CHAPTER ONE
“I’VE ALWAYS HEARD life can change in an instant. Guess I’m living proof, huh?”
Tara O’Malley threw a glance out the window to the tangled mass of metal that had been her motorcycle. It sat on prominent display today in her parents’ front yard—a grim reminder to passing motorists that motorcycles travel at the same speed as cars. Tomorrow, it would be junked.
Her mom sat the butter dish in the middle of the table and dropped a quick kiss on the top of Tara’s head. “Living is the important word in that sentence.”
“Yeah, I know.” Tara focused her attention back to the app on her phone where she was entering all the family’s medical history. Her accident had made her aware of the need to have such information at her fingertips, but it was Taylor Grove’s blood drive in her honor today that made her finally sit down and fill in the blanks. “What was Thea’s blood type?”
“A...same as mine,” her mom answered absently. “Do you think Emma would stop and get a bag of ice on her way into town? I’m afraid we might run low.”
“I’ll call her.” Tara pulled up her favorites list and thumbed her best friend’s number.
“Hey,” Emma answered on the first ring.
“Hey, would you stop and get a bag of ice? Mama’s afraid we’ll run out. And while I’m thinking about it, would you resend that class schedule for this week? I couldn’t get the one from the office to open, and I keep forgetting when the junior high students are coming for their tours.” The last full week of school was always crammed with so many activities that it was hard to fit in a lesson.
“Sure. I’m just leaving Paducah. Does your mom need anything else? Paper plates? Paper cups?”
“Do you need anything else, Mama? Are we using paper plates?”
Faith shook her head. “No, I’m doing Memorial Day like Thanksgiving in May this year. I just need enough people to eat all the food.”
“She says to bring people.” Tara relayed the message.
“I haven’t eaten all day, so I’m bringing a three-meal appetite,” Emma promised. “Be there in forty-five minutes or so.”
“Okay. See you then.” Tara pressed the button to end the call, and, before she could think, reached to rub the burning itch on her right hand. As had happened so many times over the past two months since her accident, her breath caught at the empty space her pinkie and ring fingers had occupied, and she sent up a quick prayer of thanks that two fingers and a spleen were all she’d lost. She traced the bright red scar that stopped halfway up her arm. “I’m thinking I might get another tattoo. Maybe some leaves that will make this look like a vine.”
That got her mom’s attention. Faith shot her daughter a pointed look. “Your dad will disown you. He took your first one pretty well only because it’s hidden, and the second with a grain of salt, but he threatened to write you out of the will over the last one.”
Tara didn’t mention the two they knew nothing about. She grinned, remembering the aggravated look on her dad’s face when she’d shown off the Celtic symbol for life just beneath her left earlobe. When she’d explained it was in memory of Grandma O’Malley and their Irish roots, he’d held his tongue, but the hard set of his jaw had indicated his displeasure.
Tara often referred to her dad as the closest thing to a saint she’d ever known. As the preacher at the lone church in Taylor’s Grove, Kentucky, Sawyer O’Malley sought to lead a life above reproach, and for the most part, he’d been successful. A loving and faithful wife...three relatively good kids.
Thea and Trenton had both gone through some rebellious stages during their teenage years, but it was just regular teenage stuff—a little drinking, some partying. But Tara, the “good girl,” had been the surprise to everyone, including herself.
Five years ago, her fiancé, Louis, returned from a mission trip in Honduras with a brand-new wife—an event that threw Tara’s world into a tailspin. Louis, her boyfriend of eight years, had been the only guy she’d ever dated. They’d even signed pledge cards that vowed chastity until marriage. Then he’d shown up with a wife, leaving Tara as an oddity—that rare twenty-three-year-old with her virginity still intact.
She’d made quick work of making up for all the lost time.
“Are Louis and Marta bringing their brood?”
Her mom answered with an affirmative nod as she slid the giant pan of macaroni and cheese into the oven.
Tara’s ex and his wife hadn’t lost any time, either. Three children in five years. And though it had taken a couple of years, Tara was glad she and Louis were friends again. She liked his family—especially Marta and her quiet, kind ways.
Tara set her phone down, feeling guilty that her mom was so busy, and she was doing nothing of great importance. “I’m not an invalid, Mama. Can I at least set the table?”
Her mom chewed her lip for a moment. “All right, you can set the table. But I’ll get Lacy’s china myself.” She disappeared into the other room.
Tara took the hint. Grandma O’Malley’s Belleek tableware was too precious to risk being carried by someone with newly missing fingers.
Trenton came in through the back door, arms laden with cartons of soft drinks and bottled water. With the blood drive in Tara’s honor going on, the annual O’Malley Memorial Day Dinner had swelled to triple the usual number of people. The entire day had been very humbling.
“Hey, pinky.”
Tara snorted and rolled her eyes at her brother’s twisted sense of humor. He’d labeled her with the new nickname before she’d even gotten out of the hospital.
“Would you help me with the chicken?” He found an open spot on the drink-and-dessert table, and unloaded his arms. “I’ve got to get all those pieces turned and basted, and the ribs need a close eye kept on them.”
“Sure.” She eased out of her chair, still aware of the tightness from the scar where her ruptured spleen had been removed. “But I need to know your blood type first. I’m filling in an emergency app for our family.”
“AB,” he answered.
Tara keyed in the information, and then frowned as she glanced down the chart. “What’s with this?”
Her dad came in from the
