by Kim Pritekel
"Wow, what a crazy dream, huh?" he said, pulling away just enough to look into the beautiful green eyes that had first snagged his attention. Well, that is after he'd stared at her ass for ten minutes.
"Yeah. You can say that again." Rachel smiled, her nerves easing somewhat at the familiarity of Matt, the same face, same color of hair, though it was shorter and neatly styled. She also noted the clean-shaven face, and neatly trimmed sideburns. "You look really good."
"You, too. I can't get over how long your hair is. I've never seen it like this before."
"I don't have the heart to cut it," she said shyly. The detective smiled, then led her inside. "I'm sorry it's messy. I've been working a lot of overtime since coming back from my vacation." Matt grimaced, wanting to take the words back as soon as they were out of his mouth. He didn't want to have to answer questions he, himself didn't quite have the answers to. To her credit, Rachel didn't ask for specifics.
Rachel looked around the house she had shared with the man standing expectantly next to her. It looked the same, not much changing. Messier, but that was about it.
"How are you?" Matt's voice startled her. She turned, nodding nonchalantly.
"Good."
He wasn't buying it. "I mean, how are you really?"
Rachel couldn't avoid the direct, detective-interrogating-look she was receiving, and chuckled at herself, knowing better than to try. With a sigh, she ran a hand down the length of her ponytail. "I'm coping. That's about the best I can say right now."
Matt understood. From all the disastrous situations he'd seen over the ears, he wouldn't be one bit surprised if post-traumatic stress syndrome followed at some point. "Let's sit down."
"Alright." Rachel did, Matt sitting next to her. "Listen, Matt, um," she looked down at her fumbling hands in her lap, her left hand decidedly bare. The ring hadn't survived the crash. Matt's gaze were drawn to the movement, also noting the missing jewelry. "I think we need to talk. About us." Finally garnering the courage to meet his gaze, Rachel was surprised to see relief there.
"I agree. But can I please say something?"
"Sure."
Matt rubbed his sweating palms over the thighs of his jeans, swallowing hard, not wanting to bring up such a painful day. "About what happened, before you left. I'm so sorry, Rachel. I don't know what I was thinking, I never meant to hurt-"
"Yes you did." She held up a hand to forestall an argument. "It's okay, Matt. We were pretty miserable, and I've had a lot of time to think about my part in that. It was wrong, yes, but it's forgiven. You did me a favor, really."
"A favor?" His relief was momentarily washed away by the sting of pride at what he sensed was coming.
"Yes, a favor. Look at you." She placed a hand on the side of his face, smelling the shaving cologne on his skin. "You look so good, better than I've seen you look in years. You're obviously happy, have made a life for yourself- without me." Again, Matt's mouth opened to protest. This time Rachel placed two fingers over his lips. "It's okay," she said softly. "On that island, I came to realize that it wasn't working, and it was time to more on. For both of us. I think you've done that."
After a moment of looking down at his fingers play with the silver band of his wristwatch, Matt nodded. "Yeah. I have. But I want you to know, thinking you were dead, it hurt like hell, Rachel. Especially knowing that you were on that flight because of my own stupidity."
Rachel couldn't argue with that fact, so didn't try. "I still care about you, Matt. Very much. I want to see your happiness, and the best way I know how is by giving you your complete freedom- no guilt, no worries, no hurt feelings."
"You're asking for a divorce?" he asked, voice somewhat thick as his throat constricted. Matt was surprised by his reaction to the news, though knew deep inside it was the only answer, and was in awe of Rachel's strength and grace in granting it to him. Still, he loved her, and once had so many hopes for them.
"Under the circumstances, I think it's the only way. That is, if the state still even sees us as married. I'm not sure how that works, considering they think you're a widower."
Matt nodding, weakly returning the small smile from the blonde. "You're sure about this?"
Rachel looked at him, surprised by the pain in his eyes. Taking his hand, she held it between both of hers, surprising him. He couldn't remember the last time the blonde had initiated any sort of physical touch with him, even in the most innocent of contexts. "Don't you, Matt?"
The detective sighed, then slowly nodded. "Yeah. It's been on my mind since I found out you were alive, to be honest. I guess thinking about it and talking about are two very different things."
"They are," Rachel agreed. She caressed the back of his and with her thumb. "I think it's for the best."
"Is this," he cleared his throat and tried again, "Is this because of-"
"No." Rachel shook her head. "It certainly wasn't fun, what happened with that woman, but no. It would have happened anyway, I think."
Matt blew out a breath, nodding. "I think you're right." He looked at her, almost like he was memorizing her face, wondering how they'd gotten from that first, electrified glance to sitting on the couch, Rachel basically back from the dead, talking about divorce. "Well, uh, I can be outta here-"
"No." Rachel shook her head. "This is your home, Matt. Besides, I honestly have no idea where I'm going to land right now. I'm still just," she shrugged, looking around the living room, unsure exactly what she was trying to say. "trying to figure things out." It was lame, but the best she could come up with. She still wasn't entirely sure what she meant. Matt didn't fully understand, but from the look on the blonde's face, knew she didn't either.
"If you need to talk, Rach, I'm here. Okay?"
"Thank you. I appreciate that."
* * *
"Now, I sure hope you didn't get sea sick on that float this mornin'," Jake Bradshaw's chuckle echoing over the crowd from the giant speakers. He grinned at the guest of honor, Michael looking decidedly shy and uncomfortable standing on the small stage next to the mayor. Jake looked at him expectantly, wanting him to play along with the little joke.
"Uh, no, I'm fine."
The mayor smiled at the gathered crowd, an amazingly large percentage of the population of well over one hundred thousand, turning up to celebrate their local hero.
"The town of Beaumont would like to give you this, Michael, the key to our city." He handed the mechanic a plaque with a giant brass key affixed, as well as his name engraved into a plate beneath it. Michael took it, holding it and a smile along with the mayor, while hundreds of flashbulbs went off. The crowd cheered as he took it from Jake Bradshaw, looking at it in wonderment.
"I really gotta say, I'm shocked. Didn't think I'd done nothin' big enough for y'all to wanna give me somethin' like this," he said, running a hand over the sooth, cool surface of the key. "Can't say I've ever seen a lock big enough for the key, here, neither." This earned him a round of laughter. "Thank y'all. I'm touched. I can't accept this without this belongin' to my wife, Melissa, too. I'd like to ask for a moment of silence for her right quick."
"Everyone, if we could have a moment of silence," the mayor said, his voice low and dramatic. The music from the high school band stopped, everyone falling to absolute quiet.
Melissa, baby, wherever you are, I love you.
After a moment, the mayor raised his hands, indicating festivities should continue.
The parade had been a huge hit, local businesses donating their time and creative efforts to make fun floats, as well as one for Michael and his family to ride on, as they made their slow way through the center of town. Even Walter and Meredith had gotten into the fun, waving and throwing candy from the large bags given to them before the parade had started on its way, pouring into the Burleson County Fairgrounds, where a carnival had been set up over night. Music, food to rot your teeth, and fun awaited the crowd as Michael and Mayor Bradshaw made their way off the stage, engulfed by a sea of well-wishers.
Jennifer stood back, at a loss for words, so proud of her father, yet so deeply sad that her mother couldn't be included in the celebration. Her dad had been home for almost two weeks, and she couldn't allow him out of her sight, a desperate need for him overtaking her. Sometimes she felt like a child, clingy and unsure. Luckily, her father seemed to have the same needs of his kids, always keeping her and Alan close. He had tried with Conrad, but he was still being obstinate and difficult. However, the other night she had caught him laughing at some of the stories their dad was telling the family over dinner, of his time on the island, and some of the Island Six. That guy, Dean, sounded like a hoot. She'd like to meet him someday, even though it sounded like he and her father couldn't be more polar opposites if they tried!
The games, rides and food was free for the Dupree-Adams family, everyone enjoying themselves, and allowing all the stresses and tension of the past year go. It had been a hard time, adjusting without Michael and Melissa, and then adjusting to a huge change yet again, when he resurfaced. It was a good day.
* * *
The garage was filled with old lumber from the shed that was built four years ago. The musty smell of dust-covered wood and grease filled Denny's nose. She picked her way past the spot where Hannah parked her car, to the back where she was told the boxes were stacked. Sure enough, under an old quilt, she found what was left of her life. Brushing a few spider webs out of the way, the brunette pulled the box cutter from her back pocket. Taking the first box she came to, she carefully slit the tape along the sides and top, pulling the flaps back. Underneath layers of wadded newspaper, she found a framed picture of the two of them during their trip to Kauai. Denny held it in her hands, looking closely at her own face, studying her eyes and the bright smile on her lips. Where had that light gone? The passion she'd felt for life at that time, where did it go? She had been so content and satisfied with her personal and professional life. Now, sitting in the dark, dank garage, she had never felt so lost or disheartened.
Turning her gaze to Hannah, she saw the love shining in her dark eyes, the happiness radiating off her. S he remembered the day that photo had been taken, the amazing time they'd had together, the way they laughed and truly enjoyed the other's company. What had changed? Why did Hannah feel like such a stranger now? Even her eyes were different. Yes, she was kind, understanding, and was being so very gentle with Denny through the brunette's return home, and readjustment. Yet, something was definitely off. True, it hadn't been very long, and it was an adjustment for both of them, not just Denny. Maybe she just needed to give it more time. Maybe it would all be okay in time.
Then why did Denny keep thinking about Rachel? She tried to keep the blonde out of her thoughts, knowing that what they had shared on the island was simply a product of their circumstances. They had each temporarily filled the void that had been left by the loss of their families and homes, all that was familiar and comforting. That was all, nothing more. If they met today, in the 'real' world, what they felt would soon dissolve into precious memories. So then why did Denny's heart ache so badly? And why was the void the blonde had filled on the island, still there once Denny had returned to her family and home?
Denny fell into the quilt, leaning against the boxes, a hand over her mouth. She stared out the raised garage door into the afternoon, not seeing the woman walking by with the Dalmatian on a leash, nor the souped up Accura that roared by.
She felt tears pepper her cheeks, tasting their saltiness as they slid down over the corner of her mouth.
PART 16
THE STREET WAS quiet, the lunch rush not yet started. Denny knew the time of day well. It was when she and her crew were finally able to relax and breathe after the morning rush, as well as start new brewing rounds, and restock the pastry cases. Denny would often disappear into her office to get the ordering done, or paperwork.
Standing on the corner of Marsh and Clifton, Denny shoved her hands deep into the back pockets of her jeans and stared up at the corner building, its carved stone face and two big windows, where DiRisio's had been prominently displayed. Now that space was filled with the name of the current shop, some sort of bakery.
Denny's face slowly crumbled, her hands coming up to catch her head as it fell, tears streaming through her fingers.
* * *
Can you believe Halloween stuff is already out?
Pam chuckled, nodding, then signing her response: Must milk the general public for every penny as quickly as possible. One week before Halloween we'll be seeing Christmas trees.
Tracy grinned, picking up a heavy piece of orange foam, which looked startlingly realistic with its Jack-O lantern face carved into the ‘pumpkin'.
Very cute. Luke would love this, Tracy said, turning the prop over to look at the price tag. Pam tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention.
Wouldn't he enjoy carving a real one better? Her daughter studied her for a long moment, eyes twinkling with amused astonishment. What? I think it would be fun. Pam's grin was contagious as Tracy's face nearly split wide open. She quickly put the foam pumpkin down, heading away from the display with purpose. Pam wanted to pump her fist in the air in victory. The past month had its rough spots, Pam not sure what her place was in her daughter's house or her life. The younger woman had invited her mother to stay with them for as long as she liked, but it was an uneasy truce. Pam tried to keep her tongue in check, and not butt in on Tracy's parenting duties, which was tough sometimes. She was getting to know her grandson, and loved him dearly, but was beginning to realize he could be quite the pistol. She had to smirk as she realized he took after his grandma.
What are you grinning at?
Pam shook her head. "Nothing.
Tracy was quiet for awhile as they strolled down the aisles of the large discount store. She had been pleasantly surprised at how well things had gone since her mother had returned. In all honesty, inviting her to stay had largely been out of obligation. It had been a few weeks now, and though they'd had a couple brief arguments, she could tell that Pam was really trying, and she appreciated it greatly. And, to her shock, was enjoying the time with her mother. It was beginning to help rebuild some of the bridges that had been torched over the years.
Tracy thought about the way her son was responding to the new woman in his life. That alone was a large part of her change of heart toward the woman who had given birth to her almost twenty-eight years ago, and who she had thought of as a cold, heartless person for a long time. Something had happened to Dr. Pam Sloan on that island; it was evident in everything she did, and even in her eyes. They were softer, kinder, and filled with an interest and wonder that wasn't there before.
Pam was looking over their shopping list, so was unaware of the scrutiny she was being put under. The hand on her arm got her attention. She wanted to cry as she heard what her daughter had to say: I'm so glad you're here, Mom.
* * *
"So how has it been? Wonderful, no doubt. I just can't believe she's actually alive."
Hannah heard Jill's words, though took a sip from her drink so she wouldn't have to respond. Jill Burbank was a long-time friend of hers and Denny, the tall blonde eyeing Denny as she spoke softly with Jill's husband, Rod.
"How has catching up been? Has she told you what happened on that island?"
The researcher shook her head. "No. Not really. She's told me some, but," she shrugged. "nothing major. It's been- an adjustment."
Jill could hear something in Hannah's voice. She wasn't sure what exactly that ‘something' was, but it wasn't good. "Is everything okay?"
Hannah sighed, shaking her head as she, too watched Denny and Rod, in a heated discussion about something. Turning sad eyes to her tall friend, Hannah sighed again. "No."
Jill was shocked, as Denny and Hannah had always been the golden couple of their small circle of friends, the couple that everyone wanted to be like. After eight years, the woman were still so much in love, it had truly been an inspiration in Jill's own marriage. Setting
her coffee down, Jill took Hannah by the hand and led her toward the door.
"Come on, come outside with me while I have a cigarette."
Hannah nodded, settling herself beside her friend on the front stoop. The researcher looked up into the night sky, seeing a few twinkling stars.
"The weather is going to be changing soon," Jill said conversationally as she pulled a smoke out from the pack kept in her purse. Her companion remained silent, but nodded. Lighting the tip of the cigarette, Jill took a drag, then blew out her next question with the smoke. "Talk to me. What's happening?"
"I don't know. It's like something broke inside somewhere. Denny," she glanced behind her to make sure her partner wasn't anywhere near the door. She lowered her voice. "It's like she's not all here sometimes, like she is so distracted, or her mind is a million miles away. Then some days she's like her old self. Those days we can talk, even laugh. You know, at first I figured she just needed to try and readjust to life again," she chuckled ruefully. "Hell, at one point I even wondered if she'd gotten a head injury or something."
"Oh, nice," Jill chuckled, taking another drag.
"Well, that's how different she is. Like I said, at first I was okay with it. Confused, maybe, but alright for the most part, as I figured it would take some getting used to. But now-" she shrugged. "It's been a month, and I still feel like I'm living with a stranger. We haven't made love at all, and it's almost like I'm afraid to touch her in any way, like she'll break or something."
"You guys haven't been intimate?" Hannah shook her head. "At all?" Again, the researcher shook her head, pulling her knees up and hugging them to her chest. "Wow." Jill looked back out into the night, the cigarette dangling from her fingers. "Do you think this has to do with DiRisio's? I mean, you said she didn't take it well, right?"
