Snakeroot

9. Tara's Sacrifice

There isn't a lot about those first couple of days that I remember. I was like a robot, running on programming and no sleep or food. I fed Megan and Tommy but I couldn't eat; I was sick inside, and I couldn't get that awful smell away from us. It lingered, just like the big black mark the explosion had made on the ground outside. I scrubbed and cleaned furiously, taking comfort in the smell of chemicals that made the stench of burning flesh go away for just a little while. I answered questions. I existed. I locked myself in the tiny bathroom to hide my silent screams of agnony from Megan and Tommy. I cried alone, in silence, with no one to tell me it was going to be okay.

It didn't matter anyway. Nothing was okay anymore.

Did you really believe there was a light at the end of the tunnel? There is no end. You'll have to live with this forever.

They took Daddy to jail for killing her, even though it was an accident. They said he shouldn't have been driving drunk, and they called his crime vehicular manslaughter along with a few other things. I was so numb to anything but the pain of losing Tara that I didn't feel anything at all for him. I didn't laugh. I didn't cry. I didn't say he deserved it. I didn't do anything at all, because there was nothing that would bring Tara back or make up for what we'd lost.

But then, for whatever reason, I realized that Uncle Henry must have claimed responsibility for us. That woke me up.

I guess I didn't really think about it at first. Tara would have, because Tara was strong. But she was gone. And through the haze, I could still hear her voice telling me to pick up her torch and run with it. I was the only one left to take care of us now. So, four days after her death, I marched myself to the restaurant where Tara had worked, explained my situation, and took over Tara's old job.

It was hard, because the restaurant was noisy and busy and there wasn't time to cry, and the smell of the hamburgers and steaks cooking made me run to the bathroom to vomit. Other waitresses yelled at me, impatient. Customers didn't care if my sister had just died or that I had mouths to feed; if there was one tiny thing wrong with a french fry I got yelled at. Sometimes I got tipped. Sometimes I didn't. Sometimes a person would come in that knew who I was, and they would leave me a bigger tip. But most of the time, people didn't care at all. I'm not really sure why that surprised and hurt me, but it did.

For about a week, Uncle Henry left us all alone. But after that first handful of days, he came to the camper and barged in just like Daddy had always done. He grinned at me in his awful evil way. My blood ran cold.

"Just wanted to check on you kids," he said, "and make sure you didn't need anything out here."

"We're fine," I said, hoping I sounded as tough as Tara always had.

"That's good to hear," he said, "but it's awfully dark out there. Eliza, why don't you walk me back to the trailer since big sister's not around to do it anymore?"

"I'm not leaving them alone out here," I told him, gesturing at a pale Megan and a crying Tommy. "They're scared."

"Well then, maybe Megan will walk me back," he said.

Honestly, I think I'd known for awhile what Tara had always been doing with Uncle Henry when she walked him back to his trailer, but I didn't admit it to myself until that moment. I had never really understood it and I hated thinking about it. But as his eyes fell over Megan in the same way they'd once fallen over me, I understood why she'd done it. I understood, with every ounce of my being, Tara's sacrifice.

"Fine," I said. "Let's go."

The last thing I saw before going out into the darkness were the wide, innocent eyes of my little sister, who understood only that I would be back soon.