It Happened on Maple Street

I had two critical deadlines pressing down on me. I’d just signed papers to end my marriage. And I was walking with a lilt in my step.

I didn’t even notice if Chris was still in the house as I took the paved path around back. I couldn’t get to my desk fast enough.

I bypassed my usual morning album, and seconds after I was inside the room, Neil Diamond’s voice filled the space. I felt like it was a hot August night.

There was another message from Tim.

You are a true mystery writer Miss Tara: “I have much to say about your letter! More tomorrow.”

His address followed and then . . .

Lots of love

Tim

Lots of love. Again. He was putting something out there. I had to find out what it was. The fact that I was no longer capable of fully engaging in a relationship wasn’t even enough to stop me. We were a continent apart. A full relationship was out of the question anyway.

And as I scrolled through my inbox, I saw that he’d written to me later that night as well.

Tara: Just a quick note. I just realized that there was a link in your signature attached to your website. I went to it and was very impressed! Tim

He’d read up on me. And now he knew I was successful. That I’d made something of my life. There was a picture of Chris and me on my website.

And Tim was backing up. He’d signed the post, simply, Tim. No love anywhere. Not even a Have a nice day.

I panicked.

I wasn’t going to lose him again.

Lose him? I didn’t have him. Couldn’t have him. I wasn’t a complete woman anymore. I was TTQ, a successful, two-dimensional standin for the person Tara had been. I was being totally honest now. No more hiding or pretending. A part of me had died that night with James on the country road. TTQ was the person who’d emerged from the darkness. She was my protection. And my strength.

And Tim’s hints of love were threatening TTQ’s stability.

But apparently parts of Tara had survived. And apparently that girl had more of a say over my life than I realized.

And so I began what turned out to be a flurry of e-mails over the next twenty-four hours.

Tim,

I was very touched about your memory of my brother and Neil Diamond. Out of the blue you write that—without knowing that Neil is the connection we all keep to him.

I’m so sorry to hear about your brother. I remember him. I loved being at his house; it felt safe and full of love and family.

I don’t remember that my father didn’t like you. I actually can’t ever remember the two of you being in the same room! Wonder why I blocked that? Maybe because I was blocking him so I could breathe. What I do remember is how much my mother adored you. She was always after me to be good to you and encouraged me to spend time with you.

Do you still lift weights?

I deleted the line. And then put it back in. And then TTQ took over again, philosophizing because that’s what she did. Life had taught her a lot. She talked to him about finding perfect moments amid the cacophony of life. She talked to him about her writer friends. And about how hard the public aspects of her job used to be for her. I w

anted him to know and understand TTQ. To know that I was TTQ. And then Tara popped up again.

That’s what’s so nice about you. You just know me—without all the trappings—and you’re reminding me of who I really am, the person inside. You wrote to me without knowing or caring anything about my career.

It’s nice. Very nice. Sometimes I lose track of the girl I used to be and I miss her a lot.

I’ve thought about you a lot over the years and want to hear about your life.

Thanks for listening. It’s done my heart very good to meet up with you again.