Rachel (Women of Privilege Book 2)

by Bridget Bundy

  Natasha Mathis knows that I refuse to be part of their games. She knows not to knock on my door for any reason. She’s already had a run-in with Grey about her unwarranted visits. So meeting me outside, when my husband is not home, is her best and safest option. Whenever I do see her in passing, we speak, but I don’t make conversation. I don’t go out of my way to get her attention. Whatever I’m doing, I keep at it. This time, I will not be able to just keep at it.

  I stop beside her and press the button to let down my car window.

  “Hello, Rachel.”

  “Hi,” I answer dryly. I can’t help it.

  Natasha is wearing an orange blouse and a black skirt. Her hair is in a pony-tail, and she has on plenty of make-up. She’s an inspirational speaker, and I believe a pastor. I’m certain her husband is a pastor, but I don’t know what church they reside over.

  “It’s been a while,” she says.

  “It has,” I remark guardedly.

  “How have you been? Everything okay for you?”

  “Everything is fine, Natasha.”

  “Good,” she says with an uncomfortable nod. She knows my living predicament, and she knows she can’t do anything about it. “Can you believe what happened to Joslyn’s house?”

  I want to say, ‘yes, I can believe it,’ but I won’t. “It’s shocking.”

  “Did you ever get a chance to meet Gia Briggs?”

  “No.”

  “Well, she just moved in not too long ago. She was a lovely girl. Did you know she confessed to killing an old lady? It’s a shame really. I spent time with her. We went out to lunch, and I never got any indication she was dangerous like that.”

  Natasha thinks she’s slick. She’s trying to get to a whole other subject. Probably, trying to fish details of my personal life. It’s not happening.

  “People will surprise you.” A default comment. I’m hoping this will end her yapping. “I better get going.”

  “No, Rachel, wait!” She put her hand in the window, touching my shoulder. “Sorry, before you go, I wanted to let you know I was pulling together a little gathering at the clubhouse Saturday for the Montgomery family. They had to move out of their house and into Joslyn’s sister’s house around the corner, and they’re all upset. This party is a way for everyone in Tudor Estates to show our support for the family.”

  I glance over at Joslyn’s house. There’s two box trucks parked in the driveway. The front door is opened, and there’re guys in yellow suits and oxygen masks with all kinds of equipment and hoses. It looks scary to someone who’s unaware of what happened.

  “That’s nice of you to do that for them,” I reply.

  “Here is a formal invitation.” In Natasha’s hand is a stack of parchment paper envelopes, and she hands me the one on top. The envelope is thick, and my last name is written in dark cursive writing.

  “I hope to see you there, Rachel. Take care.” Natasha waves and rushes off across the street towards 10 Privilege Place, where the Snow family lives.

  I don’t know what to make of her really. She hasn’t done anything to me, but I just don’t trust her. I can’t even say why. I watch as Natasha knocks on Rayne Snow’s door. The fiery red headed woman opens it, and the two hug and giggle like school girls who hasn’t seen each other in years. I wish I had a girlfriend like that, one where I can turn to and tell all of my problems. Probably best that I don’t. Grey would hurt anyone that tries to befriend me, anyway.

  Chapter Seven

  Jackson Phillips, or Jack, is the oldest brother of all four siblings. He’s forty-five years old, has an amputated right leg up to the knee, and he’s a veteran. He suffered the loss of his limb in Afghanistan two years ago. A checkpoint and a kid with a bomb killed three soldiers and injured six others. The bombing also ended Jack’s career in the armed forces. The Army was his life. He joined straight out of high school, rose through the ranks and became a leader and father figure to a lot of the soldiers he led. When Jack wasn’t able to serve anymore, his whole demeanor and outlook changed. He was married, but after two months back home, he ended it. He was bitter to his wife, and he pushed her away. She tried to be supportive, hanging in there, fighting the good fight, but Jack never let her get close. Eventually, he left her and the kids and disappeared. Grey found him right before Christmas last year in Atlanta. Jack was squatting in an abandoned house, refused to leave when the city was trying to bulldoze it. He was arrested. Old friends on the police force in Atlanta contacted Grey about his brother. He got Jack out of jail and put him up in a house in Richmond Hills, Georgia, where he still lives today.

  Every day I check on Jack, rather it’s by calling or stopping by the house. He never goes anywhere. He’s doesn’t like people staring at him when he’s out. He can be mean as a snake if people are blatantly gawking. So, Jack stays home. I grocery shop for him, and Grey pays his bills. That’s all Jack has to do is simply wake up and breath. The rest of his life is being take care of for him.

  The house Jack lives in is one-story with a single bedroom and bath. The living room, dining, and kitchen are combined. He has a garage, as well, with a car that he never drives. Furniture is at a minimal because Jack uses a wheelchair. The walls are bare except for one spot, where his military medals, folded American flag, and certificates are on display. Only reason they’re up is because of me. Jack had a great career in the Army, and it’s my way of reminding him that he’s a hero and is deeply appreciated. Jack has never gave me gratitude for setting it up, but I believe he understands and somewhat appreciates what I did for him.

  When I walk into his house, Jack is in his usual vegetative state in his wheelchair in front of the television. He’s not wearing his prosthetic limb. He never does; keeps it under his bed all the time. An unopened bottle of gin is in one hand, and a cigarette is in the other. His afro is unruly. A scowl is on his face. I have no doubts he has a hangover and is mad as hell about it.

  “Good morning,” I say as I pat his shoulder.

  “What you got in the bag?” He puts the cigarette on his lips and pulls open my satchel.

  “I brought you Hamburger Helper.”

  “That’s what you cooked last night?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And Grey ate it? I can’t believe it. He’s more of a lobster and caviar kind of guy.”

  “Guess he was in the mood for something different,” I reply.

  I head over to the kitchen table and set the satchel down. I’ve been bringing food over to Jack almost every other day. If I don’t do that for him, he won’t cook. He won’t order in, and he won’t go out to eat, either. Jack is depressed, has been for a long time. But I believe he wants to live. I also believe if death came for him, he wouldn’t fight to stay alive. Grey doesn’t want to deal with his brother in person. He figures since he bought Jack a house and pays for all of his expenses, he’s done all he can. It’s not enough. Jack needs professional help, which he has outright refused. On my part, I do what I can. Since Jack won’t cook or order in or go out to eat, I bring the food to him. It’s one of those things I look forward to, and it’s my way of checking on him.

  “Have you eaten breakfast yet? I can cook you something to eat.”

  “No, you don’t have to do that,” he says while tapping the cigarette over an ashtray in his lap.

  “Gin is not breakfast, Jack.”

  “For me it is.”

  I open the refrigerator and start looking for empty containers. Three with spaghetti that I brought over Saturday are untouched. I leave them there.

  “Are you tired of pasta?” I ask him over my shoulder.

  “Just haven’t been hungry lately.”

  I take out the other containers that doesn’t have anything in them and place them in my satchel. Then I wipe down the shelves in the fridge. When I’m finished, I start on the dishes. There’s a sink full, and I begin scrubbing off the caked on food and placing them in the dishwasher. I can easily tell him to do this himself, but it’s just easie
r for me to do it. He’ll start fussing, and he’ll get mad. I don’t want him to be upset.

  Once I’m satisfied everything is good, I shoulder the satchel from off the table and head over to where he’s sitting. “Alright, Jack, do you need anything else? I can come back tomorrow if you want.”

  “No, but I was wondering something.”

  “What?”

  “Did you speak to Jaleesa at all yesterday?”

  I shake my head. “We don’t really speak to each other.”

  “Well, she called me up crying. I was enjoying my drink, watching Planet of the Apes.”

  “Planet of the Apes?” I repeat, making sure I heard him correctly.

  “Yeah, Rachel, and it was on the good part, too. She was ruining it with all that sobbing. I had to hang up on her.”

  “She was trying to reach out to you, Jack. Maybe, her boyfriend broke up with her or something.”

  “I got nothing to do with that,” Jack comments. “I ain’t the one for a shoulder to cry on. I got my own shitty problems to deal with.”

  Time to change the subject. “Have you wore your new prosthetic yet?”

  “Doesn’t feel right.”

  “You’re being stubborn. Do you know there’s people out there that has lost both of their feet and still live a full life? They’re active. Have jobs. They run. They walk. Some of them do more in a day than I do in a week.”

  “I don’t want to hear it, Rachel. Okay?”

  “Maybe I should take that leg and knock some sense into you with it. That’ll put it to good use.”

  Jack starts laughing, which surprises me. His whole body is shaking.

  “I’m being serious,” I remark. “You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself. How about you put on that limb, and we go out for a walk around the neighborhood? It’s a beautiful day.”

  “You can wheel me around in my wheelchair.”

  “That’s not walking, Jack.”

  “Why you always trying to save me, Rachel? I don’t need saving. I like being at home and by myself. I like the-” Jack loses track of his thoughts, or perhaps, he doesn’t know what else he likes about being at home. I’m betting on the latter.

  “I care about you, Jack. That’s why I’m trying to save you.”

  He simply looks back at the television screen and says, “I’m not worth it. That’s all you doing is wasting your time.”

  I sigh and squeeze his shoulder. “You know what I think is a waste?”

  “Nope, I don’t,” he says smartly.

  “That the spiders under your bed is getting more use out of that limb than you are.”

  He waves me off.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I reply as I leave. “Eat food! Stop drinking alcohol!”

  “Make me!” he yells back.

  Chapter Eight

  On the days I visit Jack, I also make a trip to Pooler, Georgia, where my mom is staying in an apartment in a gated community. There are five ten-story buildings, and people who are fifty-five years and older can live there. It’s all inclusive. All apartments have small kitchens, but there is a cafeteria in every building so they don’t have to cook. There are gyms, libraries, and a movie theatre. Transportation is provided to malls and airports twice a day. There is healthcare available, and some residents do receive scheduled care right in their apartments. It is the best middle-aged and senior living community around.

  My mom’s apartment is on the second floor, and it’s spacious with plenty of windows. She loves it. She thinks she’s living in the lap of luxury. Actually, she is, considering where she could easily end up. I knock on her door, hoping she’d be home.

  She opens it and says almost too happily, “Hey, honey!”

  “Hi, Mom.” I give her a hug. I go inside of her apartment and do a cursory check to see if there’s a mess. Everything is clean and in order.

  “Come for an inspection?” she says, watching me with her hands on her hips.

  My mom has on a cute tight fitting pink dress with sandals. Her hair is curled and shaped into a perfect bowl, and she’s wearing make-up. Usually when my mom is home, she’s not dressed up like that, but I must admit she looks really pretty.

  “Making sure you’re okay,” I respond. “You know how I worry about you.”

  She waves me off and heads for the bedroom. I follow her. First thing I notice is that there are suitcases on the bed. One is full to the brim with clothes, and the other is halfway full with lingerie. Instantly, I panic.

  “What’s going on?” I ask. “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything is fine, Rachel. Calm down.”

  “But you’re packed,” I remark, pointing to the luggage.

  “Going on vacation, dear. That’s all.”

  “Oh.” I let out a relieving sigh. “Wait a minute. Where are you going?”

  She laughs and closes the full suitcase. “Hawaii.”

  “Hawaii? You can’t go all the way there.”

  “Rachel, I’m a grown woman, and I can go wherever whenever I want.”

  I decide to back off…a little. “Well, when are you leaving?”

  “My flight takes off in three hours.”

  “Are you going by yourself?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Who’s going with you?”

  “A friend down the hallway.” She’s lying. She can’t even look me in the face.

  “Who is he?” I fold my arms over my chest.

  “So, how’s it going with Grey?”

  “Mom, you’re not allowed to change the subject.”

  My mom huffs and says, “Rachel, let it go. I’m not telling you anything.”

  “Well, tell me when you’re coming back at least.”

  “It’ll be next Saturday, not this coming Saturday.”

  “Over a week? That’s a long time. Are you even allowed to travel in your condition?”

  My mom has fibromyalgia. It’s the reasons why she can’t work. She suffers flair ups, and they’re painful. For a long time, we had no idea what was going on. My mom would miss work, and eventually, she lost her job. It took a lot to get her to go to the doctor. There was the money issue, and she didn’t trust them. At least, that’s what she told me. When she was diagnosed, I was relieved, but that also meant getting expensive medications. We didn’t have the money for it. Since I was the only one working at the time, money was spread real thin. This was long before I met Grey.

  “I’m allowed to travel, Rachel. I have everything I need. You really need to stop worrying.”

  “Can’t help it. So, is everything okay with the apartment? No issues with-”

  “Everything is perfect, child. Stop asking questions. Stop worrying.”

  “Sorry,” I remark sheepishly. She fails to understand how important she is to me. My mom and I have gone through hell for years, and I just don’t want her to go back to that state of living.

  “How is Grey doing? I haven’t heard from him in a long time.”

  “He hasn’t changed.” I wish I can be more honest, but I can’t.

  “That’s a broad stroke of an answer.”

  “That’s all I can tell you.”

  “Problems I should know about?” She glances at me sideways.

  “Everything is fine.”

  “He’s a good man, Rachel. You did well for yourself when you married him. He takes care of his whole family, and he never asks for anything in return.”

  I have no comment, but I do go back to the subject of this sudden Hawaiian vacation. I want to know why I never heard about it before. My mom gives up nothing. I’m convinced if my mom ever got arrested and the Savannah Police Department needed a confession, they would have to call the CIA, the FBI, and the Secret Service just to get her to state her full name. I’ll have to keep working on her some other time.

  “Please, be careful. Don’t forget your meds.”

  “I will.” She gives me a hug.

  “Call me every day, please. The moment I don’t hear
from you, I’m calling the cops over there and reporting you missing.”

  “Rachel, I will call you every other day. That’s the best I can do.”

  “You are so hardheaded,” I remark, heading for the living room.

  “Love you, baby.”

  I give her a wave and leave the apartment.

  Chapter Nine

  Grey gets home at 5:30 p.m. on the dot. He wastes no time going through my lingerie drawer and picking out the black number that he most recently bought. I guess he must have forgotten that he told me this morning that’s what I was wearing, or perhaps, he wants to ensure that I wear the correct black lingerie. I take a shower, which I don’t really need to, but I do anyway. Don’t want to see a client while smelling like bleach.

  After ensuring all the pertinent areas are shaved, perfume in the right places, make-up immaculate, and hair is curled, I put on the lace number. I hate it. It’s a thong with a bodice top that hides very little. If I’m wearing it for Russell Wolfe, I’ll feel sexy and beautiful. But instead, I’m wearing it for Sam Lewis, some business associate Grey is always trying to impress. Satisfied that I fit the part of high class whore, I come out of the bathroom, hoping that my husband will approve of how I look.

  His attention is down at his hands. He’s looking at the envelope that Natasha Mathis gave me earlier that day. I must have left it in the car. Should have tossed it at my mom’s house, but I totally forgot I had it. Grey has opened the envelope and is reading the invitation. I can see the anger literally building within him.

  He glances up at me, eyes piercing like daggers. “Who gave this to you?”