to, get some rest, and maybe take Kincaid up on working a little more fun into her life.

  Maybe.

  But for now…she put her fingers on the keyboard.

  Just one more lap.

  Chapter

  Five

  “Oh, no, no, no. This is all wrong.” Kincaid shook her head, purple-streaked blond ponytail swinging and glittery unicorn horn sparkling in the morning sunlight as she looked Taryn up and down. She stepped around the sign-in table to get closer. “You said you were coming as Belle from Beauty and the Beast.”

  Taryn groaned, her head pounding despite the double-shot espresso she’d downed on the way there. “The costume shop only had the yellow ball gown, and I wanted the peasant-girl outfit from when she’s reading the book. I can’t run in a ball gown. I figured I’d try another shop yesterday, but then I was working on my school-board presentation and I lost track of time.”

  Kincaid gave a put-upon sigh and placed her hands on Taryn’s shoulders. “Overworked professor is not an approved costume. I love you, but you look like hell.”

  “Aww, don’t you say the sweetest things,” Taryn said, trying for lighthearted sarcasm but sounding grumpy instead. “I didn’t think I needed full-face makeup for a charity run.”

  Kincaid frowned, her hazel eyes narrowing as she examined Taryn’s face. “This has nothing to do with makeup, and you know it. Did you pull another all-nighter?”

  “No. I got about four hours, I think.” She’d woken up with her cheek against her keyboard. She hoped the imprint of it had finally faded, but the crick in her neck sure hadn’t.

  Kincaid let out a heavy sigh and released Taryn’s shoulders. “Girl, we need to have a talk after this race. Your fun diet needs to start ASAP.”

  “Yeah, about that,” Taryn started. “I don’t think I can spare—”

  But Kincaid was already two conversations ahead of her. “Hey, you want me to see what
they have in the costume tent? A lot of people brought extras so people could borrow them.”

  “No, it’s fine.” The thought of getting into some elaborate costume seemed overwhelming at the moment. “I’ll just get a set of flags to tie around my waist and be one of the chased. Have you seen Rebecca yet?” She craned her neck to see over the milling crowd of costumed runners and search for her friend and the organizer of this charity race. “Do you know where she needs my help?”

  “I saw her first thing this morning when she and Wes were setting everything up, but they left a while ago to get their costumes on,” Kincaid said. “She left me in charge. I’ve been doing costume approvals and handing out racing tags. I’m not sure what she wanted you to do, but she should be back any minute.”

  Taryn lifted her brows. “Costume approvals?”

  “Yep. Rebecca wants to ensure this is not a triggering event since it’s benefiting victims of violent crime. No blood. No fake weapons. No scary monsters or Jasons or Michael Myerses. I thought it’d be an easy job, but you’d be surprised what people consider an acceptable costume. Like some dude thought a zombie would be okay.” Kincaid’s eyes rolled upward as if looking at the unicorn horn atop her head. “I mean, seriously, you’re literally the walking dead. There is fake blood dripping out of your eyes and mouth. What mental checklist did you go through to make that okay, buddy?”

  Taryn smiled, her bad mood no match for Kincaid’s endless chatter. “I’m sure you’ve hated being in charge.”

  “Right? I was made for this. Costumes and being the head honcho? Best combination ever.” Kincaid clapped her hands together. “Oh my God, here come Rebecca and Wes. And ugh. They did a couple’s costumes and look freaking adorable.”

  Taryn grinned as Rebecca headed their way with her man in tow. “Which means we need to hate them on the spot.”

  “Obviously,” Kincaid said. “Them’s the rules.”

  Rebecca and Wes had gone with the Lucy and Ricky Ricardo combo. Rebecca’s red hair was curled and pinned, and she had on a black-and-white polka-dot dress. The outfit was not one to run in, but Rebecca had an old leg injury from the shooting and wouldn’t be running. Wes had greased his blond hair into a pompadour and sprayed it black. But the thing that made it so cute was how the two of them looked together. Rebecca was so relaxed, leaning into Wes and laughing about something. He was smiling at her like no other woman existed on earth.

  The sight made Taryn’s chest warm. It hadn’t been that long ago that Rebecca had been crying in Taryn’s office, confessing heartbreaking things about the night of the shooting and sharing the struggles she’d had since. Rebecca had looked so tired and downtrodden. Now it was as if Taryn’s very serious lawyer friend had shed a few layers of skin, and this new, shiny version had emerged from beneath.

  The couple reached them and everyone exchanged greetings and hugs. Rebecca gave Taryn a squeeze. “Where’s your costume, missy?”

  “Dr. Landry has issues with ball gowns,” Kincaid offered as she reached out and knocked on Wes’s stiff hair as if she were knocking on a door. “Good Lord, what’d you put in here? Cement?”

  No one flinched at Kincaid feeling up Rebecca’s husband’s hair. She was a toucher.

  Wes smiled proudly. “Temporary hair dye and Brylcreem. That stuff is amazing. I’m thinking of making this my new look.”

  Rebecca gave him the side eye. “Don’t get any ideas, Ricky. I like you blond, and I think that hair gel will be a fire hazard in the food truck.”

  Wes chuckled and leaned over to kiss Bec on the cheek. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You guys make me completely nauseous. I love it,” Kincaid said happily. “Where’s our other duo?”

  “Finn and Liv stopped at the restrooms.” Rebecca glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, here they come.”

  A couple wearing tight-fitting costumes with capes trailing behind them came into view from behind a gaggle of Smurfs that were waiting in line for tags. “Batman and Wonder Woman,” Taryn said when her other friends walked up. “Nice!”

  “Thanks.” Liv pushed her dark hair away from her face, a look of frustration pursing her lips and a gleam of sweat on her forehead. “But please remind me next time to pee before I get into my costume. Ever try to get out of this much spandex in a port-a-potty?”

  “All the time,” Wes said seriously.

  Rebecca gently shoved him in the arm. “Oh, Ricky.”

  Liv smirked at the other couple. “Well, I’ll take some tips for next time. I’m afraid to look. Did I dip my cape?”

  Finn laughed next to her, a deep sound filled with warmth, and tugged off his Batman mask to check her costume. “You’re all dry, Livvy. I thought I was going to have to do my first rescue, though. The curse words coming out of that bathroom were not safe for a family-friendly event.”

  Liv snorted and put her hands on her hips. “Wonder Woman needs no rescuer, Bat Boy.”

  Taryn rolled her lips inward and pointed. “Maybe not, but Wonder Woman does have toilet paper attached to her shoe.”

  “Oh hell,” Liv said, shaking it off. “So anyway, all that is to say sorry I’m running a little behind. We’re ready to be sent out on our missions now.”

  Rebecca pulled a paper square from the inner pocket of Wes’s jacket and unfolded the neatly typed to-do list. “I think we have most everything covered. Kincaid’s been helping with check-in and costume approval, but that should be close to done. Wes, if you could make sure we have water bottles set out at each checkpoint, that’d be great. Liv and Finn, could y’all help hand out flags to the runners and show them how to hook them around their waists?”

  “Yep, sounds good,” Finn said.

  “Taryn, if you could help Kincaid finish up and then, if you two don’t mind, do a walk by the vendors’ tables to make sure they don’t need anything. They paid a fee to advertise here, and a lot of them made an extra donation on top of that, so I want them to feel like they’re well taken care of.”

  “Got it,” Taryn said.

  “Then when the race starts, everyone just have fun and grab some flags,” Rebecca said.

  Kincaid rubbed her hands together. “I’m so ready for that part. Everyone is going down!”

  Taryn lifted her palms. “The unicorn is on the hunt! Let all be warned.”

  Kincaid nodded seriously. “Yep. You should be worried, doc. You’re going to have flags. This unicorn eats flags for breakfast.”

  “I ran track, sister,” Taryn said, jogging in place and trying to get her energy up despite her lack of sleep. “You’ve got no shot.”

  “Hey, I was on the dance team,” Kincaid said, affronted. “I have moves.”

  Taryn made a bring-it-on motion with her hands. “We’ll see, twinkle toes.”

  The couples said their goodbyes and headed off to their tasks. Taryn turned to Kincaid to see what she needed her to do first, but before she could get a word out, Kincaid shrieked and clutched her hands to her chest.

  The noise startled Taryn and made her jump. “What the hell?”

  “Christmas on a cracker. What the hell is right,” Kincaid said, staring at something behind Taryn.

  Taryn turned, but Kincaid was already stalking forward in the direction of a very tall, very brightly colored clown. Oh crap. She’d known Kincaid long enough to know what was about to happen. Taryn hurried behind her, ready to intercept, but Kincaid was already talking.

  “Excuse me. Excuse me, you with the red nose!” Kincaid said, snapping her fingers.

  The unsuspecting clown turned her way, putting a hand to his chest and blinking in confusion. “Me?”

  “Yes, you.” Kincaid stopped in front of him, half a foot shorter, but miles taller in attitude. “I’m sorry, but in what universe would you consider this a non-scary costume? The instructions were clear.”

  The clown shrank back. “I’m a circ
us clown,” he said, lifting his big glove-covered hands. “Kids like the circus.”

  “No-o,” Kincaid said, dragging out the word into two syllables. “Kids tolerate the scary-ass clowns at the circus to see the cute animals and eat cotton candy. Have you never seen It? Or Poltergeist? Or The Strangers?”

  “Well, technically, The Strangers didn’t have cl—” Taryn started.

  “Clowns are super high on the scary meter,” Kincaid went on. “They’re like right below the porcelain dolls they sell on home shopping channels.”

  “Porcelain—” the guy said in bewilderment.

  Kincaid lifted a palm, an angry unicorn stomping her hooves. “We appreciate you participating in this charity run, but for the love of all that is good and holy, please go to the costume tent and choose a different costume or get some flags and be a runner.”

  The clown looked down at his floppy shoes. “Okay. I’m real sorry, ma’am.”

  Taryn winced and stepped forward. “Sir, we really are happy you’re participating. I’m sorry for the confusion. Next time we’ll be more clear on which costumes could be triggers.”

  Kincaid gave her a look and a little eye roll that the clown couldn’t see. The clown gave Taryn a small smile, which did end up looking kind of creepy, and then loped off toward the costume tent. Kincaid huffed. “See? I told you. Can you believe some people? I mean, clearly that was the most terrifying costume ever made. How can people not realize that?”

  Taryn bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “Porcelain dolls on home shopping channels?”

  They were walking toward the vendor area now, and Kincaid gave her a look that seemed to say obviously. “Unblinking eyes are freaky. I’m sorry. My grandmother used to have a whole curio case of the little demons. I think they steal the souls of the dead and trap them in there.”