Only someone with no conscience at all—those last words echoed in Rachel’s mind. She cast her eyes down to the floor. It’s a completely different situation. She doesn’t love her husband anymore … Does that make me better or worse? Stop it. Don’t do this again. Let. It. Go.
“Do you know what I mean?” Lisa asked, holding up an open hand, gesturing to Rachel for a response.
“I suppose so. I was just wondering if it was worth hurting Henry over this. I mean, if you need to leave him because you don’t love him anymore, that’s one thing. But why tell him about the affair if this guy isn’t serious about ending his marriage? Would you still want to end your marriage if you weren’t involved with Keith?”
Rachel suddenly stopped and thought about what she had just said. Was her own behavior clouding her judgment?
Lisa shook her head. “I don’t know.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “But the one thing I do know is I can’t hide this from him anymore. We’ve been together fifteen years. He deserves the truth.”
“Well—” Rachel began, but stopped short when she heard her phone vibrate on her desk. “I’m sorry, I usually have my cell turned off, but let me just make sure it’s not my son’s school calling.” She reached to grab her phone. The screen read “unlisted.”
“You were saying,” she said, setting the phone back on top of her desk.
“Do you think he’ll leave his wife?” Lisa asked. Her eyes looked intense, hopeful. “I mean, have you seen situations like this where the man does leave his wife?”
“In situations like this … no,” Rachel said truthfully. “I tend to think he should resolve his feelings for his wife first, before the two of you continue with your relationship. It’s probably a good idea for you, too. Have you thought about transferring to another division?”
“Our company isn’t that big. I couldn’t avoid him even if I tried,” Lisa said, sounding frustrated.
“How about a vacation? Maybe spend some time away for a while, with your husband or even alone, to help sort out your feelings. I think it would be wise to put some space between the two of you right now.”
“I don’t know,” Lisa said as she slouched back into her chair.
Rachel’s phone vibrated again. She could see from where she was sitting it was the unlisted number again. That’s weird, she thought. She ignored it and went on with Lisa’s session.
As the session ended, Lisa agreed to take some time off, alone. When Lisa had gone, Rachel checked her phone for a message. There was none, but before she could set the phone down, it vibrated again. This time, she answered. A familiar voice was on the other line.
“Rachel, it’s Sara, Sara Dishner. Something really bad happened. I have to talk to you. I have to see you right away.”
Rachel could hear the desperation in Sara’s voice. She looked at her appointment book. “Sara, I have someone coming in at eleven-thirty, but I have a break at twelve-thirty. Can you meet me for lunch?”
“Well, uh, I, I don’t know.” She sounded confused and like she was about to cry.
Rachel consulted her book again and realized that her eleven-thirty appointment was with Frank Moran. She had been seeing Frank on and off for the last three years. He was a middle-aged recluse who suffered from mild depression and paranoia. He was notoriously unreliable and would often show up to his appointments late or sometimes not at all. Rachel thought about how odd it was for Sara to be calling her like this. Their sessions had ended in August and had been fairly uneventful the last few times they met. Sara had been planning to return to school in the fall. She had been content living with her grandmother, and her relationship with her parents was slowly improving. Although Sara had Rachel’s personal phone number, she had never used it before today. Rachel thought for a moment, and then said, “I’ll tell you what, go ahead and come over now. I’ll call my next appointment and cancel.”
“I’m on my way,” Sara said and then abruptly hung up the phone.
* * *
Sara arrived at the office fifteen minutes later. When Rachel answered the door, she was struck by how different Sara looked. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and her face appeared washed out. Her long, thick hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. She was wearing an oversized, gray hoodie and worn-out jeans. Her sneakers were untied. Her eyes were puffy and red; she had been crying. But the most striking difference in Sara’s appearance was how much older she looked. It was as if she had aged ten years since Rachel saw her, just a few short months ago.
“Oh my goodness, Sara, what happened?”
Sara sat down on Rachel’s small couch by the window. She had her smart phone in one hand and kept looking at it as if she were expecting a call.
“Can I get you some water?” Rachel asked.
“No. Thank you.” Sara wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve.
Rachel grabbed a tissue from her desk and handed it to her. “What’s going on?”
Sara sniffed. “James won’t call me back. He doesn’t go home. I can’t find him. It’s like he’s just disappeared into thin air.” She sniffled again and then blew her nose into the tissue.
“Isn’t this just like what happened that day we went to the grocery store? You were so worried and then he texted you, and all of a sudden you were right back on cloud nine?” Rachel leaned back, relieved that Sara’s situation wasn’t more dire.
“This is different.”
“Sara, you can’t let this guy get you so worked up. Don’t you think you deserve some balance?”
“This is different,” Sara repeated sternly.
“How?”
Sara face twisted up as if she had just experienced some internal pain.
“How is this different?” Rachel asked.
“I … I … He made me … I had …” She looked at Rachel with watery eyes. “I had an abortion.” Tears barreled down her face.
“Oh my God.” Rachel got up and went to sit next to her. She wrapped her arm around her. She remembered Sara was still a minor. “But how? Do your parents know?”
“Yeah right.” Sara managed to bark out a short laugh. She tossed her head back. “They would kill me.”
“Then how? You would have had to have their consent before you could …”
“They don’t know.” Sara’s face went cold as she continued. “James had a friend. He told me it wouldn’t hurt. He told me I wouldn’t even remember it.”
“Oh no, Sara. No. Have you been to a doctor?” But Rachel already knew the answer. Of course she hadn’t seen a doctor.
“I don’t need to see a doctor.”
“This is criminal. Your boyfriend and his friend could go to jail for this.”
“He said everything would be okay. He said things would go right back to the way they were before I got pregnant. But now he doesn’t call me back. He must have disconnected his phone. You can’t even leave a message. I wait for him outside of his house, but he never comes.” She began to cry again. “Shit.” She pressed a button on her phone and stared at the screen.
“This is not okay.” Rachel said.
“You’re not going to turn him in, are you?” Sara turned to look at Rachel with fear in her eyes. “I wouldn’t have come to you if I knew you would turn him in.”
“I can’t keep—” Rachel began, but suddenly froze when she glanced at the screensaver on Sara’s phone. Rachel’s heart started beating faster. The picture was blurry, but she could make out two people. One was Sara. Rachel could tell from her hair and the familiar purple shirt she was wearing. The other person was a man. His hand was caught in time, a blur reaching towards his head as if he were trying to hide behind it, but the camera had captured him before he could cover his face. The image was grainy, but Rachel knew who it was. Those eyes. Those lips. That face. The same face that had haunted her for months, the face that still crept into her subconscious and plagued her dreams.
“Is this him?” Rachel asked, pointing to the picture. She put her hand down wh
en she saw it was shaking.
“What?” Sara looked at her phone. “Yeah, why?”
“What did you say his name was?”
“James. Why?” Sara wiped her face with a wrinkled, wadded-up tissue as she turned to look at Rachel.
“James what?”
“James McNew. Do you know him?”
Rachel sunk back in the couch. Her mind raced to place the name. She knew she had heard that name before, but where? Then it came to her. James McNew. She had met him with Edward at a small club in Aspen a few years ago. She met him after a concert. James McNew was the bass player from the band Yo La Tengo.
“Do you know him?” Sara asked again.
Rachel was looking at Sara, but she wasn’t really focused on her. Her thoughts were going a million miles per minute. He’s been toying with Sara for months, at least since February, maybe longer. The entire time he’s been with Elena, for sure. When they got married, even when we were together. Sara’s only sixteen. That’s statutory rape. Good Lord, he got her pregnant and then had someone give her an abortion who knows where. She could have died. Who the hell is this guy?
“Rachel?” Sara said trying to get her attention.
Rachel looked into Sara’s eyes, grabbed her by her shoulders and said, “Listen to me. You need to see a doctor. I know one. You can trust her. She’ll see you, but I need to talk to her first.”
“I already told you, I don’t need to see a doctor,” Sara protested.
“I can’t argue with you right now. I have to go do something very important, but I’ll call you later.” She paused, then added, “And please stop protecting this guy. Believe me, he’s not worth it. He’s only out for himself.”
“How do you know that? Do you know him?” Sara asked a third time.
Rachel thought a moment before she answered. “No. I don’t. I don’t know him at all.”
Ben
“Drink today, and drown all sorrow,
You shall perhaps not do it tomorrow;
Best, while you have it, use your breath;
There is no drinking after death.”
– Ben Jonson
ONE
IT WAS JUST PAST TEN in the morning when Ben emerged from his cabin, parched and hung over. He was on a Caribbean cruise ship docked off the shore of Aruba, still in the same coral colored t-shirt and khaki Bermuda shorts from the night before. His bloodshot eyes hid behind dark ray ban aviators, his hair a disheveled mess. He had a horrible headache. Each step he took reverberated in his ears.
Walking through the ship, he noticed a woman in lime green and white sundress and wide-brim straw hat attempting to get a signal on her cell phone by holding it above her head. His cell had died two days earlier. In his rush to get to the airport, he had forgotten to pack the charger. He had planned on buying a new one while on vacation, but the disconnection was a foreign peace just as enchanting as the Aruba shoreline. There was no need for the constant buzz in his pocket to disturb him with reminders of home.
He had spent the previous day snorkeling, sightseeing and shopping for Dutch-made porcelain and imported chocolates, followed by drinking and dancing in downtown Oranjestad. He and two of his friends staggered back to the ship sometime after two in the morning, tired, sun burnt and drunk. He was now making his way to one of the ship’s many gift shops to buy some aspirin and a large cup of coffee.
When he returned to his room twenty minutes later, he noticed the blinking red light on the cabin phone by his bed.
Homer. He immediately panicked. Homer was back in Maine, with his assistant, Janelle. Did something happen? He picked up the phone to listen.
It was Edward.
Ben, it’s Ed. Please call me as soon as you can. It’s important. His voice was low and serious, urgent.
This can’t be good, Ben thought. He sat down on the bed, took a deep breath and dialed Edward’s phone number. Waiting for the line to connect, he glanced at the daily newsletter on his nightstand. He was supposed to meet one of his friends for a morning spin class. He scoffed at the thought, knowing his day would be better spent by the pool, nursing his hangover until he could stomach, yet again, another dose of the island’s famous rum punch.
“Hey, brother, what’s going on?” Ben asked as soon as Edward answered the line.
“Hey.” Edward sounded somber. “I’m sorry, man,” he continued, stopping for a moment to clear his throat. “I don’t know how else to say this. Rachel’s….” He hesitated. There was a long, pregnant pause. “Rachel’s gone, Ben. She took her life yesterday.”
Ben narrowed his eyes and gripped the receiver, trying to piece together Edward’s words echoing in his head. “That’s not funny,” Ben replied flatly.
“I don’t know what happened. Everything seemed…. fine. She was distant these past few months, but I didn’t realize she was in trouble.” Edward’s voice cracked. “She didn’t let on.”
Ben fell silent as the reality of what Edward was saying began to sink in. His stomach dropped. No, he thought. He tried to recall the last time he had spoken with Rachel. It was just a few weeks ago, wasn’t it? When Rachel wanted to confess. Had she been depressed then?
“She—” Edward sniffled. “She jumped off Elena’s balcony.”
Ben was stunned. The room lost color. The air in the cabin turned stale; he thought he might vomit. Edward was crying softly over the phone. “You okay?” Ben finally asked.
“Ah, fuck.” Edward exhaled loudly. “I just need to pull myself together.” There was a long pause. “She’s gone….” His voice trailed off.
Ben closed his eyes and lowered his head. His voice dropped an octave. “I’m in Aruba. Let me see how I can get out of here. There’s bound to be an airport. Does Jacob know?”
“No. He thinks she’s on a trip.”
“Does my mother know?”
“Not yet. I’ve been trying to get the nerve up all morning. I’m going to call her as soon as I get off the phone with you.”
After another pause Ben asked, “Do you want me to do it?”
“No, it’s better me than you,” Edward said quietly.
Ben knew he was probably right. “Alright, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Ben cut the connection and stared at the receiver in his hand for a full minute before hanging up the phone. “Oh my God,” he said out loud to the empty room. The image of Rachel holding Jacob in her arms at the airport right before he left Austin appeared in his mind. Confused, in a daze, he sat there in silence on the small bed with the unopened bottle of aspirin still in one hand, asking himself what the hell had just happened.
* * *
Ben was able to catch a flight to Atlanta that evening, but he had to spend the night at a hotel adjacent to the airport once he got there. The next morning the security lines were longer than usual and slow going, packed with passengers traveling for Thanksgiving.
Ben traveled frequently for work and for pleasure. He was naturally a social person and usually enjoyed his time at airports and on planes. He had met many interesting people over the years and even made a couple of friends along the way. But today, he felt like he was walking through a bubble. He was numb and completely disconnected amidst the excited crowds of people venturing home to be with their families for the holiday. Edward’s words haunted his thoughts. Rachel’s gone, Ben. But how? Why? Ben had always felt like he and Rachel were part of the same whole, as if they were bookends on a shelf, each holding up their own versions of the same story. Now she was gone and he felt incomplete. He tried in vain to recall the last time he told her he loved her. He remembered when, as a teenager, he had come out to Rachel.
“Oh, Ben,” she had said with a warm smile. “I’ve known you were gay probably even before you realized it. I don’t care about that. You’re still my brother.”
He couldn’t help but grab her and give her a big hug. He had told her then how much he loved her. He remembered walking her down the aisle to marry Edward. She looked so incredibly beau
tiful. He thought he had winked at her and mouthed the words, “I love you,” right before she took Edward’s arm, but he wasn’t sure. He might have only thought it. Was that the last time? He couldn’t remember.
He knew he should call his mother, but she was the last person he wanted to talk to. He stood on standby for more than three hours and managed to get on a plane to Austin before noon. He should have been grateful he was able to get any flight at this time of year and on such short notice, but under the circumstances, he just felt a mixture of anger, sadness and confusion.
He searched for his seat, then struggled to squeeze his hefty body by his fellow passengers and over to the window. Sitting down, his knees nearly touched the seat in front of him. He felt claustrophobic, physically and emotionally. He needed a drink. Badly.
Once the plane was in the air, he asked the steward for a rum and Coke. Ignoring the disturbed look of the woman sitting next to him, he stared out the small airplane window. His thoughts stuck on the last time he saw his sister. He simply couldn’t believe she had been so depressed that she’d taken her life. He had been through his own bouts with depression a few times as an adult and knew all too well how debilitating it could be. But as hard as it was, and though he had also occasionally contemplated suicide, he knew he could never actually go through with it. As dark as those days were for him, he had trudged through each one with the belief that it had to get better. He knew Rachel had been distraught over Jack, but he never dreamed she was so far gone to jump off a balcony. She wouldn’t do that—give up everything. Especially not Jacob.
When the steward returned with his drink, he looked intently at the tiny bottle of Bacardi. It made him think of his father. Ben remembered when he and Rachel came home from school on that hot summer day. Their father had hanged himself with a cable in his apartment, their mother said. Ben could still see her sitting on the brown-and-tan striped sofa, holding her Bible in one hand, fanning herself with a TV Digest with the other. Your father wasn’t strong enough to stop his wicked ways, she’d said. The devil tempts and if you are weak, if you do not stand with the Lord, he will trick you and take your life. Now your father will pay for his sins, for eternity. Let this be a lesson to you both.
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