Touchstone

by Sharon Sala

  Houston looked over at Rachel, his hamburger momentarily forgotten. Even like this, she was all he ever wanted.

  “Love’s a real scary thing,” he finally said. And then he looked back at Jewel. “But I’d rather be afraid and in love than alone.”

  Jewel nodded. “Like I said. Rachel Austin is a lucky woman.”

  She left, leaving Houston behind to dwell on her words. He looked at Rachel again—at the needles and tubes, the bandages and burns—and doubted that she would agree.

  Then he picked up his hamburger and took another bite.

  The alarm was going off and the incessant beep was driving Rachel mad. She kept trying to wake up and shut the thing off, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get her eyes open. She raised her arm, aiming in the direction of the sound, and then groaned as pain shot through her right side.

  “She’s awake!” someone cried.

  Rachel frowned. Yes, she was awake all right, but who on earth was that? It sounded like Maris, but that made no sense. Why would Maris be in her bedroom? She licked her lips, then winced. Another pain. What was going on?

  “Someone call the nurse.”

  Rachel sighed. That was Maris. She recognized the authoritative sound in her voice.

  “Someone get Houston.”

  Rachel’s heart leaped. That was Esther’s voice. But she must have been imagining things. It sounded as if Esther was talking about Houston. That was impossible. Houston was in Texas. Rachel was in New York.

  “Dr. Bandi, pick up line three.”

  Rachel’s nostrils suddenly flared. After spending so many months at her mother’s bedside, she recognized the familiar scent of hospital disinfectant. And that voice—wasn’t that someone paging a doctor? If so, then she wasn’t in her bedroom at all. She must be in a hospital. That would explain her delusions about Houston, as well as the pain. But why? She licked her lips again, trying to form her thoughts into words.

  “Where . . . ?”

  “Lie still, sweetheart.” Fingers slid up the length of her arm, gently squeezing her elbow. She recognized the perfume.

  “Esther?”

  She felt breath against her cheek, then the imprint of lips against her skin.

  “Yes, dear, it’s me.”

  Rachel sighed. She trusted Esther. Whatever was happening, it would be okay.

  “Why... ?”

  “You’re in the hospital, dear. You were injured in an explosion. Do you remember?”

  Rachel’s mind was a jumble. Dozens of images flashed through her thoughts. And then she jerked and moaned.

  Esther tightened her lips. She could tell by the sudden tension in Rachel’s body that she was remembering.

  “It’s all right, dear. Just rest. You’re safe.”

  Rachel tried to blink, but the pressure against her eyes was too tight. She moaned and lifted her hand toward her face.

  Suddenly someone grabbed her hand.

  “Cherokee... baby... leave it alone.”

  She gasped, sending another shard of pain through her middle. That voice! She hadn’t been hallucinating after all.

  “Houston?”

  His heart nearly broke. Her voice was weak—so weak.

  “Yes, baby, it’s me.”

  “Why... what—”

  He cupped her cheek with the palm of his hand. “Not now. Just rest.”

  She sighed again, and when he started to move away, she whispered, “You’ll stay?”

  He took a deep breath. “Yes.”

  Her voice was fainter now. “Promise?”

  He smiled. Some things about her were still the same.

  “Yes, Cherokee, I already promised you.”

  She sighed. “Yes... I remember.” Her voice was fading away. “You promised not to leave me alone.”

  His eyes widened perceptibly as he straightened. That first day—so she’d heard him after all.

  On the seventh day after the explosion, the picture hit the papers. Houston was livid that the man had escaped with film after all, but Rachel’s agent had dismissed it as something to be expected. Houston had already decided he didn’t much like this city, and this just confirmed it.

  If that hadn’t been enough to deal with, the police were coming today to question Rachel about the bombing. They had permission from Rachel’s doctor, but Houston wasn’t happy. No one had asked him what he thought. So he hovered nearby, ready to step in on her behalf if need be.

  Rachel could hear him speaking in undertones to her agent, although she couldn’t understand what Houston and Tom were saying. In a way, she didn’t really care. All of her energy was focused on trying to get well and out of the hospital. The fact that she had nowhere to go when the day arrived did not daunt her. She’d managed before. She would manage again.

  But no one had told her that when the bandages came off her eyes, there was a very good chance she would be blind. No one had mentioned that there was a cut on the side of her neck that would certainly scar. And no one had seen fit to tell her that, at Andrew Bartalow’s orders, Maris Binder was already in the process of looking for a replacement to continue the Timeless campaign. In more than one sense of the word, Rachel Austin was still in the dark.

  Jules had been to her room only once since Houston’s arrival. At the time, his reluctance to speak of anything regarding work had not bothered her. She was in no shape to consider it herself. But in the last twenty-four hours it had occurred to her more than once that, except for Houston and Esther, her friends had become decidedly scarce.

  Then, early this morning Tom Mikeowitz had shown up with the news that the police would be coming to talk. She didn’t mind, although she felt there was little she could tell that would help the investigation. The whole incident still seemed surreal. One moment she’d been laughing and talking on the phone, and within the space of her next breath, she had almost ceased to exist.

  Her days and nights were mostly measured in increments of how much pain she was in, and the reality of the explosion was a pall on her heart. It seemed impossible to believe that a total stranger could want her dead. So she lay in quiet discomfort, drifting in and out of sleep in mortal fear for what he might do again, once he learned she wasn’t dead.

  Across the room, Houston showed his concern through vigilance. With each passing day Rachel grew stronger. Although she still could not see, Houston thought he noticed her other senses becoming more acute. He didn’t think she was aware of it yet, but he saw it happening, and it scared him. He dreaded the day when the bandages would be removed. How would she react to a world still in darkness?

  Mikeowitz fidgeted with his tie and then glanced at his watch. “I wish to hell they’d hurry up,” he muttered. “I’ve got to meet a client for lunch.”

  Houston didn’t bother to answer, and Mikeowitz hadn’t expected him to. It was just something to say to fill in the awkward moments of silence.

  Houston glanced toward the bed. He wasn’t sure, but he thought Rachel had fallen back to sleep. Her hands were limp, and her heart rate was slow and steady.

  Mikeowitz followed Houston’s gaze, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “It still doesn’t seem real,” he said. “One minute she’s the hottest client I have, and the next thing I know, it’s over.”

  Houston shifted angrily. “Not a goddamned thing is over except the carnival ride she’s been on. She’s alive, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s the only thing that matters.”

  Mikeowitz flushed with embarrassment. “I know, I know,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.” Then he shrugged. “Yes, I guess I did. In my business, facts are facts, and right now, as precious as her life is, her worth as a model is over. Even if her scars eventually disappear, she still can’t see. She can’t walk a catwalk or smile at a camera if she doesn’t know where it is.”

  Houston’s eyes narrowed angrily. “Damn it, keep your voice down. The last thing she needs is something else to worry about.”

&nbs
p; Mikeowitz gave Rachel a nervous glance. “Sorry. I don’t think she heard me.”

  But Rachel had heard, and was thankful that she’d learned to mask her emotions at an early age. In fact, right now it was almost easy to hide how she felt, because she was in shock. Forcing herself to a calm she didn’t feel, she let herself think the word:

  Blind.

  It was a small, one-syllable word with varied meanings. But Rachel had never been a woman to ignore the truth. And what she’d unintentionally heard had sent her into a panic.

  Blind.

  As in never see anything, ever again, for as long as she lived?

  My God, haven’t I endured enough in my lifetime already? Wasn’t it enough that I lost my parents and my home? Must I walk through the rest of my life blind, as penance for being born with a pretty face?

  She started to shake. The pain of her new reality was almost mortal. To know that she would never again see colors or clouds in the sky, never see a smile or the shape of a tear, and—oh God—never see Houston’s face again...

  The fact that her life in the world of fashion had been fleeting was incidental. If she was blind, then how could she earn her living? How would she cope? Even worse, where would she go?

  In the midst of her panic, a knock sounded on her door. She stiffened. A few seconds later the sound of muffled voices and heavy footsteps across the room announced the arrival of the detectives who’d come to talk to her. She shifted uneasily on the bed and then turned her head toward the door.

  “I’m awake.”

  Houston jumped at the sound of her voice, then gave her a nervous glance. How long had she been listening? He moved toward her. The others followed.

  “Rachel, the officers investigating your case are here to speak with you.”

  Rachel managed a smile. “So I’m a case now, am I?”

  They all laughed out of nervous relief. The detectives knew who she was. And while they were veterans at their jobs, it was still a bit daunting to remember the beauty who’d been on the billboard in Times Square and relate that face to the woman lying in the bed before them. It wasn’t that she was so terribly scarred; she wasn’t. But the flawless face was no more.

  “Miss Austin, my name is Detective Daniel Sullivan, and this is my partner, Detective Peter Gianelli. We’d like to ask you some questions about the morning of the explosion.”

  Rachel wanted to scream. Questions? She couldn’t cope with more questions. All she wanted was her life back. She kept picturing herself answering the door, taking that damned package into her kitchen, and then watching it slide off the counter. She’d already been told that the fact that she’d inadvertently knocked it off had probably saved her life—that if she’d opened it up in the normal fashion, the brunt of the explosion would have hit her squarely in the face.

  “Ask away,” she said. “But don’t expect miracles.” Her chin quivered slightly. It was the only sign she gave them of her inner distress. “I’m fresh out.”

  Twelve

  Rachel had been in the hospital over two weeks, and the routine of being bathed and cared for by people she couldn’t see was getting on her nerves. Added to that was the fact that the police were getting nowhere with her case. All they knew for sure was that someone, probably a deranged fan, had gone to the trouble to make a bomb, wrap it in pretty paper, and have it delivered to her doorstep. She had received no prior threats, no crazy love letters from strangers—nothing that could have been interpreted as harmful—and yet it had come. Each day she woke up in this new world of darkness, knowing she was still in danger. She felt helpless and useless. And she was so tired of pretending to be strong. She needed privacy—and dear God, she needed to cry until there were no tears left. But in a hospital, privacy was impossible.

  Esther was somewhere in the room. Rachel could smell her perfume. And she knew without asking that Houston was gone. The room seemed larger, the air thinner, without his presence. This afternoon they were taking the bandages off her eyes, and she’d never been more afraid. Even though she knew the predicted outcome, a part of her was holding out for a miracle.

  And then she heard the door swing open and she turned toward the sound.

  “Hey, Cherokee, glad you’re awake. Look what I brought you.”

  Rage surfaced immediately. She was on the verge of breaking, and the ordinary phrase was like a knife in her heart.

  “I would love to,” she snapped. “Unfortunately, that’s not possible.”

  Esther arched an eyebrow at Houston, whom she’d come to adore, and then slipped out of the room.

  Houston kissed Esther’s cheek as she passed, and then frowned as he looked back at Rachel. Her bitterness was to be expected. The doctors had warned them it would be a natural part of her healing process. And while the anger had been coming on for some time now, his careless comment hadn’t helped. But he knew Rachel in a way none of the others did. He knew she was tough. And he knew she was strong. She’d come this far without giving up. He would be damned if he’d let her wallow in self-pity.

  “It was a figure of speech,” he said shortly, and thrust the stuffed rabbit he’d bought into her lap, then grabbed both her hands and forced her to touch it. “Look at it, Rachel. Touch it. Smell it. Hell, if you’ve a mind to, give it a taste. But don’t shut out the rest of the world because you’ve got bandages on your eyes.”

  “Why not?” she snapped, and then threw the rabbit onto the floor. “Nothing is going to change once they’re off.”

  Houston inhaled sharply. She knew! For once in his life, he was at a loss for what to say to her.

  But Rachel didn’t wait for him to answer. “Why don’t you laugh? Why don’t you say ‘I told you so’? I wouldn’t blame you.” She bit the lower edge of her lip to keep from crying. “From where you’re standing, I would imagine you think this is justice. I put my faith in the shallow things of life, and look where it got me.”

  Houston paled. That she would say such a thing, even in anger, made him furious.

  “Shut up, Rachel. Just shut the hell up. Are you crazy? How dare you even joke that I would wish you harm?”

  Rachel flinched. Anger was rare in this man, but when it happened, it could be frightening. Yet she couldn’t stop herself. Even though it was self-destructive, the simple act of arguing with him made everything seem normal.

  “But I am crazy, remember? I left you for this.”

  At that her voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands.

  Filled with remorse, Houston gathered her into his arms.

  “No, you didn’t leave me for this. You left to follow a dream. I’m as sorry as I can be that this happened, but you damn sure didn’t deserve it, and it isn’t your fault.”

  She tried to push him away. “I don’t want your pity,” she muttered.

  At that moment Houston’s own patience snapped. “Well, hell, Cherokee, I knew that. How stupid do you think I am? You didn’t want me. You didn’t want my love. Why would I think you’d want my pity?”

  She gasped. Startled by the sarcasm in his voice, she stilled as he moved away from her bed. Suddenly a new fear came over her, one that was worse than the fear that she’d never see again. What if he left her, just as she had left him?

  “Houston, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Yes, you did,” he said shortly. “At least do me the courtesy of keeping to the truth.”

  Although her lips were trembling, Rachel lifted her chin. And in that moment Houston knew he had never loved her more. Wounded in both body and spirit, she still held her head high.

  His anger dissipated, and he allowed himself a small smile before continuing.

  “While we’re on the subject of pissing each other off, I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you that I’m taking you home with me when the doctor releases you.”

  She was silent, and Houston waited for the eruption. But it didn’t come.

  “Well, don’t you have anything to say?” he asked.

 
If asked, Rachel would not have been able to describe the emotions playing havoc with her heart. For months she’d been wishing for that very thing, and now to have it happen was like a dream coming true. Only the dream wasn’t quite right. In fact, it was more of a nightmare. He could take her back to Texas, and she would gladly go. She could even spend the rest of her life there. But in the true sense of the word, she’d never see it again.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice more abrupt than she might have wanted, but to show emotion was to give in to grief, and right now she couldn’t afford to be weak.

  Houston’s shoulders slumped with relief. He’d been expecting a fight, not instant capitulation.

  “You’re welcome,” he said shortly, and wished he had the right to take her in his arms and just hold her. But he gave her the space he thought she needed. “Well, then,” he muttered, looking around for something to entertain her. “Would you like to hear another chapter in that mystery we were reading?”

  Rachel lay back against her pillow and nodded, listening to the shuffle of papers and the opening and closing of drawers as Houston searched for the book.

  “It’s on the shelf above my robe.”

  Houston halted in astonishment. “How did you know that?”

  Rachel considered the question. How had she known that? And then she remembered.

  “Esther was reading to me this morning when a nurse came in to give me a bath. I guess I heard the hinge squeak when she opened the closet door. I heard the sound of something sliding across metal, and then I heard her close the door.”

  Houston walked to the closet and opened the door. The book was right where she’d said it would be.

  “Good job, Cherokee. You were right.”

  Rachel smiled.

  Houston stared. That smile. He hadn’t seen it in almost a year. And to see it now, when she was so terribly hurt, was more than he had prepared himself to withstand. His vision blurred, and he found himself looking at her through a film of tears.

  “Houston?”

  He cleared his throat, watching as she nervously picked at the sheet covering her legs. “Yeah?”