by Kim Pritekel
"Yeah. Kind of random, huh? I had their taste in my mouth the other day, and couldn't shake it. The meat," Rachel's eyes slid shut in imagined pleasure, "would be a nice, juicy patty, loaded with the works- lettuce, tomato, onions, pickles, globs of ketchup and mayonnaise." She smacked her lips to the amusement of her companion.
"You're not a nice person, Rachel," Denny chuckled. "You know what I miss most?"
"What?"
"Applesauce."
The blonde was incredulous. "Applesauce?! Of all the wonderful things out there to eat, you miss applesauce?"
Denny nodded, grinning. "With cinnamon, mm, mm, mmmm. I eat it with everything. Steak, gotta have my applesauce. Cereal, gotta have my applesauce."
"You'd make a great character in one of my books," Rachel laughed. "Nice and quirky."
"Thanks. I think."
* * *
"How does..." Michael, with brows drawn, turned the thing this way and that, raising it above his head to look under it, seeing the flat, wide bottom. Bringing it down once more, he turned it over, pinky raised as he tried to touch it with just his fingertips. Grabbing hold of the base with the other hand, he wiggled it, amused at it bounced all over the place, the density heavy even though it was awfully flexible. He couldn't help but glance down at his own denim-clad crotch, comparisons on the brain.
"Want lessons on how to use that?" Pam laughed out loud as the big Texan yelped, nearly throwing the dildo over his shoulder in his haste to hide it.
"Well, I was just curious, wonderin'... Ah hell." He slammed it down on the ground, next to the fire ring and cooking area. They had been using it when cleaning fix, beating the poor, dead sea creature with it to get as many scales off as possible, as well as pummeling leaves and berries to a pulp.
"Great night, isn't it?" the veterinarian asked, letting the poor guy off the hook. As a doctor, she knew that color of red wasn't healthy for anyone.
"Yeah. Real nice. Gonna cool down good, though," he said absently, staring up into the night sky, the roar of the ocean close. "When we was kids, we used to go swimmin' all the time down home, in the Gulf."
"So you grew up in Texas?" Pam asked, making herself comfortable on the sand, leaning back on her elbows.
"Yes, ma'am." Michael grinned big at the thought of his beloved state.
"I was down in Austin once, and I have to say, I've never seen state pride like Texans. I even saw a bag of chips shaped like the damn state!"
Michael chuckled, whistling between his teeth. "Don't I know it. You're either born in Texas, or you're born somewheres else."
Ram chuckled, shaking her head. "Pretty damn sad."
"Oh come on, now. I hear you Yankees are the same way about your New York." Michael glanced at the older woman, a slight grin on his grizzled face. He couldn't help but think of the irony that Melissa always liked a man with facial hair. Why hadn't he just grown a beard for her?
"This is true," Pam nodded in conceit. They sat in companionable silence, Michael staring at the ocean, thinking of his wife, while Pam stared up into the night sky, thinking about another woman. "I wonder what my daughter is doing right now," she said absently, her voice unusually soft for the usually loud, brash New Yorker. "I sure as hell hope she's okay."
"How old is she?"
"Grown. Has her own place, her own life."
Michael nodded in understanding. "My oldest boy, Alan, will be twenty-two this year. Can't believe it."
"Goes fast."
"It sure does." Michael sighed heavily, swallowing his emotion. "Can't believe my kids think they lost both their mom and dad."
Pam could feel the profound sadness rolling of the Texan in waves. She reached over, covering his large hand with her own, giving him an understanding smile. "You'll get back to them, Michael. You have to believe that."
"I'm trying."
PART 6
MATT FELT HIS stomach lurch as the plane hit yet more turbulence, eyes closing as he white knuckled the armrest of his seat. It was the second time he'd flown to New York since Rachel's death, and now he hated to fly. The weather in Portland had started to turn bad as the plane was taxiing out, making them stop to de-ice the wings. Again. All the detective could do was swallow and try and keep his breakfast down.
New York. He snorted. It made him think of Reenie, which made him think of the betrayal he felt, though somewhere inside he knew he should be angry and hurt with Rachel, but just couldn't. She was gone, and he couldn't help but feel anything more than grief and guilt over that. The editor had flown into Oregon nearly three months ago, where they'd driven together to Eugene to see Rachel's lawyer.
Did she really hate me that much? And that was before I started seeing Diane. Matt stared out the window, watching the white nothingness of clouds. After the blonde's sister had died, it had scared her so badly that she had made a living will, and everything had been left to Reenie and her other sisters, other than the house, which Rachel had bought outright two years ago. When they'd visited Rachel's publisher a few months before that, the publisher signed royalties over to the detective. Rachel hadn't made future arrangements for those.
The detective was so much hurt that Rachel's money, name and assets had been willed to others, he didn't want her money. He did want to understand, and he wanted his wife back. He wanted to be able to talk with her, try and understand her, and prayed that she would let him in, let him understand her mind. The only thing he could figure from her actions was that the author didn't picture them still together when she died, who knows how many years down the road.. Life can sure be ironic.
Matt Frazier started as the captain's voice as he let the passengers know they were getting ready to land. Thank god. Matt closed his eyes again as his stomach reacted to the slight change in pressure as the plane banked toward the right.
A month ago, the detective had gotten a call from a man named Stanley Wells, who was in charge of a mass memorial for all who had perished on flight 1049. Matt hadn't wanted to go, unsure if he could emotionally handle it. But, alas, Reenie had talked him into it, telling him that maybe he would feel better if he could talk to some of the other family members of those who died with Rachel. Reluctantly, he'd agreed.
"Hi, Matt." Reenie took the disheveled man into her quick, but firm embrace, offering to help carry the large carry-on he'd brought with him. She glanced over at him a few times, listening to the clipped responses he gave her when she asked about his trip.
She knew Matt was angry with her, but had no way to stop that. She understood his hurt, and had spent the past weeks trying to figure out just why Rachel had done that she did. She knew the author could be headstrong, but this turn of events was completely unlike her. As far as the editor know, at the time of Daisy's death, nearly two years ago now, Rachel was still committed to her marriage and trying to make it work, though there were problems. In truth, hearing the amount of money she was to receive once the paperwork was settled, she felt sick; she had no desire to have Rachel's money, and decided to make other plans for it.
"So are you ready for this?" she asked, slamming the trunk of her car closed, after Matt tossed his bag inside. She glanced at him over the top of the car before they both climbed inside.
"I suppose." Matt sighed, running a hand through his hair, making it even messier than it had been before. Reenie was surprised by his appearance. Usually Matt Frazier, a good looking guy, was well groomed and well kempt, clothes neat and clean, face shaved and body showered.
"What's happened to you, Matt?" she finally asked as she stopped at a red traffic light, dark eyes traveling over his stained, wrinkled shirt. His tormented tired hazel eyes to meet her gaze, fingers absently pushing a random dark strand of sweaty hair out of them.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, nearly barking the words out.
"It means you look like shit," Reenie said, once again getting the car moving.
"Thank you. I needed that." The detective looked out the window, mildly amused as he watch
ed people walking along the sidewalk, trying to fight the fierce autumn wind and cold, jackets bundled tightly around them. Halloween was a week away, and traditionally that's when the bad weather really set in.
"Well Jesus, Christ, Matt! You look like you slept in your clothes for three days, and haven't taken a shower in as long." She eyed him again. "What the hell? Why are you letting yourself go? It's not doing Rachel any-"
"Don't you dare fucking talk to me about Rachel, or what she wants, wanted, thought, liked or didn't like. You don't fucking know!"
Reenie started, shocked at the cop's outburst. She'd never heard him raise his voice before, and his booming voice filling the confines of the car startled the editor. She could feel his pain, hear it in his voice. She was struck dumb for the rest of the drive to her place, where she parked in the underground garage, and led the way to her door.
Matt stepped inside, unable to feel remorse for his outburst. He had been stewing over the slap in the face for months, unable to vent to the woman he most wanted to.
"Look, Matt," Reenie said, laying her coat over the arm of a chair, "if this is about the money-"
"I don't give a flying fuck about the money, Reenie!" He threw his bag to the floor, turning on the brunette. "She didn't believe in me, in us, enough to think we'd be together when she died. So if you think this is about money-"
"Believe in you? Believe in you?!" Reenie fired, feeling her own pent up feelings rising to the surface. "Was she supposed to believe in you while you were out fucking another woman? Is that the trust and faith you're talking about?"
The detective's guilt boiled over into irrepressible anger. "What the hell do you know about that?" he roared, taking a menacing step over to the editor. "You don't know anything! Maybe if Rachel hadn't been so goddamn cold and distanced herself-"
"Maybe she has her reasons to be cold toward you, ever think of that? Maybe if you had more understanding and tried to get to the bottom of it. Maybe if you had taken the time-"
"Stop it! Both of you!"
Reenie and Matt froze, turning toward the roar behind them. Beth stood in the doorway of the guest bedroom, blue eyes flashing between the two. Seeing she had both their attention, the actress stepped further into the room, her gaze hard and accusing.
"Do you think this is going to bring her back? Is this going to change what's happened? No! You both need to deal with the fact that Rachel is gone, and nothing she did while alive matters, not the money, the will, fights, none of it," she sliced the air with her hand for emphasis. Softening her face and voice, she walked over to Matt. "Look, I don't really know you all that well," she placed a gentle hand on his arm, seeing the anger visibly start to leave his body. "You will never know why Rachel did what she did, what was behind her decisions, but ultimately they were her decisions. I know it hurts you, and you are entitled to that hurt, but attacking Reenie on things past isn't the way to go about it."
"But-"
"Shh." Beth placed a finger just an inch away from his lips, then turned to the editor. "What are you doing, Reenie? Your anger at Matt for whatever reason won't help you feel any better." She looked from one to the other. "You guys are placing your anger at fate on each other, and it's not right and it's not fair. Neither of you deserve this." She looked from hazel to dark brown, finally Matt looked away, mumbling something about taking a shower.
Reenie sat hard on the couch, running a hand over short, dark hair. "That went well," she muttered, glancing toward the hall Matt had disappeared down. Beth sat next to her, still a bit shaky from her outburst. She hated being angry, having dealt with anger far too much in her younger years. Back in those days, the theater had been the only thing to tame her, and… well, she wasn't going to go there. The past didn't matter anymore, nor the people who filled it.
"You guys have got to stop fighting and blaming each other, Reenie. It only makes things worse," she said at length, the other woman nodding dumbly.
"I know. I just can't help it. I'm so goddamn angry with her, you know?" She met achingly blue eyes. "Why does it still hurt so bad?"
"Because life is marching on, the year is moving by quickly, almost into the holiday season. After Halloween, Thanksgiving then Christmas." Beth looked down at her fidgeting hands for a moment, then met Reenie's searching gaze again. "I remember when my dad left the family. Granted, he didn't die, but it sure felt like a death to a twelve year old. It was summer time, and I felt so lost and alone, left with just my mother, who I couldn't stand. I felt so abandoned, and can't even tell you the anger I felt. Still do, I guess." She smiled, though it was thin and sad.
"How long has it been? Do you see him much now?"
"He walked out of my life fourteen years ago, and no, I don't see him all that much. He has a new family, with kids who are teenagers. I see him maybe once a year."
"And your mom?"
Beth shook her head. "No. She's still back in Colorado, no doubt drinking herself to death."
"At least you can see him still, Beth. Even if it is once a year."
"But you have the luxury of knowing that Rachel didn't leave you on purpose, Reen. I'm not comparing apples and oranges here, cause your pain and Matt's pain is as real to you two as mine is to me. Know that your friend loved you, and would still be here if she could, eager to talk to you every day, or whatever. And as for Matt," the actress glanced over her shoulder toward the bathroom, making sure he wasn't making an appearance. "He's letting his guilt over cheating eat him alive. I think he feels he pushed her toward getting on that plane, and therefore by proxy, it's somehow his fault."
"It is-"
"Rachel was a grown woman, Reenie. She boarded that plane of her own free will."
The editor sighed, knowing full well Beth was right, but was having a hard time admitting it to her heart. She needed something, someone to blame for Rachel's death, and Matt was the perfect target. She sighed heavily.
* * *
"Pull! Come on, damnit, pull!" Pam yelled with a grunt, eyes squeezing shut as she dug her heels in, hands burning with the exertion.
"Almost there, ack!" Michael growled, putting his shoulder and arm muscles into it, feeing the strain under the sweat and sun-drench skin. He could feel Dean behind him, the attorney's hand vying for a better position, which nearly made him lose the leverage he'd already gained.
Denny locked her jaw in deep concentration, brows narrowed, ignoring the tearing of the skin on her middle finger from the rough vine. She nearly went ass over appetite as the boys gave a mighty yank. She tried not to cry out as the action put even more strain on her right shoulder, which still ached when it got cold.
"No, no! Come on, girls!" Pam howled, nearly screaming in her angst.
"Come on, ladies!" Mia clapped wildly from the sidelines, watching Michael and Dean strain against the trio of Denny, Rachel and Pam. "You're almost there! Almost got it!"
Pam felt relieved as she felt some give, glancing across the large, dug out chasm filled with water to meet Michael's gaze, both sets of eyes filled with a fire to win. The Texan gritted his teeth, head rearing back as he put everything he had into it, every muscle in his body flexed with the strain.
Rachel almost wanted to giggle at the absurdity of what they were doing- five grown adults, tugging and pulling on a rope made of thick vine, trying to yank the other team into the pit of water they'd created. Her thoughts flew from her head as she felt some serious give, and could feel their teams anchor, Denny, behind her, hearing her grunt. Elation filled the blonde as she felt the need to actually walk backward or get trampled by Pam, as they pulled the boys over onto their side, Michael falling into the water, a domino effect getting them all.
Denny yelled out as she fell over backwards, Rachel falling on top of her, followed by Pam. "Oomph!" she exclaimed, feeling the softness of the blonde's body. She could hear Rachel laughing hysterically, and couldn't help but follow suit, as much as she could, barely able to breathe, let alone laugh.
Rachel felt arms enc
ircle her waist, and the softness of Denny beneath her. Pam crawled off the author, then Rachel tried to crawl off Denny, but was laughing too hard. She fell down again, hearing the brunette's grunt beneath her. Finally able to get herself turned around, she looked down into twinkling blue eyes, which stood out even more from the red flush of Denny's cheeks.
Denny felt her heart begin to flutter, stomach clench at the feel of the warm body, Rachel's breasts barely grazing against her own before the author pulled herself to her knees, then Pam helped her to her feet. The brunette lay stunned, body suffused with heat and sudden need, which instantly brought images of Hannah to her mind, feeling guilty for something she hadn't done. Finally she took the hand that Rachel extended down to her, allowing herself to be pulled to her own feet, though she was unsteady.
"You okay, there?" Rachel chuckled, a hand on the brunette's waist to steady her. At Denny's nod, she gave her a quick squeeze with her hand, then headed off to celebrate with the other two girls, and throwing barbs at the losers.
Denny stood there, gripped in a strange feeling for a moment, trying to shake it off. Granted, she had been without Hannah's touch for, she mentally thought about her markings on the tree that she started the day she woke up on the island, nearly one hundred and twenty three days. Four months without a woman's touch, no, without Hannah's touch. She ran shaking hands through her hair, then joined the revelers.
"… easy when it's three against one!" Dean was saying, though he was grinning from ear to ear, despite the fact he still had sand plastered to the side of his sweat-slicked face.
"Oh, quit your whining," Pam laughed, slapping him on the shoulder. "You guys lost fair and square."
Michael grumbled, but nodded in defeat.
"So, what do we get for dinner?" Rachel asked, eyes bright with victory. When Michael and Dean began to grumble, the blonde cut them off. "Hey, hey, hey! That was the deal, boys. Whoever won had to catch dinner." She pointed to the inflated slide they used as a raft to go into deeper waters to fish. "Out!"
