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“Yeah,” it came out all shaky, probably because she wasn't okay, but she didn’t want to worry her sister further. When she’d woken up in the hospital emergency room, her sister had been by her side. Naomi had stayed with her when she’d gone for a head scan. Clara had been adamant that she hadn’t hit her head when Jonathon had tackled her, but given that she’d been unconscious for almost thirty minutes, the doctors had insisted. Of course, the scan had been clear—the reason she’d passed out was Tommy. When she had finally been released, Naomi had driven her home and insisted on spending the night despite Clara’s protestations that she would be perfectly okay on her own.
“It was just a nightmare, honey.” Naomi reached over and tucked Clara’s hair behind her ear.
Tears were brimming in her eyes, and she shook her head. “No, it wasn't—Tommy really is dead.”
Her sister didn’t say anything, just hugged her. Naomi was always so calm, so in control. Clara wished that they'd always been part of each other’s lives, but they’d only gotten to know one another in the last ten years. She and Naomi were half-sisters; they had the same father but different mothers. Her mother had had an affair that produced Clara. The affair had broken up her mother’s marriage, and she’d been divorced before Clara’s first birthday. As a child, she had spent most of her time with her mother and two older half-brothers, but she had spent one weekend a month with her father. On visits to her father, she was never allowed to go to his home—his wife wouldn’t allow it. Instead, the two of them would stay at a hotel. As such, she never got to know her father’s three other children. Naomi's mother had also cheated on her husband, an act that produced Naomi. Unlike Clara’s family, Naomi’s had stayed together after the affair, but her experience with their father was the same.
Clara lifted her head from her sister’s shoulder. She wiped the tears from her cold and clammy face. “Why would Tommy do that?” she begged Naomi.
“I don’t know, honey,” Naomi replied. “You were the one who was with him in the car.”
When she’d asked her sister at the hospital how long the car chase had lasted, she’d been surprised to learn it was only an hour and a half. She could have sworn it was so much longer. Those ninety minutes had felt more like ninety hours.
“Did he say anything to you?”
“Just that he wanted to show me something.” Clara could feel fresh tears building, and a hysterical swirling was beginning in her stomach. “He was waiting for me in my car with a knife and a gun. He told me to drive but I said no, and I asked him what was wrong. He didn’t answer, he just cut me,” she finished in disbelief. “How could Tommy hurt me? He was my friend—at least I thought he was my friend.”
“I don’t know why he hurt you. What about while you were driving, did he say anything then?”
“Just to go faster and that I couldn’t stop even though the cops were chasing us. He shot at them, Naomi. He hit three cops. He had to know they’d shoot back.”
“Maybe he wanted them to,” Naomi suggested gently.
Her shock-dulled mind hadn’t thought of that. “You think he committed suicide by cop?” she gasped.
“I don’t know. Sorry I keep saying that, but I don’t have any answers for you. I wish I did, but I don’t.” Naomi looked pained. Clara knew her sister always wanted to fix everything for everyone.
“Maybe I could have stopped it …”
“Clara, no . . .”
“Yes,” she contradicted. “In the car, I should have tried harder to get him to talk. I should have made more of an effort to spend time with him lately, only I've been so busy with work. I should have stopped him from shooting at the cops. He’s dead—Tommy’s dead because of me.”
“Clara, that’s ridiculous, and you know it,” Naomi sternly rebuked.
“No, it’s not.” The hysteria in her stomach was bubbling up. Tommy was one of her best friends; they’d been through something horrific together, and they’d survived—the bond between them could never be broken. But she’d let him down. Tommy had obviously needed help, and she hadn’t even noticed. “It’s my fault. If I'd done something differently, then Tommy might still be alive.”
Why hadn’t she insisted that Tommy tell her where he wanted to take her?
Why hadn’t she insisted that she wasn't going anywhere with him? Why hadn’t she insisted that he put the gun and knife away?
Why hadn’t she said something to Jonathon the second she stepped out of the car so he could stop Tommy before he even started shooting?
“I don’t like to hear you talk that way,” her sister reprimanded. “Tommy is an adult; he’s responsible for his own choices. He couldn’t use what happened to him as a kid as an excuse for poor decision making forever. You went through the same thing, and you’ve never used it as an excuse not to continue with your life.”
That sobered Clara a little. She had indeed used what happened to her as an excuse for not doing lots of things—she just didn’t share that with her family. She wanted them to think that she was strong, that she’d been able to move past her childhood trauma. Of course, in a lot of ways she had moved on—but how could something so big not make an impact on her and on her life?
“How about I get you some painkillers, and then you try and get some more sleep?” Naomi suggested.
“No, I can't go back to sleep now.” Clara knew sleep would almost certainly bring with it more nightmares. She hadn’t dreamed of what had happened to her as a child in years, but Tommy carjacking her and his subsequent death must have unlocked the door holding those dreams at bay, allowing them to seep back in. The painkillers, however, were negotiable. She hadn’t been seriously hurt when Jonathon had tackled her, but she must have gotten some bruises. She hadn’t noticed them yesterday, but her body had stiffened while she’d been sleeping and now it was achy all over. Not that she was complaining. If Jonathon hadn’t tackled her when he did, then she almost definitely would have been hit by one of the bullets from Tommy’s gun.
Naomi looked like she wanted to protest, but instead, she said, “Okay then, I’ll go and put the kettle on and make some tea, and we can watch some old movies.”
“You don’t have to stay up with me; you should go back to bed. I’ll be okay.”
Her sister just looked at her like she was an idiot and moved to stand. “I’ll go pick out something from your Disney collection.”
Clara grabbed her hand. “Thanks, Naomi. I’m really lucky to have a sister like you.”
