Tara got up out of her bed and languidly stretched off the lover’s embrace that was her hours of sleep.  Pulling her hand down to her eye level, she stared at the ring which lay there.  The shine of the diamond was as bright as the day before, just as pretty on the surface as the lies that she’d told to make her life look pretty from the outside too; but like the diamond, there was nothing soft, nothing warm, nothing comforting about it at all … just pretty.

Sighing, Tara went to her bathroom, brushed her teeth, hair, and prepared for the day.  Stepping outside before the sun was yet awake she performed the same stretches which she did every day for years and began her morning trek from one side of campus to the other and back again.

The morning birds, the wind, the distant sounds of a city waking up were the soundtrack to her thoughts.  In her mind’s eye, she didn’t see the path, but storm cloud eyes and waves of silky soft ebony, the feel of fingers in her hair, the contrary words and perhaps imagined meanings behind every phrase she thought she could recall.

Tara’s pace was steady, hard, like every morning since the one of Cinderella’s Ball as she’d come to think of it.  Her morning castigation.  A reminder that she was still here, that the Tara Mastrosimone she knew was still alive, somewhere under the one she’d created.  A short drive away, others were awake some hours now – smugglers, whores, and contract killers.

Tara paused at the library, as she’d come into the habit of doing, and looked towards the ‘City That Never Slept’ and imagined how easy it would be to walk away from school and her lies.  She could get in her car, drive back, and her father would take her in and teach her his way of doing business.  She’d be the natural and rightful heir to the Mastrosimone/Byrne Empire … the inheritor of her namesake’s legacy. 

Tara Byrne.  Tara the bookish girl.  The smart one.  The dutiful one.  The godmother.  The sister.  The one who spent her whole life alone...

Tara Mastrosimone was bookish, she was smart, and she liked to think dutiful… but these urges of hers made her question.  Did Aunt Tara ever question her path?  Tara didn’t know if she had it in her to be alone her whole life.  Of her siblings it was she who most enjoyed the chaos of her family, their voices, their fights, and their love. 

She looked at the ring again.  A pretty lie.  Not just for them, if only Oriana had seen that, but a pretty lie for herself.  If she could feel the things that she said she felt, if she could just be the thing that she told them that she was, the person they believed her to be… she’d take all these courses happily.  Tara would be some powerful man’s trophy, the mother of his children, and raise a family contentedly.  The problem was, Tara wasn’t any of the things this ring said she was and whenever she looked at it, she was reminded of it.

She could get in her car.  Drive to her father.  He’d teach her and then at her lunch, she’d cross town to Manhattan and bury her fear – declare her desires.  For what did the daughter of a Godfather have to fear?

Oceans of blood and rivers of tears…

But she’d already cried a river tears, hadn’t she?  Wouldn’t she cry rivers more if she didn’t just accept who she was and find the courage to admit it to herself and the world?  Wasn’t the only real joy in this life what one brought to it?  Wasn’t that the lessons of all those women in the books… her mother included?  Her mother most of all?

The world had been cruel to her.  It had stolen away everything and still, Aurora persisted.  Her mother was made strong by love and truth – lessons taught to her by her father.  Gavin.  The man whose own life was as painful and ugly as any life could be.  Love had been his pain in the end, but for the whole of his adult life, it was his strength.  It was Nona Bella’s love that helped him overcome his demons and his love which had stopped her from self-destructing. 

Bella and Gavin. 
Frank and Lucy. 
Billy and Roar. 

Scars made them all beautiful.

Tara didn’t have scars, just a few wounds she was born with and she couldn’t be sure they would ever heal.  The truth was, if her skin was too soft for this life then she could never hope to survive what those other people had faced. 

Tara sighed and began the trek back.

"I figure we've got at least another year before we need to start thinking about it, so why rush?"  Claire laughed.  "Tara knows exactly what I'm talking about."

Tara looked up to the sound of a few girls giggling.

"Someone's daydreaming about her fiancee again."  Emma poked her in the side and Tara smiled.

"Will you see him this weekend?" Claire asked.

"Actually," Tara picked up her milk and sipped it before completing her thought.  "I think I'm going to the city to visit my family this weekend."

"I wish I was as close to my siblings as you are to yours,"  Edith said sadly.  "I honestly could just stab mine some days." 

Emma put a hand on Tara's arm.  "So here's what I'm thinking, I know what you said at orientation about pledging ... but so much has changed for you in such a short amount of time.  And, well, we've all become like sisters in the last couple days.  I mean we eat every meal together, we study together,"

"We get trashed together,"  Edith said giving a wink to her co-conspirators who laughed with her.

"Well... I was looking last night and there is actually a request we can file to admit a pledge after the traditional pledge period!"

The other girls clamored excitedly.

"Tara,"  Emma continued, "I asked our house mother and I think we can get you in!"

The girls began hugging her and Tara smiled accepting their affection in the same way that Brigitte often accepted the loud obnoxious adoration of her friends.  

"OH GOSH!  Tara, if we get you in ... then you and Orin could come up with us for our last trip to The Cape for the season!  It's a tradition."

"Say yes, Tara!"  Claire pushed.

"You must!"  Edith begged.

"We won't let you refuse!"  Emma insisted.

Tara hesitated, "I'll... think about it."

"Oh guys, we're going to be sisters forever!"  Claire gushed.  "We'll be in each other's weddings, we'll raise our kids together..."

Edith pouted, "Only if you guys want to move to Washington D.C. - Harry is going to be a Congressman like his uncle one day."

"Washington D.C. it is then!"  Emma laughed.  "And why not?"

"I've got history, ladies, I need to run!"  Claire gave Tara a kiss on the top of her head and was gone in an instant.  Edith and then Emma after her.  Tara had economics, she should go, but she stared down at her barely touched lunch instead.  

"Sisters..."  She muttered finally, getting up and throwing her uneaten lunch in the trash can.  She wasn't sure if she'd finally snapped or not, but the once dutiful sister was just about done with doing what she should... and found herself getting into her car to instead, do what she could.  Her skin might be thin, but her family had fought, bled, and in some cases died just to give her one very real advantage in this life and it wasn't money, properties, cars, weapons, or fighting skills.

Fuck waiting for Friday. 

Tara was going home now.

"What are you doing here?"  Brigitte narrowed her eyes and opened her arms to hug her sister, welcoming her into her posh apartment high above Manhattan.  The furnishings were pristine white, all the decor the most expensive and beautiful things that Brigitte probably could find from the high-end shops nearby.  Their father, of course, wrote the check without question... or maybe gave a blank one, Tara supposed.

"I just wanted to come by for some advice,"  Tara admitted as she began to release Brigitte from the hug.

"Advice, from me?  Who are you and what have you done with my sist..."  Brigitte grabbed onto Tara's left hand instantly.  "OH MY GOD TARA!?!"

Tara sighed.

"Who?"  Brigitte said, dragging her sister into the room kicking the door closed behind them.

Tara chuckled walking behind her excited sister who was leading her toward the couch with all the same enthusiasm as her friends at school.  "Orin DiCaprio."

"A DiCaprio?!?  Oh my ... does Papa know?"

"Brigitte..."

"Cause, I mean... Tara, I gotta say this is out of the left field.  Utterly.  Gavin, maybe, but you?!?"

"He isn't real."  She said bluntly settling down onto the cushion.

"I don't..." Brigitte looked at her confused.

"I made him up to get the girls to back off about me dating and to keep the guys at bay."

Brigitte nodded looking impressed.  "Not a bad tactic, but don't you think eventually they'll figure it out?"

"I know... I know... and I keep making up more about him just to fit in and..."

"You're afraid you'll forget a detail you've already said?"

"Not so much, I mean I'm sticking close to the truth so that I don't..."

"Wait.  Stop!"  Brigitte turned her body to fully face her sister.  Tara winced.  "There *IS* someone?"

Tara looked at the floor.  She'd been so sure on the drive over.  She was ready to talk about it.  She could make herself ask for help from someone who loved her, someone who wasn't a guy... someone who was better at everything social than she'd ever been in her whole damn life but at this moment - finally facing her - Tara was terrified.

Brigitte put her arm around Tara in a way she hadn't done for years and began pulling her fingers through her long black tresses.  Tara fell into her sister's embrace and for a time the two of them sat like that, silent.  "Tea."  Brigitte finally said.  "And I'll braid your hair like you used to like?  You'll stay with me tonight."

"You probably have work and friends..."

Brigitte kissed her forehead.  "Before I had any of those things, I had a little sister.  This is what we do, remember?"  With that, the leggy blonde walked out to the kitchen and put on a kettle.  Tara stared after the woman she so often resented.  Brigitte wasn't a bad person.  Sometimes she was materialistic and liked to play at being vapid... but she was smart and kind.  Brigitte was stronger than she let anyone know too.  Everyone else in the world might have forgotten that mom had first thought to make her into her protege, but Tara hadn't. 

Somewhere in Brigitte's head were things her mother had never spoken to her or Isabella, things Tara wished to God she knew. Perhaps if she did, she wouldn't feel as adrift in life as everyone always said Gavin was.  For all the comments about him not having direction, he among her siblings seemed to know his true north without question, making it through every day with a smile.  Brigitte struggled.  She struggled.  The twins were struggling too.  Gavin alone seemed content.  Tara envied him that.

Brigitte brought tea, a hairbrush and rubber bands.  Settling down behind her, Brigitte began to brush Tara's hair.  "So," her older sister instructed.  "Start at the beginning and don't leave anything out."

Tara woke to the sound of rain on the windowpane.  The sky was black.  Night, she realized.  Sitting up from the couch, the throw blanket that Brigitte had put on her fell away.  Her face felt filthy.  She could feel the paths that the tears had cut down her face hours ago.  Across the room, Brigitte adjusted herself in the chair and Tara looked to where she was sitting under a lamp with a book.  It was not a look she was used to seeing out of Brigitte.

"When you fell asleep, I just covered you up.  I figured with how little sleep you've been getting..."

"It's okay,"  Tara admitted.  She drew a breath and looked down to the ring heavy on her finger.

"I've been thinking about what you said."  Brigitte put the book aside.  "You were right to come to talk to someone.  It's not that you have a problem, Tara.  This isn't a problem.  It's who you are.  Sweetie, the only reason you're hurting is that you're afraid that you can't be who you are in this world."

Tara looked down.

"And I get that, the world is full of shitheads.  They want you and me in a kitchen, barefoot, pregnant with a dozen kids... love, honor, but most importantly... obey.  And it's possible to want parts of that and still reject others."

"Yeah, yeah, I can do what I want - I get it."  Tara waved her hand angry,  "I can tell the world to go fuck itself and be who I am all loud and proud and just accept that I'm going to be hated forever." 

Tara shook her head.  "Do you have ANY idea how long I've waited to be as accepted, adored, and included as I have been these last few days?  And it's all because I lied, not because of who I am.  Even among you guys, back home, I never... felt like I was a part of the unit.  I lived next to it!"

"I always thought you were the smart one."  Brigitte shook her head, "Take it from someone who knows, what you feel and what is true aren't always the same things, Tara.  From where I and the others sat it was you who wanted space from us.  You who walked off with your books or bow into the woods for hours on end.  You who gave all of us hell for our dreams.  Tara, no one ever wanted you to be separate from us, even if we did, you couldn't be.  You ARE a part of us, maybe the central part of us."

Tara was silent.

"I've always been so damn jealous of you."  Brigitte confessed.

Tara looked up, brow furrowed.

"You look just like her.  You're strong like him."  Brigitte shook her head, tears in her blue eyes.  "You have Aunt Tara's name... you're so fucking smart.  Of course, you're bound to take over for them one day."

"Brigitte..."  Tara tried to stop her.

"Do you know when I was five, she promised she'd make me a Queen?  Give me a castle by the sea... Hollowood.  She meant Hollowood.  When she thought he was dead, she was going to make me like her.  Just like her and for a while she even had blonde hair just like me.  And I thought... I thought that was my future."  Brigitte shook her head.  "And then the lessons stopped.  We ran from one place to another, to another, and then we ended up in the damn woods and nothing was as it used to be.  Not just our life, but Dad and Mom, they changed too."

Brigitte shook her head, "Of course you don't know any of that, you didn't know them back then, but I did.  Mom and Dad weren't the only people to have their lives torn away from them - you know?  I wished I had grown up like you, never having any other mom but Aurora.  Never knowing any Dad but Billy.  Never having known any life but the one in the woods so I had nothing to miss and wonder about."

Brigitte stood up and walked towards Tara, "And I always felt that you looked down on me."

"Brigitte I didn't I..."

"Don't deny it.  We both know it's true.  You think I'm a brat.  You think I'm stupid.  You didn't want me around and you think he loves me best and it guts you... but the truth is, I was there the day you came out of mom.  I watched him catch you all bloody and gross.  I watched him kiss you when no one in the world would have wanted to touch you and look at you in a way I KNOW he's never looked at me."

She shook her head, Tara couldn't speak.  She could barely breathe.  

"You ... will always be the baby that brought them back to each other after Grandpa Gavin died.  You fixed everything.  You will always be the one who saved us.  And don't you ever think they leave you be because they don't love you best... they leave you be because, until this moment, I and no one else even thought you weren't strong enough to do everything on your own, just like you always seemed to want."

Brigitte knelt down in front of Tara and took her hands in her own, "I feel scared sometimes that I'm not apart of us... but that's just not true.  It's not true for me or you Tara.  You could refuse to have kids and love gophers and we'd still feel like you were part of this family."

Tara laughed through tears.  "Gophers?"

Brigitte smiled through her tears, "First thing that came to mind."

They both laughed.  It hurt, but it felt real - the first real thing all week.

"Tara... if school sucks, quit.  You don't need to go cause of Mom or Aunt Tara or anyone.  If you think your future is being a part of the family's criminal empire... chase it down and make it yours.  Don't do it reluctantly when mom and dad die... go sit beside mom now.  Tonight.  Ask her the questions you have, dad too.  Some day soon they might not be there and you're gonna hate yourself for not learning the only lesson from those journals that mattered."

"Which was?"  Tara didn't think Brigitte had learned ANYTHING from the journals and it shocked her to hear her sister reference them.

"Do what makes you happy while you can, because no matter what you do, it all ends the same way.  A civilian ends up in the same place as a Godfather and we all get the same thing no matter how powerful we are ... a lifetime.  So... go be happy.  Tell the world you love women.  Don't.  But don't be alone if you don't want to be.  Don't deny who you are and your dreams.  Just... chase them down and make them yours."

Brigitte leaned in and kissed her sister's cheeks. 

"Now, I love this jacket but... your outfit... it's gotta go."

"Brigitte..."

"Not a word.  We'll leave your hair braided, it suits you.  I got some slacks and blouses that will look nicer with this jacket.  You can have them.  I'll use it as an excuse to have Papa take me shopping this weekend.  Then you can go a few streets over and find Ms. Rey.  She'll know how to find your Orin."

"I can't... I don't even know..."

"And you won't unless you talk to her."

"I'm not good at that."  Tara admitted sadly.

"Pretend."

"Pretend?"

"You read the journals right?"  Brigitte stood up and went back to her bedroom and began digging through her massive closet.

"Yeah?"  Tara followed, uncertain.

"Well, Orin..."

"Oriana."

"Orin is just like Grandpa Gavin... with less sex drive obviously.  So, you just need to be a more aggressive Nona Bella."

"You're insane.  Even if all that were true, how the hell do I do that?  I've never even been kissed!"

Brigitte chuckled.  "I didn't say you had to fuck her.  It's just a mindset, Tara.  Look..."  she looked back to Tara.  "What did Bella do to win Gavin?"

"Her fiancee came back from the dead?"

Brigitte glared at Tara, "Did we even read the same book?"

"Well, that's what happened.  Elias was alive and then their fling turned into something else when Grandpa Gavin had to help her fight Agent Garret."

Brigitte threw clothing on the bed.  "You might actually BE hopeless."

Tara flopped down on the bed, "I told you..."

"Yes, technically that's what happened but it's not what REALLY happened.  Elias being alive didn't change Grandpa.  He saw something in Nona's life that he wanted for himself.  It wasn't that he didn't know beautiful, fun, dangerous women before Bella... she had something else.  She was something else and he wanted to experience it.  The world had made him a fantastic gangster and killer... and he could do anything he wanted, go anywhere he wanted - his every whim was his to know.  Only, when he met Nona Bella, he realized that wasn't true.  There was something he didn't have.  He hadn't experienced and it's the same damn thing you got that your Orin doesn't have."

Brigitte thrust an outfit at her sister.  Tara sat up and took it from her.

"What?"

Brigitte smiled, "Well, I'm going out on a limb here and guess that it's a family.  Normal shit.  Happy shit.  All the things she gave you crap about... didn't you realize they had something in common?"

Tara shook her head 'no.'

Brigitte sighed, "Your girlfriend thinks you got a swell life and don't realize how blessed you are."

"She's not my girlfriend."  Tara inserted as Brigitte went to her vanity and began pulling out some simple shades of make-up.

"Orin doesn't know what she doesn't know and you don't know what you don't know so... simple math is... fix each other.  Either become the best of friends or the best love story since Nona Bella and Grandpa Gavin.  Isn't that the sort of crap you're always reading about in your books?"

"I..."  She got cut off as Brigitte applied a gloss to her lips.

"You came to me for advice so here it is.  Go find Orin.  Be interested in what she has to teach you.  Learn from her.  Really learn.  Not just how to shoot or something, but like... learn about how he thinks.  Hear what she's saying but also what she's not saying."

Tara tried to speak, "At usent ake ense."

"Of course it makes sense.  You just need to use that huge brain of yours.  If someone is giving you crap for not appreciating your happy life it's easy to figure out they didn't have one and they think you're a horses ass for not seeing how lucky you are.  See... knowing what they didn't say matters as much if not more than what they do especially when you're dealing with hitmen.  Her line of work means keeping her own life very very close to the chest.  She's not going to let you in ... and if you sit there hitting her with a hammer, she's gonna close up tighter."

"So I can't just ask her?"  Tara asked as her sister applied blush to her cheeks.

"No.  She'll call you kid again or something stupid and push you away.  The more you try to grab for it... the more they don't want to give it.  It's how that kind works.  You need to be aloof.  Let her see your life, hold it in your hand like food to a wounded animal, and wait for it to come to you."

Tara nodded dumbly as her sister gave advice.  

"Ideally, she eventually does what Grandpa Gavin did and asks you to be a part of her life."

"How long will that take?"  Tara asked as Brigitte stood back to admire her work.

"I don't know.  Weeks.  Months... maybe years."

"Years?"

"Well, if it's meant to be... right?"

Tara deflated.

"Look I can't do everything for you."  Brigitte said.  "Change your clothes then go find your girl.  End of night, go home to Mom and tell her you're leaving Vassar."  

The door closed to Brigitte's bedroom and Tara yelled after her, "I HADN'T DECIDED YET!"

"YES.  YOU HAVE SCAB.  JUST DO IT."

Tara looked herself in the mirror and sighed.  Reluctantly she began to change.

Oriana blinked back into consciousness with a palpable reluctance, then looked around the hotel room. She focused mostly on the bottle of wine that was perched precariously on the corner of the dresser. 

She squinted. It was empty.

Shit.

What happened? There was the party with the kids and- no, she didn't even- Aurora.

Fuck.

She buried her head under the pillow to block out the light.

Oriana had been sloppy, been too honest with everyone. She should have treated these people like they were another infiltration target, charmed them all. But now that ship had sailed. Instead, she had been honest. Just herself, not giving a shit, assuming that she was valuable enough to say whatever she wanted and not suffer the consequences, like 99% of the people she'd met in her life. Instead, she should have been treating them like they were Francesco. Dangerous.

As she dragged herself to the shower and scrubbed away the residue of the last couple days, Oriana was stuck on only a single point. Aurora had called her "Ori": it could have been a coincidence, sure, but Aurora was well enough informed that it might have been intentional. It was fine. She'd dealt with worse- she just needed to know if Aurora had done it on purpose.

Oriana had spent years working for a vicious manipulator. She could do it again, if she had to. She just needed to know.

And there was only one way to find out that made sense. Oriana hung her head in the shower.

"God damn it..."

Looked like she was going back to college.

It was nearly three AM when the car pulled up to Tara's dorm.  Brigitte put it in park and turned to her sister.  "I'm sorry.  We must have hit every seedy bar in all Manhattan... either mom is off base or ..."

Tara didn't look up.

"We can always try again tomorrow."  Brigitte stifled a yawn.  "Or you could let Dad call her in..."

"No."  Tara said stubbornly.  "And I'm not upset about not finding her... I mean, I am, but I'm more upset that we couldn't find her than I am that I didn't find her."

Brigitte furrows her brow, "That ... makes no sense at all."

"I mean, I tried to hunt someone down and failed.  Hunting people in a city is NOT like hunting animals in the woods."

"You can't expect to be perfect at something the first time you try it.  And ... if you'd just ask mom to teach you..."

"I can't."  Tara reached over and opened the door.  "Thanks for trying Brigitte.  I'll get you the outfit back soon."

"Don't give up Tara.  Please.  I know you're sad but,"  Brigitte watched Tara get out of the car.  "... you're not a quitter.  I know you."

Tara smiled. 

"Well,"  she looked to her dorm.  "... apparently you can't be wrong about everything.  Drive safe, okay?"  And with that Tara went back up the stairs to her room.  She unlocked the door and quietly stepped inside, dropping the clothes she had worn into town at her feet and sighing in frustration.

Oriana had opened her eyes as soon as she'd heard the car. She'd once again paid Tara's roommates to take a hike and started reading a book on the kid's bed. Except this time, she'd found up falling asleep as the sun set and the moon rose higher. She cleared her throat, "Well, you're out late. Out with your new friends?"

Tara gasped, "Oriana? What are you doing here?"

"Originally? Waiting for you. Lately? Sleeping. Currently? I had a question about your mother."

Tara shook her head, "Mom? Oh God, what did she say to you?" She winced and then looked around the room as if attempting to locate something which she apparently did not spot.

"Oh, lots and lots of things. We had a good chat the other night. The details are honestly a little fuzzy, thanks to some liquid therapy, but I got a little careless and took things too far, said something I shouldn't have. Then she said something that opened up some wounds for me, and what I really need to know is if she's a ruthless, vindictive bitch or if she just said something by accident."

"If she is, just tell me. I just need to know who I'm working with. For."

 "You really wanna know who you're working for?"

Tara walked across the room to chest at the base of her bed. Reaching into her purse she fished out a set of keys, saying "I'm sorry my mom hurt you." Tara put the key into the old metal lock and turned it.

"You can put a light on, if you want. And she didn't hurt me."

"Opening wounds sounds painful."

"It is. But you can bleed without feeling hurt."

Tara lifts the lid and pulls out a thick, aged, book with leather covers and a well worn spine, before standing up and offering the book to Oriana. "You helped me out. Let me help you."

Oriana slid off the bed and accepted the book before returning to the bed. "First of all, we're in the dark. Second of all, I'd prefer a simple yes/no question as to the vicious thing."

Tara walks over and turns on the lamp at the bedside, "Sorry, didn't know if my roomates would be asleep or not."

"I paid them to leave again."

"And the answer as to whether someone is ruthless or not isn't an easy one to answer. CAN mom be ruthless? Sure. Is it in her nature to be so unnecessarily? I don't think so, but you might view me as biased. The only real way to know is to learn about her yourself and that book... that has every answer you could ever hope to learn about Aurora Luciano-Byrne Mastrosimone, the Lioness of Race Street."

Oriana started flipping through the book as soon as the light came on, focusing particularly on "weaknesses".

"You really should not have given me this. Knowledge is power, you know."

Tara sat down beside Oriana. "I thought power was power."

"I was being sarcastic. And this book sucks. It says she's a bad gambler, but she beat me three times in a row and I lost 12 million bucks."

 "Some of the details are old. Not everything is up to date. Considering when I stole it... you might find some bits are out of date but the stories, the journal part, that's what matters."

"Stole it?"

 Tara nodded. "It along with a few others. Yes. Mom knows I have them now. Hasn't asked for them back yet but she was pretty pissed I took them and shared them with my siblings to begin with. I tried to use the journals to convince my siblings to beg our parents not to come out of hiding."

 Tara sighed. "You can see how well that turned out."

 "Well, I'm sure she'll definitely forgive you for taking them now that you showed someone who tried to kill her once."

"She'd understand my motives."

 "Well that makes sense. What am I supposed to do with this? Read it in the corner while you sleep?"

Tara thinks a moment and smiles. She reaches over and takes the book out of Oriana's hands. Sliding back on the bed towards her pillow she opened it up. "My mother's name was Marie Lucania and she was the Godmother of all Chicago when I was conceived. By all accounts she was lovely, calm, fierce and beloved and by none more than my father Salvatore Luciano the Godfather of Detroit. Together they ruled over an era of unprecedented peace and prosperity among the families of the seven great cities of North America." Tara glanced at Oriana wondering if she'd join her. "As the story goes, I was conceived in Cuba."

 "You're going to read me the story of your mother, starting in utero?"

 "To understand my mom, you need to understand Marie and Sal, and what became of them... people start somewhere, and more often than not, people become who they are not just by what happens to them... but what brought them into the world and their situations. Being the daughter of two people at the center of the known world in their time, you'd think that might have an impact on her... right? Makes sense she'd start there. But if you'd like... I can skip ahead and summarize. But I think you'll learn more about my mom hearing her own words than just my summary of them."

Oriana sighed.

Tara patted the bed beside her. "Might as well be comfortable. Would you like something to drink?"

"Why are you being so helpful?"

Tara stopped and closed the book. "The girls we tricked into liking me, don't like me. They like the Tara they think I am. The real Tara doesn't have a way with people like her siblings ... and while you irritated the shit out of me the other day and you held a knife to me the day before, you've been helpful and honest... and I like honest. I deal with it a lot better than the lies I've been very poorly telling the last few days." She sighed.

"What do you mean, the Tara they think you are?"

 "They see a privileged socialite, a trophy wife in the making... a smile with a nice figure to adorn some future senator's arm. My family has a building or two named after them here on campus, so they think that means I'm like them but I'm not. I grew up in a shack my parents built in the middle of the Canadian wilderness, without so much as indoor plumbing. I... I had never seen a city as big as New York until I was nearly an adult and then only once when my father took me out for my sixth birthday."

Tara shook her head, "I'm nothing like them and if they knew anything about who I really was, they'd hate me. They'd..." Tara struggles with her emotions.

"Why does that matter? So your family's in the mob... doesn't matter if the girls don't know 'the real you'. Make friends with them; they seem like useful connections later on. Save your 'real self' for your real friends. Your family. Isn't that what they're for?" Oriana shook her head. "I should have just walked in here with a piece of paper that said "Is your mother a bitch Yes/No pick one."

"Family is ... different than friends. And..." She shakes her head. "Point of fact, I don't HAVE real friends, besides maybe you."

 "Of course you don't have any friends. Because have horrible taste in friends. I'm not a good person."

Tara's shoulders sank as Oriana continued.

"I literally tried to kill your mom this week and threatened you with a knife."

Tara looked up to Oriana then and stared into her gray eyes as she continued to speak.

"Have you thought about the fact that you just admitted to growing up in a shack?"

 "Maybe you just need to have more practice to feel like the real you."

 "Practice?"

 "Because this random gesture of trying to help me by telling me your mother's entire life story is just... awkward. And forced. It's way over the top and-" Oriana  froze, blinking. "Oh. Fuck me."

Tara kept looking into her eyes and swallowed as Oriana quickly turned to her.

 "Your mother isn't a bitch at all! She's just as awkward as you are."

 Tara nodded.

Oriana smiled broadly.

"Yeah." said Tara.

"This... thank you, Tara. This was good. Really good."

Oriana popped off the bed, pacing slightly and thinking.

 Tara looked down, saying "Glad I could help you."

Tara tries to smile.

Oriana's smiled finally started to return to normal. "Alright, get some sleep. I'll be back in eight hours. Wear something that you'd wear for hunting in the forest. I told your mother I'd train you, and that's what we're going to do. And if it'll make you feel better, you can tell me your mother's life story. If you've got enough oxygen for talking."

Oriana  seemed as authentically pleased as Tara had ever seen her as she headed out the door, closing it behind her. "Eight hours!"

Tara watched her go but said nothing. She just clutched her mother's journal.

Oriana glances up from Aurora's book, which is about 75% finished, as she reclines on Claire's bed and hears Tara stir awake.

"Wha... do you never knock?" Tara pulls her blanket up to her chin.

"Lesson #1 of Training Day: This is why you need to have a weapon."

Oriana finishes the page she's on and closes the book, leaning back with her hands behind her head, propped up by the pillows behind her.

Tara sighs. "What if I'd been naked?"

Oriana looks like a scandalized socialite, "Then I suppose I would have fainted."

Tara throws a pillow at Oriana

"Projectile Weapons!"

Oriana sighs.

Tara laughs.

"This is going to be a long trip."

"Then give me some privacy to dress damn it."

"When I'm ready. Pack your stuff. Mostly stuff outside. But 2-3 things for the city. One fancy. We should be two, three days at most."  Oriana slides off her bed, tosses the book on Tara's bed, and heads out the door.

"Wait... so ... this... doesn't sound like what I was expecting. Two to three days? Fancy? I ... I don't have anything..."

Tara sighs as the door shuts.

A short while later Tara appears, dressed in outdoorsy type clothing, very practical. She has a backpack that is very full. She shakes her right leg in an odd way as if her sock isn't on right but she smiles at Oriana.  "Thank you.  Now, where are we going?"

Oriana narrows her eyes at Tara. "Are you wearing an ankle holster?"

Tara freezes. "How did you..."

Oriana drops down to her knee, lifts up Tara's pant leg, and takes the weapon.

"It itches..."

"No weapons until I say so."

"That's very dear to me. Please... don't lose it."  Tara shakes her head. "I shouldn't have it. It's not mine exactly."

"Who does it belong to?"

Tara looks at the slender knife in Oriana's hand, the well-worn leather straps dangling from her grip and sighs. "It's my grandfather's."

Oriana hands it back to her. "Keep it in your bag for now. And get in the car- we can talk on the way."

Tara puts the knife safely into her bag and then climbs into the car, silently.

Oriana gestures to the red Ford parked a couple dozen feet away.  Oriana pulls out quickly, checking the rear-view mirror.

"Did you steal that knife from your mother?"

"No. I ... saved it."

"From?"

Tara sighed. "One night, while my dad was gone to the city on one of his trips to check in with his people... Mom got drunk. I didn't know it back then, but it was the anniversary of the day my Grandfather died. It was the middle of the night when she went outside and I was worried so I followed. She was mostly watching the Northern Lights at first... then she started talking to him. God. Grandpa. And... she got mad. Really mad." Tara looked down. "She threw the knife and a lot of rocks and other stuff."

Tara's voice trails off.

 "What'd she get mad at him for? Dying?  That's the part I read up to, basically."

Tara nodded. "Basically. For being a hero. For leaving her. For not letting her die... when I think a part of her wanted to."

"I get that."

"I knew she didn't mean it."

Tara sighed. "So I found the knife and kept it."

"Does she know you have it?"

Tara shakes her head. "Never seemed like the right time to bring it up. Not sure how she'd feel knowing I saw and heard all that..."

Oriana is matter-of-fact as she speaks, "Well, she has no idea how to talk to you right now, but she wants to. If you show it to her, I think she'll mostly be relieved that it's not gone and let you keep it. I think she'd appreciate knowing it's not lost. Could be a good peace offering, too, if you ever need one.. save it 'til you piss her off, then use it then."

"She doesn't know how to talk to me?"

Oriana gets onto the highway, shifting into the left lane as she rolls down her window and guns the engine. "Something like that. I don't remember the details. Blame the wine. Anyways, your mother wanted me to train you how to do things. Fight, shoot. So here we are. Although honestly, after you helped me out last night I'd be happy to train you for free. Just don't tell your mother that."

"I wish she hadn't done that."

"Well, I wish she hadn't won a round of roulette that cost me 12 million dollars, but here we are."

Tara nods, "Why would you bet that much?"

 "To win. Money's nice."

"Winning is important to you... or was it winning against my mom that was important?"

 "Why not both?"

Tara smiles. "But it's not personal?"

 "It's definitely personal, but I'm not going to attack her again if that's what you're worried about."

"No, I'm more curious why it's personal though... is it because of the cookie sheet thing?"

"I guess. I'm a lot less worried about your mother today, to be honest. Last night I thought she was this vicious bitch who knew my deepest, darkest secrets and threw one of them in my face to try to cut me down. Today, I know she's just awkward and was trying to be nice to me. So she's not really a threat anymore like I figured she might be. The way I see it, if I do one nice thing for her I'll be in her good books unless you get hurt training or something."

 Tara smirks, "You know, I wouldn't ever say she's NOT a threat. As she's always reminding my father..." Tara does an impression of Aurora, "I could kill you." She laughs. "But yeah, you're probably good. Honestly I can't imagine what you two talked about."

Oriana shrugs, "Honestly, I wish I remembered better. I know she asked me a lot of personal questions about myself, but most of them seem so stupid that I'm pretty sure I don't remember them clearly. Some of them were too personal, but some were just strange. Favorite food. Favorite color. Random shit. But I don't really want to talk about your mother. I've got a plan to handle her. You can help me with it if you don't injure yourself in the next day or so."

 "Handle my mom? That sounds ominous... but um, do you have a similar plan for dealing with Dad? Cause, mom you can plan for... Dad... he's the unpredictable one in my book. He's got a HUGE heart but man oh man, he's got a temper and the strangest shit can send him off in some random direction doing god alone knows what. I love him, but Dad has the eyes of a magpie sometimes."

"Your father already tried to play tough with me by casually mentioning torture. Men like him are idiots about 'their' women- no offense. He wouldn't forget me trying to kill Aurora no matter what I did. But if I win your mother over, she'll win your father over."

 Tara nods. "Smart. The way to my dad's heart is through his family. If you win one of his girls over... that's all it takes."

 "Well I'll make sure I don't shoot you by accident."

Tara chuckles nervously, "Yeah... don't do that. Of late my relationship with my father is better than it's ever been..."

Oriana seems more relaxed than Tara had ever seen her. The wind is in hair her and, though her sunglasses mostly hide her expression, her face seems softer than it had before. She occasionally taps the car as she drives- fast, but safe enough.

"I love riding in cars. Didn't do this much as a kid either," says Tara, smiling brightly. "You know, we could forego training... just cruise all day if you'd rather."

Oriana side-eyes Tara, peering over the tops of her sunglasses, before raising an eyebrow and pushing her glasses back up her nose. "And here I thought the college girl would be a good student."

 Tara shrugs, "Maybe I'm more than I seem."

 "Do you think that being easier to kill is a positive quality to possess?"

Tara shrugs, "I suppose not, but maybe there's more to living than surviving?"

 "I'm sure there is, but you don't get to do any of that stuff if you don't survive first."

 "So what you're saying is... if I survive THEN we can have fun?" Tara smiles.

"Exactly. And we're driving for two or three hours, so you'll have plenty of time for cruising."

"Two or three hours? Well, we are taking quite a trip." She chuckles to herself at something unspoken and funny.

"Yea, your mother is paying me by the hour so I wanted to get as much distance as possible." Oriana flicks her eyes over to Tara. "Kidding." There's a long pause before she begrudgingly adds, "Mostly."

Oriana immediately focuses back on the road, where she dodges around a row of slower cars, returns to the front of the line, and guns the engine. Tara smirks, clearly enjoying going faster than the other cars. Speed clearly agrees with her.

Oriana was quiet for the rest of the drive, seemingly content with the sun on her face and the wind in her hair; Tara followed suit. As they drove south, Oriana made a single detour at a rest stop along the highway where many cars seemed full of camping supplies. Rummaging through a half-dozen cars at the back of the lot, they were able to acquire a large tent, several different food supplies, a lantern, a large canteen, and citronella. At one point, Oriana froze and Tara feared they'd been spotted, but as she tucked two fishing poles and supplies under her arm it appeared like it had only been indecision. Within a few minutes, they were back on the road. 

Tara dozed off soon after, and she only woke up as the car came to an abrupt halt. Stepping out of the car, Oriana indulged in a single feline stretch, cracked her neck, and began unpacking. They split the supplies between them and set off into the sea of maples, oaks, and chestnuts. 

"We're heading about five miles north. There should be a old trail heading toward a lake, but it's mostly overgrown.  Time to break out those wilderness skills again."

Oriana let Tara take the lead initially.

"I really don't like getting disturbed, and you can't exact do target practice in Times Square. We're also close enough here to the job I'm thinking about, assuming things go well."

Tara wished that Oriana had wanted to lead the way so that she could have stared at the other girl while they walked, but there was nothing for it.  She couldn't protest without giving away her motives and so Tara began the long walk into the woods, silently feeling bad for Oriana's feet in those new boots of hers.

The canopy of trees over their heads was like a blanket being pulled over them, shielding them from the heat of the sun rising higher in the sky.  For a short while, Tara merely admired her surroundings and seems to breathe easier, relax a bit and smile a touch more.  In time she pauses here and there, noting deer runs and rubbings on trees where bucks have been trying to shed their fall finery and find a mate. 

The middle child of the Mastrosimone gangsters walked with a spring in her step, seeming to notice every movement around her, from birds on the ground to squirrels in the trees.  The girl who normally seemed to pull in on herself seemed to take longer steps, move with more confidence, and generally bloomed amidst the trees and distinct absence of people.  

"You really found a gem of a place.  This forest is lovely.  Oh hey!  Are you hungry?  Look at these..."  

Tara wandered over to a small group of trees and began picking up small dark berries that looked like small red olives on the ground.  Some were so red they appeared black.  Using the bottom of her shirt as a basket she collected a few dozen up out of the dirt.  Looking around, Oriana could easily make out a few on the branches above them though their color was much more bright and cheery.

"Dogwood Cherries"  Tara explained.  "They got a pit, a seed really, in the middle like olives, so be careful biting into them."

Standing up she picked one out of her collection, a particularly dark-colored... sweet-tasting fruit, and turned to Oriana, "Try this." Tara initially looked prepared to pop it into Oriana's mouth but as the other woman extended her hand, Tara simply put the fruit in her palm and let her feed herself.  After seeing the other woman did approve of the flavor, she continued to share her berries as they walked.

"I bet we'll find some spicebush around here too.  I can make a tea out of the leaves that's to die for.  We can drink it tonight.  Maybe even some autumn olives - they go nice with fish."  She rolled her eyes, "I know we're not out here for the culinary delights but there's no reason we shouldn't enjoy a good meal after a long day of whatever you got planned for us... right?  I mean, it's literally no trouble at all for me to go find them.  They're just laying all around this place.  Fish will take us longer to get than the berries and leaves.  But if we get more of these we'll have a nice dinner and breakfast tomorrow so we have the energy for whatever you got planned."

Tara was quiet for a while after explaining her thoughts on meals later in the day.  Once again returning to observing the world around her, heading almost instinctively - or so it would seem - towards water.  The truth was, if Oriana was observant, Tara made note of the animals and their movements.  She noticed evidence their presence to sort out the direction they should move.  Every broken branch on the ground, all of the small paw prints in the dirt, birds flying in the sky above, leaves of a particular color ... all of them spoke to her in their way and let her know where she was going without asking her companion for directions.

Never once did the young woman complain about the hike, the distance they'd gone or the thickness of the undergrowth or bugs.  She trudged on seeming to fall in love with the world around her, becoming a part of it seamlessly, and aside from her footprints - leaving almost no evidence of her own passing.

Here, Tara was truly in her element, not visiting nature... but a part of it.

Five miles sounded a lot shorter than it felt, thought Oriana for the seventh time as she grimaced. Fucking boots. At least the kid seemed happy to be back in the woods. Grunting as she stepped over a fallen tree, Oriana popped another cherry into her mouth. 

Tara was leading the way, and she didn't seem worse for wear in the slightest. Hopefully those woodland skills had at least some application to fighting. Awareness? Instinct? Tara was in good shape, at least. And if bloodlines meant anything, then from her mother-

Oriana had soured herself on the mention of bloodlines; instead she tried to just watch the path in front of her. There were a few places where it seemed to disappear entirely, but Tara always managed to find it again. 

After a couple hours, the trail led to a clearing where they could see a wide lake stretching in front of them. They pitched the tent quickly, just to get it over with, in a nice shady spot under a giant maple tree. The stretch of grass next to the lake was perfect for sparring. Walking down to the water, Oriana took off her boots and socks and dipped her feet in up to her ankles. Lake seemed good. Plenty of fish, at least. After a few minutes, standing and stretching again, Oriana stood up and walked toward the maple tree and tent.

"So how many times have you shot a gun?"

"How bad are they."  She nodded towards the other woman's feet.  Oriana could see that Tara had apparently knicked a small first aid kit from one of the cars they'd dug through earlier that day and now had several items laid out.

"I think I got the needle sterile."  she passed the needle to Oriana.  "Just pop the blisters with this, then put a little of this petroleum jelly on them and cover them with this gauze.  Come morning your feel should be okay.  We can break in your shoes by putting rocks in them, soaking them in water, and leaving them in the sun all day to dry.  It'll stretch the leather out and they won't hurt so bad when we walk out."

Tara put the rest of the kit away, "As for guns, I've used them to kill animals before.  Maybe a couple of dozen times, but honestly not handguns.  Rifles really.  My parents never really let me handle the handguns.  It was clear how they felt about them... rifles are about survival and handguns are for murder."

She shrugged.

"I think, however, that maybe their both about survival at this point so... I'm ready to learn."  She smiled at Oriana.  "After you tend to those feet."

Oriana shrugged. "My feet are fine. Just should have stolen my boots earlier, I guess. I grew up in a place like this; I'm just not used to it, recently." Still, she popped her blisters, applied the medicine, and did what Tara said about her boots, the rocks, and the sun.

"You're right, by the way, about survival. There are a lot of people like me out there- maybe not as a good, sure- but people who would hurt you or kill you for money. You can't depend on other people to take care of you; at the end of the day, you're alone- or you can be if things go wrong. I'm glad, at least, that you've hunted. The killing can be tough for some people, and it'll probably still be tough when you kill your first person, but you've at least had some experience looking at something with life in its eyes and turning it into meat."

As she spoke, Oriana had stood and walked back toward the tent, where she'd buckled on her gun-belt. Her bare feet were a stark contrast to the green of the grass, and her black pants and white blouse also seemed out of place amidst the greens, browns, and blues of nature. Oriana's hair, messier than Tara had ever seen it, was still up in a ponytail. Her grey eyes, however, seemed more focused than ever, and Tara only barely realized that this was the most Oriana had ever said to her before she continued.

"We're going to start with shooting. Someone once told me that God created all men, but Samuel Colt made them equal. Using a knife with any sort of skill, footwork, reflexes, unarmed fighting... that's going to take a while to learn. And you're going to be mediocre for a long time, which won't do much good for you at all. But mediocre with a gun can still take down two six-foot guys who sneak up on you in an alley."

"You've shot a rifle before, which is good. You have at least some idea of what you're doing."

Tara was standing, and Oriana walked around her.

"But I guess I'm getting ahead of myself. When you get back to civilization, talk to your parents about weapons. They'll have access to the best stuff, I'm sure. You've got to figure out what you're comfortable with. A weapon that's in the trunk of your car or under your bed isn't a weapon; it's storage. If you can reach it, it's a weapon. If you can reach it and surprise someone with it, it's an even better weapon."

Oriana stood in front of Tara and crossed her arms, speaking again.

"Look me over. How many weapons do I have on me? Point them out."

Tara seemed to study Oriana carefully before the younger girl pointed out the two obvious guns. Dutifully, Oriana removed her Beretta M1923 and her Colt Single Action Army, placing them on the ground in front of her. 

Tara pointed to Oriana's ankle holster.

"Cheating a bit on that one, but yes," said Oriana as she slid her pant-leg up and removed her Beretta 418 pocket pistol. 

"Uh," said Tara, "I saw a knife on the other side of your leg." Shifting it, Oriana removed the stiletto and tossed it on the grass as well. "And you have a knife on your back." Oriana stood, drawing the knife from behind her back and kneeling to place that down as well."

"See any others?"

"Just a guess," said Tara, "but your other calf?"

Oriana rolled her eyes, but she knelt and removed a matching stiletto from her other leg.

"See any others?"

"Um. Spin around."

Scowling, Oriana slowly twirled and Tara, watching closely,grinned as she saw the knife between Oriana's shoulder blades. Without saying anything, the assassin removed the last blade and put it on the grass. Tara could tell it was Oriana's last blade since the latter looked so unhappy.

"That was good. You took your time, though. Some mook ordered to take my weapons might focus on the big three. The more weapons you have on you, the better chance you have of actually being able to access one. These are the ones I always carry with me; I've got extra ammunition on the belt as well. If the shit really hits the fan, I have a bandoleer... but the last time I had to use that I was fighting half an army division, so let's hope I don't need that. Obviously, though, the more weapons you have visible, the less you can blend into a crowd. At the revel, for example, I had three knives and the small gun; I didn't want to draw attention to myself. I always have at least one weapon on me. That can get tough if you're wearing a cocktail dress with a open back- not exactly room for an ankle holster. In the past, I've had to tape a knife or two to my thigh; you have to be careful how you're sitting, but it's better than having nothing."

Oriana paused.

"For you, calf knife or two can work if you're wearing pants. The shoulder-blade knife has saved me once or twice; they don't usually see that one coming. And a gun... something that fits into a pocket or a purse, maybe? What do you think?"

Tara tried to focus but her mind wandered.  Wandered to the words about love affairs in journals she read, to how the sun filtered through the stray hairs escaping Oriana's ponytail creating a wild halo about her face.  

Brigitte's words came back to her though...

"Be interested in what she has to teach you."

She tried to look at Oriana's lips, to not just hear the words but understand... but looking at her lips was its own kind of dangerous.  They were perfectly shaped.  Definitive lines that marked out the boundaries of soft pink pillows that had a natural shine... or was it gloss?  Had she worn gloss on a trip to the woods?  Who did that?

"Learn from her."

Guns.  Ammunition.  Tara forced herself back to the words by meeting the other woman's eyes - those overcast pools of shadows surrounding a yawning abyss that was her pupil.  

Tara tore her gaze away before she lost all hope of hearing a damn thing.  Oriana was TRYING, trying to share what she knew and loved and... this was how she did what exactly?  Showed she cared?  Tara was failing at being anything other than a gobsmacked fool and she damn well knew it!

"Learn about how she thinks."

The words the other woman was speaking overwhelmed Tara a little.  Oriana sounded as if she never had a moment of peace in her life, as if she lived in a perpetual state of fear and readiness to fight.  She knew the woman was good at what she did, but this... 

"Hear what she's saying,"

The light in her eyes as she went on trying to share it with her was unmistakable.  She wanted to find out what sort of weapons Tara would carry and wear in just the same way that the girls back at Vassar wanted to know what sort of men she was into and the sort of tricks she used to lure them in.  The whole damn discussion wasn't training ... it suddenly had a weird 'girl talk' vibe too it.  As if they might huddle together tonight giggling under the stars sharing stories about their combat experiences and what weapons they like best for what jobs.

"... but also what she's not saying."

This, was Oriana's normal.  This wasn't readiness for a mission or a job... it was her life.  It was her whole life.  Her whole damn world.  If she didn't have any interest in it if she couldn't make herself focus on it and give it any serious consideration, did she really like Oriana that much at all?  Or maybe she just liked the idea of Oriana?  Was that fair?  As a friend or ... anything else?

"I don't think I've given the proper amount of thought to weapons or my own safety before."  She admitted.  "It seems like maybe you have a lot more experience with this sort of thing than I do.  Like maybe you understand the pros and cons of the types of weapons to use in certain situations."

Tara sat down, her brow furrowed slightly, new thoughts pushing their way to the surface of her mind.  Thoughts she hadn't mulled over before this exact moment.  Thoughts not just about Oriana, but also the other people in her life she loved.

"You asked about my mom's guns the other day.  Do you think that a person's weapons say a lot about who they are?"  Tara narrowed her eyes.  "I hadn't considered it before ... but now that I think about it this way, I think there might be something to that."

She looked up to Oriana and suddenly felt self-conscious at her deep thoughts regarding weapons, "Or am I putting more importance on inanimate objects than needs to be put there?"  

"Yea, I do think someone's weapons says a lot about them. How confident they are, how they view the world, how much they want to stand out or blend in. I knew someone once... said you never really know someone until you fight them- what weapons they have is the first step for that. But it's not something you need to settle on. You can start with the basics and see what you like. You've already got a knife. We can talk about where to hide that in different clothing."

Oriana went to her trunk and rustled around for a bit, eventually emerging with a gun that she checked, then handed to Tara.

"That's a Beretta M1923- same as I have. It's not the strongest gun in the world, but it's accurate and trustworthy. I started using one when I was twelve- you'll be able to handle it."

"You've always got to assume your gun is loaded; don't point it at anyone unless you're planning on shooting them. You don't seem like the sort of person to fuck around with a gun... but yea. The safety is... yep, right there. Don't flick that unless you're planning on shooting something. Or threatening someone, I guess."

"Now, slide your right foot back a bit. You're right-handed? Good. Lean forward slightly- nose over toes. This will help you keep your balance, too."

Oriana moved behind Tara.

"One of the benefits of this is that it makes you a smaller target. Less to shoot at. Now extend your right arm, bend your left slightly. Adjust your fingers. No, the other way. The other other way."

Tara suddenly felt Oriana pressing against her back; Oriana's arms reached forward alongside Tara's, and she moved the other girl's hands on the gun so that Tara's left thumb was alongside the barrel to steady it. For a moment, Tara heard Oriana's breathing next to her ear, then her arms and the pressure on Tara's back disappeared.

"Remember exactly how you're standing right now. Hands. Shoulders. Legs. Got it? Hardwired. Relax, walk in a circle then come back to it. Ready? Good. Right foot back a bit more. Slide your thumb to the- good. Alright. Live ammo. Load the magazine up like this. Up and in. Good. Slide the safety off. You're going to aim at that big tree right there. Just one shot first. Line it up with the sight. Nice and easy. Just like with a bow, shoot on the exhale."

Tunnel vision.  It took every ounce of self-discipline to do as she was told how to do it.  The feel of her all around her again, it was different this time, the terror was gone leaving behind that strange curiosity and a slowly growing sense of comfort - but mostly desire.  Tara's breath caught.  How she yearned for Oriana to turn her head, for her lips to touch her skin just a little... 

And suddenly, as quick as it began, Oriana was gone.

Tara struggled to focus on parts of her body that didn't scream for attention, the parts that Oriana wanted her focused on.  Hands, fingers, legs and shoulders... 

Lining up the shot seemed simple enough, and yet, the memory of Oriana was the most distracting thing in the world.  She squeezed the trigger and was sure she'd missed.  The annoyance at having missed, of failing, worked to the young woman's favor.  There were few things Tara knew to be true about herself with utter confidence and one of those things was about to be displayed to Oriana without the young Mastrosimone woman even realizing it.

Tara didn't ever do anything with half a heart.  Once committed, she was stubbornly set upon her course and failure... well, it wasn't something she did well.  Like her mother before her, Tara could not let a thing go if she meant to master and overcome it.  And so, with only the slightest indication that Oriana wanted her to try again... Tara redoubled her focus.  The beautiful woman was forgotten - the tree, her body, and the gun were now everything.  Not because she wanted or needed to impress the girl of her dreams but because Tara would be damned if she failed at anything.

Listening to the sound of her own breath, Tara counted off seconds of inhaled breath, held breath, and then upon the exhale she squeezed the trigger and watched with satisfaction as bark exploded.  She smirked.  Once was a fluke.  Anyone could do once.  So, again, she counted her breaths ... squeeze. 

Gotcha.

Tara repeated the process four more times before sighing and relaxing her muscles.  She nodded and turned to Oriana, being aware of how she held her gun so not to point it anywhere near the other woman.

"I like how it feels."  She admitted. 

"Do all handguns feel the same?"

Oriana watched with her arms crossed as Tara settled down and hit the next few shots.

"Do all handguns feel the same?"

"Similar, but not exactly the same, no. They're like people. Lots of the parts are in the same places, you can use a lot of the same moves, but everyone's unique."

She let her arms fall to her side as she walked to look at the tree.

"You should practice every day. It might be hard, finding the space around your dorm or your house, but it's worth it. Your parents might know a few places- gun ranges. I didn't want to start you out there, but now that you can hold your own you'll probably be fine there. Again."

Oriana watched as Tara reloaded, learning through experience precisely how to slide it up and into place. She was consistently hitting 6 or 7 shots at a time when Oriana forced her to back up. Even there, she was hitting 5 or so. Not that her target was particularly small, but... baby steps. Tara spent half an hour shooting, listening to Oriana's voice, which had become increasingly musical as the afternoon wore on.

"If you even thinking about using one hand, I'll blow out one of your kneecaps. Someday, sure, but right now you need maximum accuracy: two hands, wide stance, standing still. Later, we'll introduce movement. Although... go try crouching behind that log. Shooting from cover is important. You'll get the hang out of it quickly."

After another several minutes, Oriana nodded.

"That's enough for one day. You shouldn't overdo it. Daily practice of a few minutes at a time is better than marathon sessions. You can keep that Beretta. I've got a few of them. But try a few different ones, switch to something more comfortable if you find it."

She stood, stretching out her toes in the grass.

"We've got plenty of food, but I'm going to try to catch a fish. Feel free to get grab some of the berries or tea leaves or whatever you were saying before, and meet me back here? Load the gun and take it with you- triple check the safety and keep it in your pocket."

As Tara went off to rustle about in the bushes, Oriana made her way back toward the lake. She found a comfortable spot on a rock and baited both poles. Casting them both, she left one propped up next to her and manned the other one herself. The sun was turning more golden- couple hours of daylight left, at least.

"Any luck?" Tara asked returning from her foraging. She came up beside Oriana and cast her eyes across the water and admired the scenery.

"No, but I'm not giving up yet."

Tara settled down beside Oriana. "You do much fishing in your travels?"

"Not in my travels, but I grew up near a lake in the mountains. We'd sneak out a lot to fish. Swim. I never had as much practice as I wanted."

Tara smiled and settled down beside Oriana, FINALLY, something she wanted to hear about. "Sounds like a nice place to grow up."

Oriana was quiet for a while. "The lake was nice. Some other things. Mostly not, but I'd rather not talk about that.  It's complicated."

Tara picked up the pole. "Well, this is a nice spot." She offered. "A little cool for swimming so we might stick to the fishing. And as for the talking, we don't have to talk about complicated stuff. It was just nice that you felt like sharing something about you for once."

Tara smiled. "Probably just panfish in these shallows near the shore... don'tcha think?"

Oriana frowned. "It's not-."

Tara looked to Oriana and arched an eyebrow. "Hmm?"

"I don't have a nice life story like your mother. Or you. A lot of it is boring. The parts that aren't boring are mostly horrible. And I don't want to talk about the good stuff or the bad stuff. Or boring stuff.  I'm still figuring shit out for myself.  And I can handle it."

Tara thought a moment and nodded. "Maybe you can leave the other stuff behind... and make new stuff? Better stuff?"

"Maybe."

"My sister really liked that jacket of yours you gave me."

"She has good taste."

Tara moved her pole up and down a little to entice and attract fish to her bait. "Everyone in the world seems to agree with your assessment. Brigitte is the authority on all things beautiful and good in this world." Tara rolled her eyes and then smiled, "But she means well."

Tara watched some loons land on the lake and smiled at them. It had been a while since she'd heard the call of a loon.

"Do you want to know something strange I found out?"

"Sure," Oriana said.

"Your name and my mother's name... they mean just about the same thing."

"What does your name mean?"

"To the Irish, it means Rocky Hill where Kings meet or some such... but also means Star in some other cultures."

"I'd stick with the star one, personally."

Tara laughed, "Yeah, but my grandfather's family who originally gave the name to my Great Aunt ... Irish. So I guess Rocky Hill is probably how they meant it. Of course, you read the book, you know why mom gave it to me. Aunt Tara was really important to her."

"Yea.  Hard to keep your family straight sometimes."

"Too many of us? I wouldn't phrase it like that. Already got in trouble trying to remove one."

Tara smirked, "Well, I can make them wear stupid nametags if you ever come to Sunday dinner..."

"How many?"

"How many come on Sundays or how many are in my family?"

"Yea."

"Well, Sundays it's usually us kids ... that's five, plus mom and dad, that's seven, Uncle Charlie and Aunt Addie, and their two kids that's another four so eleven? And usually, there's some associate or important person someone brings. We've got a running bet on whether Gavin or Brigitte will bring a date first."

Tara thinks, "As for the other... I guess my question would be ... living or dead and how far out into the family tree are we talking here? Grandparents forward?

"Never mind. Too much to keep straight. But siblings. Brigitte, Gavin, then you?"

"Brigitte, Gavin, Me, then the twins Isabella and Jack."

 Tara shifted uncomfortably and put down the pole.

Your family needs new names."

"Like you, Mom has shit in her past... unlike you, Mom doesn't want to forget it. She doesn't want to let it go."  Tara sighed. "We all deal with our shit in our own ways I guess."

"Yep."