“What did she say when she saw it?” He pulled out a stool but continued to stand.
“She told me not to take it lightly.”
He wiped his beard with his hand. Damn, he really needed to trim that thing. He didn’t know what to say to her. Nothing came to his mind. She wasn’t stupid. Surely she suspected why he chose her to give it to. Or, maybe she didn’t.
“Why can’t I give it to you? I’ve known you longer than any other girl, excluding family. And, I do see you as someone special to me.”
“You can’t see me as special, Dane. I can’t ever be anything more than your friend. Do you understand?”
He moved closer to her, his body slightly pushing into hers. She went to move and he held her there; his eyes drifted to her lips. Her chest rose up and down in rapid succession. He felt his nature rise as he took her by the back of the neck and kissed her hard. She pushed against his chest, making him pull her tighter. She was halfway kissing back, and halfway pushing away.
Finally, she broke free, wiping her lips.
***
Her chin burned from his beard and the tight compression of his face. She wanted to continue, but fought every urge she had. This was the guy who went out on the weekends to play basketball with her husband. The guy who helped her husband put a new roof on the shed.
She could see Scott putting Dane in a headlock, and falling backward when Dane used a move to knock him off. They were practically brothers. It started long before she came into the picture. She couldn’t betray Scott like that.
“Dane, I can’t.” She walked over to the window. Gus was at the door, ready to come back inside, snow on his tail. She opened it.
Dane stood alone, shaking his head in a way that he knew nothing he did would make it work. “Is it me? Do you find me repulsive? Hard to see yourself with a guy like me? What is it, Rachel? I’ll fix it, or I’ll do something to change it.”
She wiped away the tear before he could see it. Still acting as if she was cleaning up the snow on the hardwood from her dog, she answered. “You can’t change being Scott’s best friend, and I can’t change the way that makes this feel completely wrong.”
“I hope one day you can.”
She heard the front door shut. She watched from the back bedroom where it was dark and he couldn’t see her. He cleaned off his windshield with his arm, as smoke escaped out of the back pipe of his car. She touched the heart pendant and wondered whether she was doing the right thing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Clearing Up a Few Things
Rachel spent the rest of the day watching Christmas movies and munching on the few bags of chips she could find in her pantry. The guaranteed fresh date didn’t mean anything to her. She didn’t deserve fresh food with how she treated Dane. She knew his gesture was gallant in giving her a family heirloom. He just didn’t understand, that was all. She knew he would one day, and it would be easier to accept the necklace back.
It would be easy to imagine him lacing it together at the neck of someone else. A blonde, perhaps. Like the ones he used to date. He’d look at her with those eyes Rachel could stare at for all eternity and then he’d smile. Doves would release into the sky and he’d take her hand and ride off on a horse into the sunset. She gagged on the image.
During a potty break, Rachel noticed her phone was flashing red on the arm of the recliner. Her battery was almost dead. Her mother’s phone call earlier must’ve taken up the last bars she had. She called to wish her a Merry Christmas. She sshhed everyone in the background, telling them her baby girl was the on the line.
“No, Mama Miller. Rachel, my daughter.” She cupped the phone. Rachel heard the dead silence on her end. “Rachel, I swear, she’s getting worse. Warren told me he’s seen her stealing right from their kitchen drawers. Silverware, no doubt. And when they ask her about it, she just stares in the other direction.”
Her mother never faulted Carl’s mother for him being a drunken bastard. He had fooled her, too, when they first started dating. His bad ways didn’t catch up to him until twelve seconds after the honeymoon. By then it was too late; Ruthie had been conceived and her mother had no family to speak of to take her in. She prayed he’d run out of money and not have enough for the liquor store on the way home. Her wish never got granted.
“I’ll take a look at her when I come home, Mom.”
“Music to my ears, Rachel. By the way, did I tell you that Dr. Pierce died last week? God rest his soul, he was a good man. Worked on your granddaddy’s feet when the sugar got bad and he had those boils come up.” She paused. “Anyway, the space is vacant. It’d be the perfect place for you to open up a practice. You know, the town could use a new doctor. These urgent care places are nothing more than an escalator you jump on and off of. Why, I had to go the other month and they had someone to take my temperature, another one stabbed the Popsicle stick down my throat, and a different one came in and told me I had a sinus infection. I swear, no personality at all. Just get ’em in and get ’em out.”
“Mom, you didn’t tell me you were sick.”
“Oh, it was just a cold. They gave me some kind of pack to take. Little red pills. I finished them in five days and it worked. It just wasn’t given proper.”
“Mom, I have a practice here. It’s hard to start over in a new place.”
“Rachel, you’re from here. I could get the girls at the YMCA to come, and Shellie could put up a flyer in her store. You’d have more business than you’d know what to do with.”
“I’m going to see how things work here, before I jump into another one. But thanks, Mom. I know you’d be a cheerleader for me.”
“You be careful this week and I’m looking forward to you coming home.”
***
Rachel called in sick the next day. There were no important appointments scheduled anyway. The week between Christmas and New Year’s was always laborious to get through. It was like those days were intermission days. Just waiting for the New Year to start. Then the horns would blow at midnight and the new show would begin. Better ways of eating, exercising, finding ways of saying no to things that you never could before, and promising yourself at least one bubble bath a month…with candles. Two weeks after the New Year and everything went back to the way it was before Christmas break. Junk food, channel surfing with sweatpants, and saying yes behind gritted teeth. And, the bath? Just two more minutes added to a hot shower, with shower gel you found behind the toilet paper underneath the sink.
“Hi, Melinda, it’s Dr. Miller. I won’t be in today. I have a sore throat and I don’t want to spread it. By the way, is Dr. Stone in yet?”
“Yes, would you like to talk to him? I can patch you back.”
“No, no, no.” She waved her hand at the phone receiver. “Just let him know I’ll call in later to check messages. If you need me, give me a call on my cell.”
“Okay, but it’s pretty dead in here. Mrs. Morton’s the only one who’s come in. She says Dr. Stone didn’t give her the right cough medicine. Mr. Morton was up all night on the La-Z-Boy with a pillow over his ears.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “I’m sure Dr. Stone gave her the right medicine. Mrs. Morton doesn’t like taking the full dose. And it was the excuse Mr. Morton needed not to have to sleep with her.” Rachel regretted it the second it came out of her mouth. It was very unprofessional. But she was tired of Mrs. Morton coming in all the time, flip-flopping between doctors and saying the other one was trying to kill her. She needed to find an urgent care. She’d have plenty of different people there to complain to.
“Dr. Miller, do you think it’d be all right, if it doesn’t get too busy, I could take off at four? I’m supposed to take my daughter to see A Fish Tale. And the last time I took her to the movies, we had to sit up in the first row because we got there late.”
“Sure, Melinda. But ask Dr. Stone before you go. Tell him I suggested closing early if it’s not busy.”
“Thanks.”
She could hear her
relief over the phone. What difference did one hour make, anyway? The town was in intermission.
Rachel pushed open the door to the diner. The ringing of the bell didn’t bother her as much now, seeing that she had joined the ranks of civility and felt no one was judging her. Peggy turned around in her pink uniform, carrying a pot of coffee.
“Hey, honey. Have a seat and I’ll be right there.”
Rachel put the large package on the chair beside her. The place smelled like beef searing on the back griddle. The day’s special was steak and eggs. Peggy had drawn a cow and chicken on the chalkboard beside the words. The dessert was Boston cream pie. There was no picture of Boston.
The friendly waitress danced over to Rachel, refilling cups as she went along. She pulled out the empty chair beside her, and sat down, letting out a long breath.
“I see the regulars are here today.” Rachel looked around the restaurant. Mostly retired men, still wearing Christmas sweaters and escaping their homes and wives. The other half were fishermen wearing their overalls and muck boots. Tired from working on the water that morning. The fish had no idea it was the holidays and they should be convalescing somewhere beyond the nets.
“Yep. They told me they were surprised we weren’t open yesterday.” She wiped the bead of sweat on her top lip with a napkin from the silver holder. There were streaks on the table from Tommy’s bleached rag. “Can you believe it? We’ve been open for thirty-five years and never have we served customers on Christmas Day. Frank and I need at least one day to sleep in and relax.”
“I think they were just messing with you, Peggy.” She picked up the package and handed it over to her. “Here, I got you and Frank a present.”
“Lord, Rachel. It’s huge. What is it?” She pressed her hand against her chest.
“Peggy, open it.” She shoved it closer to her. “Oh and by the way, thank you for the toaster. I love it.”
“It wasn’t too much, was it? I told Frank, ‘Frank, she might not eat toast. I think we should get her a set of washcloths. Everyone needs washcloths.’”
Rachel smiled. “Well, open yours. But don’t be disappointed—it’s not washcloths.”
Peggy looked at the large box. The enormous gold-trimmed bow was wrapped twice around it. “Honey, I’m sorry, I don’t have time right this second. Frank’s got orders up, and Mr. Fenton is crabby when his fries go cold. And Billie Jean called in sick today.”
Mr. Fenton was seated at the end of the counter, wearing a hat that said, “I’m Retired, Do It Yourself.” He kept his eye on Peggy, probably waiting to see how long it would take her to pick up his plate from under the heat lamp. Before he asked for her to take the stale fries back and make him fresh.
Peggy held onto the table to stand. “But I’m sure I’m going to love whatever you got us. You want something to eat while you’re here?”
“No thank you. I had something already.”
Peggy kissed her on the top of her head. “Well, don’t be a stranger. Come on back when you can.” She turned back around halfway to the counter. “I hear you’re working again. Good for you, honey.”
Rachel waved before chiming that gold, scratched bell again. This time no one looked, and she was pretty sure some angel got its wings.
Smoke puffed from her nose as she walked to the back of the restaurant where her car was parked. She was almost to the corner of the building when a tiny woman approached her. Her graying hair was drawn back in a black barrette and her face looked tired. Like instead of reading her palm, you could tell in the wrinkles of her face that she’d had a hard life. She was probably ten years younger than she looked.
“Rachel, it’s good to see you.” She barely touched Rachel’s arm to get her attention.
“Hello.” Rachel racked her brain, trying to place her. The office, the supermarket, the therapist’s office?
“Dear, it’s me. Mary Faulkner. From Al-Anon.” She waited for something to ring a bell.
Al-Anon?
Okay, this was embarrassing. When the poor lady realized she had the wrong person, she would want to crawl in the crack and disappear. Rachel hated when she mistook recognizing someone, too. She’d had her share of those times. But wait—this woman called her by her name.
“You’ll have to forgive me; I don’t recognize you. Where did you say you were from?”
“Al-anon. It’s where we met.” She held tight to her leather bag, as if safeguarding something valuable inside it. “Gosh, I bet it’s been at least a year by now. But you’re the reason I’m still going.”
It felt like something from the twilight zone. Nothing was clicking for Rachel. “I’m still not recalling any of it. I’m so sorry.”
The lady tried a few more ways to jog Rachel’s memory, hoping one of them would click. “The night you told your story was my second night there at the meetings. It moved me to tears. The very next meeting I stood up and told my story.”
Rachel moved closer to the building, out of the middle of the sidewalk and people passing by. “You’ll have to excuse my memory. I lost part of it after the accident. I don’t recall anything you’re describing.” Al-Anon?
She shook her head back and forth. “I remember hearing about it, honey. I read you lost your husband in it. That was a tragedy for sure. But when I read you survived, I thought ‘what a miracle.’” She smiled sweetly. “And don’t worry about losing your memory. If I was given the chance to forget Bill’s drinking problem, I’d endure a car wreck, too.”
Rachel knew the woman probably wouldn’t. Everyone was eager to think hypothetically with their big pants on. Give the chance to them, and they’d change their minds.
“If you don’t mind me asking, what was my story? The one that brought you to tears?”
She turned her head toward the upper half of the old brick building they were standing beside and placed her fingers to her lips. “Let’s see. I’m sure I’ll forget something, but what stuck out the most for me was when you found your husband in a homeless shelter. He had passed out on the street and a van mistook him for a destitute person. I believe it had taken you two days to find him.”
Rachel was hearing the story for the first time, but not believing it. Why would the woman lie? God, what had Scott become? Was it a miracle she blocked it out? She couldn’t stand to hear anymore. It sounded more like her father’s story than her husband’s—her beloved Scott.
“Well, thank you, Mary. I hope you survive whatever it is that takes you to the meetings.” She squeezed the woman’s hand. It was tiny and cold. Probably like that even on hot days.
Rachel rushed to her car. Tiny puffs of air trailed out of her mouth from the frigid air. She had to get into some kind of shelter. Somewhere that no one could witness her breakdown. She scrunched down as far as she could, behind her steering wheel, looking left and right. Empty parked cars surrounded her. She began to cry. The man she loved and married was being made into a monster. Driving her drunk and wrecking. Who had he become and why? Rachel now wanted to find out why.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Seeking Answers
Rachel arrived at Scott’s law firm. It was one of the few modern buildings in the uptown district, twenty minutes from the diner. It was located close to the courthouse for convenience. Being the most prestigious one around, Scott was elated to get the job. Rachel remembered he called her at the hospital to give her the good news.
“Baby, I got it. I got the job! You are now married to an associate of Bailey, Tyler, and Fitz. And one day, add Miller to the name.”
Rachel was so proud of him. She went in on a Saturday with him to decorate his office. Administration looked down on personal pictures and wall calendars, so they picked a bust of Thomas Jefferson for the corner of his desk and a painting of sailboats for the wall. Things couldn’t have been better.
“Yes, ma’am, how may I help you?”
Rachel stared at the girl behind the desk. She must have been new. Well, since about eighteen months, new. Her yell
ow bob flipped up at her cheeks and almost got swallowed a couple times when the girl spoke.
“I’m here to see…is Blanche Tyler in? I’m Rachel Miller.”
Blanche was the woman responsible for the Tyler part of the firm. She was a small-framed woman, in her sixties, and never left her house wearing her hair down, out of that tight bun that stuck out like a tumor on her head. She was also the one who threw Scott his welcome party. It was at her house on the river. Rachel couldn’t keep her eyes off the sheer size of it as they spent their afternoon schmoozing with the other attorneys and staff.
Ms. Tyler even had lawn statues. There was one in particular that Rachel liked. It was a mermaid sitting on a rock, resting her hands on her long hair, as if she was using them to comb it. She stood in front of it for a long time, looking at the details in the girl’s eyes. Imagining the peace that the sculptor felt when doing her half-lidded eyes.
“Rachel, it’s so good to see you.” Blanche held out her hands, taking Rachel’s in her own and squeezing them.
“Ms. Tyler, it’s good to see you, too.”
“Come in to my office. Won’t you?”
Rachel walked by Scott’s office on the way there. The sailboat was replaced with men on horses, and hounds at their feet. Thomas Jefferson had long since been gone, too. The name on the door read Callie Bishop, Esq.
“Have a seat.” Ms. Tyler offered her the maroon chair on the other side of her desk. “I hope you’ve been well. I understand that you’re back at your practice. My daughter takes her son there.”
“Yes, it’s good to be back, thank you. The reason why I’ve come is to ask if Scott’s things are still here. I don’t remember receiving anything at home. Maybe his personal effects were kept?” She was hoping Ms. Tyler would interject with an answer, to stop Rachel’s futile digging.
The Secret He Keeps Page 20
