Tara’s Narrative Account

Tara and I met on Tuesdays at a small café that she walked to from the home where she worked as a nanny. I had known Tara for several years, as she cared for my four year old daughter Maeve on Fridays. Tara came to our house on Fridays in an old pickup truck. She brought her guitar, ready to sing with Maeve, who sat beside Tara and strummed her little guitar, bobbing her head to the beat as the strands of blonde hair fell across her face – just like Tara’s. Maeve loved to sing along with Tara, especially to her We are Loved Song, which goes: