One Thing I Know

by Kara Isaac

“We’re having sleepover day because we ran out of clothes.”

  Anna tousled her daughter’s hair. “Thanks for that, honey.”

  “That sounds like an excellent idea. I wish I’d known—I would’ve brought my pajamas.”

  Libby regarded her jeans and sweater. “I know! You can use some of Mommy’s.”

  Rachel looked at Anna, who laughed and shrugged. “Works for me, if you don’t mind slumming it in an old pair.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  Two hours later, three loads of washing were in various stages of the laundry process and Libby peered over a dessert bowl that was almost bigger than her head.

  Her elbow poked straight to heaven as she dug into her pie and spooned it into her rosebud mouth. Licking the melted ice cream off the back of her spoon, she smacked her lips, then burped.

  “Libby Evangeline!”

  Rachel pressed her lips together so she didn’t ruin Anna’s parenting moment by laughing.

  Libby’s bottom lip wobbled and her eyes filled. “Daddy would say, ‘Libby, Libby, you’re so silly.’ ”

  Anna put her spoon down and held out her arms. “Come here, baby.”

  Her daughter scrambled off her chair and flung herself into her mother’s lap. Arms folding, Anna pulled her close and pressed a kiss into her copper curls.

  “I miss him. Why didn’t he wake up?” The broken little girl’s voice was Rachel’s undoing.

  Smooshed pie crust and melted ice cream swam in front of her face. Who was she to be privy to such an intimate moment?

  “I’ll be back in a sec.” Anna stood, Libby curled tightly in her arms like an early rosebud, tears glistening at the tips of her long lashes.

  “Okay.” Rachel whispered the word, not wanting to interrupt the sacred moment.

  Anna disappeared through the doorway, a few seconds later her footsteps echoing up the wooden stairs.

  Gathering up the dishes from the table, Rachel scraped the remains into the trash then rinsed them, stacking the plates beside the sink. Pausing, she leaned against the stainless-steel sink and stared into the inky night.

  During the afternoon, a pain had worked its way through her like a phantom and wrapped around her heart like a vice. Here she was, on what was supposed to be some sort of new-widow mercy mission, and instead she was . . . jealous.

  The word jarred in her brain. It was ridiculous. Jealous of someone whose husband had just died, leaving her with a small, bereft child to raise alone. What was wrong with her?

  She stared at her reflection. “Get a grip, Rachel.” She had no right to feel sorry for herself, let alone envious of Anna and Libby. She had chosen this life. She deserved this life. She’d known better than to let herself fall for Lucas, yet she had. What did she expect? Happily-ever-after?

  Wrenching the door of the dishwasher open, dishes and cutlery clattered against each other as she jammed them between the already resident dirty dishes.

  “Want a coffee?” Anna wandered past, hair now up in a high ponytail, and pulled two mugs out of a candy-cane-pink cupboard. She hadn’t been joking when she’d said the kitchen repaint was a disaster. It looked like someone had put a live grenade in a hot-pink paint can and closed the door on their way out.

  “I’m fine, thanks.” Rachel shoved the top rack back but it refused to go in, catching. “Come on.” She tried again with more force, but it just bounced back again.

  Anna paused and surveyed the scene in front of her. “Whatever you are, ‘fine’ is not it. So would you like some kind of beverage in your hand while you tell me about it?”

  Rachel blew a breath out between her teeth. She couldn’t exactly lie to Anna, not when the big guy upstairs practically sat on her shoulder. “Can you do cocoa?”

  Anna beamed a beatific smile. “Can I do cocoa? You’re not allowed to leave the hospital with a baby if you can’t do cocoa.”

  “That would be great.” Rachel bent down, shoved her sleeve up to her elbow, and plumbed the depths of the dishwasher, fingers grasping for the obstruction.

  Anna moved around the kitchen, opening and closing drawers and containers. Teaspoons clinking in mugs, water pouring.

  Where was it? Getting down on her hands and knees. Rachel peered into the bowels of the machine. Ah, there it was. A spatula had fallen halfway down the back. Twisting sideways, her fingers inched forward until she could tug it free.

  “So whatever happened with Lucas?”

  Rachel’s head jerked up, connecting with the front edge of the top rack. “Ow!” Extracting herself, she landed on the floor on her rear end, legs under the open door.

  Anna leaned down, poured powder into the dispenser, and closed it in one fluid motion.

  She looked down at Rachel and grinned. “Would you like to talk about it on the kitchen floor? I have spent a fair amount of time down there myself. Though I have to say, I do offer some comfier options.”

  “Glad you think it’s so funny.” Rachel grabbed the side of the counter and hauled herself up.

  Anna laughed. “If you could have seen yourself with your butt hanging out of my dishwasher you would have thought it was funny too. Come on.” She handed Rachel a green mug and padded across the floor toward the den.

  Rachel froze, stomach wrenching. This wasn’t the plan. Sure, she’d known there might be a deep and meaningful discussion, but it was supposed to be Anna wringing tissues and crying. Her, the supporting act. Doing whatever it was that you did when a friend becomes a widow.

  All of her self-preservation instincts were screaming at her to escape. Padding through the doorway and down the hall, she peered into the den.

  Anna sat on a well-worn brown leather couch, legs curled underneath her, mug clasped between two hands.

  “You know, it’s late, and you’ve had a long day.” Rachel took a sip of the hot, sweet cocoa. “I should just finish this up and go.”

  “No. You should sit down, and we’re going to talk about what’s going on.” Anna gave her a look saturated in determination and gestured to the spot beside her. “Sit.”

  Rachel’s feet propelled her into the room, cocoa sloshing. What was she doing? She didn’t talk. Not about things that mattered. She wouldn’t even know how. Perching on the edge of the cushion, she focused on the bookcase in front of her. Authors she’d never even heard of lined the shelves. No surprise, since most of the books seemed to have “God” in the titles.

  “So.” Anna’s voice was soft. “What happened?”

  Rachel shrugged, kept looking straight ahead. “It just didn’t work out.”

  “Why not?”

  Because nothing in her life ever did. She opened her mouth to tell Anna he wasn’t interested. “Because I lied to him. He hasn’t spoken to me since.” Cocoa spilled from the mug and coated her hand. She pulled a tissue from the box on the table next to her and swiped at it. What had she done? Now she was going to have to come up with more lies to explain the truth.

  “Did you tell him why? Did you tell him you’re sorry?”

  “I tried, but he wouldn’t accept my apology. I broke his trust. For Lucas, if you do that it’s over.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  Anna settled back. “I want you to be happy. But I think that’s more complicated than whether or not Lucas and you ever work things out.”

  She was right. “I don’t know how to forgive myself for that night. Or him.”

  She wasn’t sure which she found the most unforgivable: the joints that had started as “high class” and degraded to the scummiest, slimiest pits of depravity toward the end, or the fact that it had been her mother’s life insurance that had paid for it all.

  If there was a God, He was probably the one who deserved credit for the fact that she’d managed never to experience anything worse than a lecher pawing her behind as she waded through the worst of humanity trying to find her father. Occasionally Anna or Lacey with her.

  “What about Lacey and me?” Anna took a cau
tious sip as she softly asked the question.

  Rachel was struck by an overwhelming sense of loss as she stared at her friend. Ten years. She’d missed out on almost a decade of Anna’s friendship because she’d unfairly blamed her for what happened that night. And Lacey.

  She hadn’t been around for her meeting Cam. Getting engaged. Married. Her pregnancy. Libby being born. Any of it. And that was just Anna. Lacey was a closed book to her too. She didn’t know much more about her than a prospective client would reading her online bio.

  “Rach?” Anna reached out and touched her knee.

  “I’m sorry. It wasn’t your fault. I know I blamed you, but he was my responsibility. My father was left on the side of the road to die because I wasn’t there for him. Now he exists in some kind of limbo land. What’s forgivable about that?”

  “You didn’t make your father go to a bar. Or drink. Or walk home instead of catching a cab. You weren’t responsible for him. Entirely the opposite. He was responsible for you. And he let you down every day.”

  Rachel was back at that night. The emptiness of his filthy, run-down house. The pouring rain as she drove through the streets searching. The first glimpse of what looked like a trash bag in the gutter. The crashing realization it was a person. The screeching of her brakes, stopping the car in the middle of the street. The look on his face when she reached him, picked up his head, and cradled it in his arms. His mouth opening as she leaned in close to hear his words.

  “The last thing he ever said to me was, ‘You never could do anything right.’ ” Since Anna was religious now, she left out the expletive he’d included between the last two words. She shook her head. “And the funny thing is, even if he’d known that would be the last thing he ever said, I’m pretty sure the only thing that would have changed is he probably would have thrown in a few more curses for good measure.”

  “Ouch.” Anna breathed the word out.

  Ouch. That pretty much summed it up. One four-letter word that encompassed the last decade of her life spent trying to assuage the bottomless pit of guilt that consumed everything she touched.

  Her fingers rubbed circles into her temples. “It’s been almost ten years. I keep thinking that one day it will magically get better, but it doesn’t, and I don’t know what to do.”

  “Why don’t you start from the beginning? Tell me everything about Donna and Lucas and your dad. Because it sounds all intertwined, but I don’t know how.”

  Once she told Anna the truth she couldn’t take it back. Might lose their fledgling relationship. But she was so tired of pretending, and everything she’d done it for was gone anyway. What did she have to lose at this point?

  So she told her. Just let everything spill out and land where it may. If they were going to be real friends again, she wanted there not to be any secrets. She didn’t leave anything out, including the fact that Lucas had refused to return her calls since she’d left.

  “So now I have six weeks to turn in a book that I haven’t even started. And if I don’t, then we’re in breach of contract and have to give the advance back. And if I have to do that, then I eventually won’t be able to afford Sunhaven. I could never forgive myself if I have to put him into one of the awful places that Medicaid will pay for.”

  “Rach.” Anna leaned forward, grabbing her hands. “You were his daughter. He should have been the one looking out for you, protecting you. It wasn’t your job to babysit him, be his chauffeur, or scrape him off a bar. What happened that night was not your fault. The fact that you’ve managed to keep him in Sunhaven for as long as you have is amazing. He’s in a vegetative state. So whether he’s there or somewhere else, it matters a whole lot more to you than it does to him. And until you figure out how to forgive yourself, everything else will be like dust.”

  A tear slipped down Rachel’s face. Slid down her cheek. Anna’s voice only echoed what Donna had been telling her for years, but for some reason, this time, it connected.

  “I don’t know how.”

  “Ask God. He’ll always help.”

  She looked at Anna. Took in the sincerity in her face. Six months ago she would have tossed her words off like a sweater in August. Now they sat, until she found herself mentally shrugging her shoulders. Why not? It wasn’t as if anything else had worked.

  Rachel burrowed her head in her hands. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Here’s the thing. No matter how hard it is, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how many ugly layers of lies, you have to deal with it. The truth will always set you free.”

  Maybe it would, but it could also get her sued.

  - 33 -

  The truth will always set you free. The words vibrated in Rachel’s head as she unlocked the door to her condo the next morning, kicked off her flats, and switched on the light.

  She shrugged off her coat, tossed it over the back of a chair, and pulled out her phone. Max had called while she’d been talking to Anna and she’d ignored it, along with his voicemail.

  Tapping on the screen, she put the message on speaker. “Hey, Rach, it’s Max.” He cleared his throat. “So I’ve reviewed the ideas you sent me.”

  She’d only just sent them yesterday afternoon. A mishmash of false starts and premises that couldn’t even carry a chapter, let alone a book. She’d known they were awful, hadn’t even bothered to hope she was wrong.

  “So, um, I see what you mean about them being a bit rough. I mean, they’re fine. No, good, they’re good. I’m sure we can find something to work with from them. They’re just missing that something your writing usually has. I have to admit that I am hoping that once Lucas has a chance to cool off, he’ll be willing to reconsider the book deal. Anyway, I’ve talked to Kelly and . . .” His voice sort of skipped, jumped, then crashed into a gaping moment of silence. “Um, I’m sorry, it’s not great, kiddo. She said she had to clear it with some higher powers and when she called back, all they would give was an extra month. And that was really begrudging. She said they were adamant about holding to the release date.”

  Her phone hit the counter. A month! That was even worse than a flat-out no. All it did was delay doomsday by thirty days.

  He was still talking. “Maybe just take a week or so. Get away. Take some time to get a fresh perspective. If this is going to be the last one, then I just think you owe it to yourself to exit with something you’ll be proud of.”

  Something she’d be proud of. She couldn’t care less about that. If she didn’t deliver, they would ask for the advance back.

  Pulling her MacBook out of her satchel, she flicked the lid up and opened a new document. Stared at the white screen, flashing cursor taunting her.

  Tilting her head back, she surveyed her ceiling. Maybe? Don’t be so stupid, Rachel. Got a better idea? Silence.

  She clasped and unclasped her hands. Looked at the floor. Was she supposed to kneel? This was ridiculous. “Okay.” She directed her words to a spider web that traversed the corner above the front door. “I don’t know if You exist, and it’s really nothing to me whether You do or not. But I hope You do for Anna’s sake. And I know You don’t owe me anything, and I’m not going to make any stupid promises like if You help me out here I’m all in. But I’m here, and I really need to write a book, and You’re pretty much my last chance. So . . . okay, then.”

  Anything? The cursor still taunted her. The page was still blank. She was still stuck. No buzzy vibes she’d heard some televangelist harping on about. Nothing was any different than thirty seconds before.

  Anna’s words repeated in her head like a catchy pop song lyric. The truth will always set you free. What would it be like, just for once, to tell the truth? The whole truth. Words appeared on the screen, her fingers racing ahead of her brain.

  I was six the first time my father told me I’d been a mistake. I didn’t even understand what he meant. Having no knowledge of the birds and the bees, it had never entered my mind that some children were wanted and others arrived in their parents’
lives an unwelcome intruder, besting all obstacles in the path to their existence.

  She leaned back and absorbed the memory. Her sin that night had been forgetting to collect the mail. Her father had crouched down to her level and pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger. She’d steeled herself, ordered herself not to cry when his hand carved a red path of rage across her legs. But the stinging slap hadn’t come. Instead he’d looked deep into her eyes, his face so close that when he spoke, spit rained down across her face as he told her very softly that she was a mistake and should never have been born. That there hadn’t been a single day in her whole useless life that he was glad she had.

  Her fingers found the keys again and words started spilling onto the screen.

  My mother didn’t believe in abortion. Nothing quite like knowing your place in the world is the result of pure dumb luck. Landing in the womb of someone who didn’t really want you, but wouldn’t get rid of you.

  She paused again, the words burning her eyes. Was she being unfair to her mother? It was not that it wasn’t true, but she knew her mother had loved her and done the best she could. Despite the resentful, brooding presence that filled the house.

  Placing her fingers back on the keyboard, she sucked in a deep breath and started to type.

  Six days later, Rachel’s eyes stung as though she’d run a marathon through a sandstorm. Her neck and shoulders were locked, muscles screaming, as she’d been crouched over her laptop for days on end. She ran a hand through her hair. Ick. Stringy, greasy strands swam past her fingers. Her screen blinked 4:32 a.m. She clicked over it to check the day. Sunday.

  When had she last had a shower? She lifted an arm up and took a whiff. Argh. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that a shower wasn’t the only thing that had been missing lately.

  The words had tumbled out, falling on top of each other. Her fingers stumbled over themselves trying to keep up. Spell check was going to have a meltdown trying to make sense of it all.

  The cursor in the middle of the blank page blinked at her. Waiting for her to finish it. Her part, anyway.