by Amy Knupp
“Drop of cheese beneath your collar,” Rachel said. “How long did this take, Mom?”
Her mom shrugged. “Less than an hour. The meat had to simmer for quite a while, otherwise it would have been faster. It was no big deal.”
“That means you had to be home from work...before five?” Rachel couldn’t keep the scandalized tone out of her voice.
“My four-thirty canceled. There was no reason to hang around.”
Rachel narrowed her eyes at her mom and jabbed a bite of pork.
“You like it?” Jackie continued.
“It’s...fantastic.” The quality of the food was so not the issue here. “You never mentioned you’d taken up cooking.”
Her mom had never so much as shown an interest in food or the preparation of it, beyond fueling her driven body so that she could work some more.
“You’ve barely been home since you moved back,” her mom said.
“Before that.”
Jackie chuckled, crossing her arms over her chest. “You haven’t exactly talked to me a lot, Rach.”
“You know how crazy busy I’ve been, finishing my residency, getting ready to move back...”
“I know. I hope...” Her mom shook her head and left the sentence dangling. “I worry about you is all.”
Rachel laughed incredulously. “Mom. What are you worried about? I made it through med school. Top of my class. I’ve got the job I’ve always wanted.” Or a variation thereof. “This is what it’s all about. You know that! I’ve made it.”
Her mom knew it because Rachel had followed in her mom’s footsteps almost exactly, with the exception that her mother’s specialty of choice was cardiology instead of emergency medicine. Medicine was in the Culver blood. And though Sawyer was different in a lot of ways, both Rachel and her mother were type A, driven, almost obsessive about their careers of choice. It was something Rachel had always admired in her mother, something that made them closer, this similarity.
Except...her mom was worrying about her? Was that an effect that losing Noelle had had on her?
Warily, she affirmed, “I’m good, Mom. Are...you?”
Another similarity they had was the dislike of getting too personal with conversation. Neither was touchy-feely, neither was prone to emotional outbursts other than the random overtired temper tantrum here and there. It made Rachel uncomfortable to ask such a prying question.
“I’m doing really well, Rach.” Her mom’s voice sounded happy, but...two years ago, leaving the office a half an hour before it even closed would have been unheard of for Dr. Jackie Culver.
“Okay, then,” Rachel said skeptically. “I’m glad. Just a little freaked out by your new hobby.”
“Do you like what you’re eating or not?” Her mom gestured smugly to her half-empty plate.
“I’m completely impressed, as I said.” Rachel couldn’t imagine the hours it must have taken for her mom to become comfortable in the kitchen when, previously, toasting Pop-Tarts had been her specialty.
Her mother stood. “Okay, then. Less questioning, more eating. I need to get going.”
It took Rachel a few seconds to remember what day it was and where her mom must be going. The meeting. To plan her sister’s memorial benefit.
The food she’d wolfed down so far settled like a rock in her gut, and her instinct was to push the plate away. That, however, would make her mom suspicious. More than suspicious.
She waited for another round of how-great-this-is-going-to-be-you-should-join to begin. Her chest tightened and she felt unreasonably hot all of a sudden. She should have tried to get an extra shift tonight. Every Wednesday. That would stop the badgering, the pleading, the guilt....
Well, no. Nothing would ever stop the guilt. Any of it.
Instead of trying yet again to get Rachel to go with her to the meeting, Jackie merely ran a dishrag over the counter, rinsed her hands and put her remaining lemonade in the refrigerator to save for later. She headed toward the kitchen doorway, no doubt to freshen up in the master bath before she left, as she always did. Rachel was almost home free when her mother stopped. Turned to her.
“Rachel—”
“I’m not going, Mom.”
They stared at each other, and she could see in her mom’s eyes she wanted to say so many things, wanted to run all the arguments past Rachel again, wanted to draw her into her crusade. Then her mom surprised her with a smile and a loosening of her shoulders.
“I was just going to tell you to save some food for your brother. I promised him leftovers for lunch tomorrow. He’s coming over to clean out the garage on his day off.”
Rachel breathed.
“I’m not going to push you anymore. About the benefit. I understand it’s hard for you to face right now. It’ll get easier, sweetie.”
Then her mom did something unheard of. She strode over to her daughter, brushed Rachel’s hair behind her ear, leaned down and kissed the top of her forehead.
The quiet understanding was more than Rachel could stand. She fought the tears that threatened with every fiber of her being, forced them back, sucked in oxygen to equalize herself. Her mom pulled away, finally, and Rachel felt her staring at her. Assessing.
Dammit. She couldn’t meet her gaze, not without giving away too much. Not without letting on that her mom might have hit the nail on its head.
* * *
HER MOM HAD LEFT the house ten minutes ago, and still, Rachel, who hadn’t moved from her place at the kitchen table, couldn’t get a full breath.
In spite of her very acceptable stated reasons for not participating in the planning of the asthma benefit, both Cale and her mom had jumped to the same conclusion. They both believed she couldn’t handle the task emotionally. They both believed that, in spite of the fact she’d just started a brand-new job—heck, her new career that she’d been working toward for years—in spite of the long hours, the double shifts and the learning curve of how this emergency department functioned, in spite of it all, they’d both basically accused her of not being able to face up to the task of memorializing her twin sister.
Maybe if they’d left it unspoken, it would have been easier to let it go. She could have allowed them to think what they would and gone on with her busy life. But they’d said it out loud, both of them, separately. That didn’t sit well with her.
Shaking her head in frustration, she pushed up out of her chair with more force than necessary. She took her empty plate to the counter, dumping the pork bone in the trash on the way, rinsed the dish and silverware and put it all in the dishwasher. Ignoring the nagging voice in her head, she scrubbed at the countertop her mother had cleaned less than thirty minutes ago, going after a stain that had been there since she and Noelle had painted their bedroom in honor of their sixteenth birthday. The stain had faded, but it was still clearly the electric green from Noelle’s side of the room.
Her jaw ached from the tight set of her teeth, and she consciously loosened it. She closed her eyes and tried to reason with herself.
In spite of eight hours of deadlike sleep, she still felt as though she was running on empty. It pained her to acknowledge that her job was kicking her ass this first week. Didn’t matter if that was normal or expected by other people—she wasn’t other people.
Beyond her fatigue, she no doubt looked like hell. She strode into the hall powder room, checked the mirror and verified. Yep. Her blond hair was tangled from sleep, the usual precise, off-center part looking more as if someone had thrown up a shovelful of hay and let it fall every which way. Her eyes...ugh. She widened them, tried to fake them into looking alive, but the weariness in her bones was reflected back at her from blue eyes that looked like neither hers nor her sister’s. The eyes of a stranger.
Her clothes—an old pair of cutoff denim shorts and a faded SeaWorld T-shirt her mom had brought back from a conference aeons ago—weren’t appropriate for leaving the house, let alone for going to a meeting of any kind. Come to think of it, she had no idea what would be ap
propriate. She spent 90 percent of her time wearing scrubs and tennis shoes. She could restart a human heart, but when it came to fashion, she was about as savvy as a four-year-old boy.
She stood there arguing with her reflection for an eternity, and then, recalling one more time how Cale and her mother had been so infuriatingly understanding, she went in search of a less-faded T-shirt, ran a brush through her hair and stormed out of the house.
* * *
RACHEL HAD THOUGHT the worst part of the meeting would be walking in and sitting down, especially since, by the time she’d worked up the courage to go, she was late.
She’d been grossly mistaken.
Not wanting to jolt everyone in the library meeting room by looking so obviously identical to the girl they were memorializing, she’d pulled out an old ball cap—a White Sox cap, no less, which her Cubs-fan sister would never have deigned to touch—that she’d long ago stuffed in the glove compartment of her Honda. She’d kept her discount store-special sunglasses on, as well. Disguise master she wasn’t, apparently. When she’d walked into the room of fifteen people sitting around a long conference table, she’d taken a seat along the wall, behind the row of chairs at the table, so as not to interrupt. But there had been whispers and looks anyway. Confusion, surprise, sympathy. A couple of people—one of whom was Cale—had shot her quick, welcoming smiles, and then she’d pointed her eyes at her mom, who was speaking, in an attempt to block everybody else out.
Her grand entrance, however, wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that, as she sat there, minding her own business and trying to focus on the discussion...she felt Noelle there. Not in a spooky, ghostlike way. It was hard to put into words, but just the knowledge of why they were all gathered in that stuffy room, volunteering their time—to create a memorial for Noelle and maybe help make it so someone else could avoid her fate—made Rachel shiver. Noelle was just...there. In her thoughts, in her consciousness. And that caused a lump the size of a baseball to lodge in her throat. A throbbing began in her temples, and Rachel spent a painful fifteen minutes blinking and fighting not to tear up. When the woman in front of her shifted in her seat a little, allowing Rachel a view of a folder on the table, she felt as if a wrecking ball had collided with her gut.
On the folder, someone—apparently Trina Jankovich, one of Noelle’s close friends and the person the folder sat in front of—had taped a full-color photo of Noelle, tanned and happy. It was a candid and looked to have been taken at a party or a bar. Noelle’s long, blond hair had been curled at the ends, she wore expertly applied, smoky shadow around her eyes and her smile was 100 percent natural, not forced at all. In short, Noelle looked gorgeous and so full of life. It was one of the best pictures Rachel had ever seen of her twin, and that was saying something because Noelle was as photogenic as an adorable baby panda bear.
The tears that had been threatening like a tropical storm finally hit. The lump in her throat expanded and seemed to seal out any oxygen from getting to her lungs. With a covert swipe at her eyes, Rachel checked to see if anyone was looking at her. A fruitless attempt because she couldn’t see through the stinking tears, anyway.
She gathered her notebook from her lap, bowed her head and got the hell out of the room before it could shrink in on her and swallow her up.
* * *
CALE HAD BEEN surprised to see Rachel walk in to the meeting room after the way she’d paled when he’d brought up the subject. He’d been strangely happy she’d made it—until he’d noticed she once again looked as if she might pass out.
Her plan to sit on the outskirts of the group and remain as anonymous as possible had only partly worked. Distancing herself from the group had been a start, but if she thought the hat and glasses threw anyone off of her identity for even a second, she was mistaken. It just happened to be a sympathetic crowd. He’d bet everyone there had wanted to allow Rachel her privacy—a fact that was proven by how they all went out of their way to not stare or whisper. Everyone but him. He’d found it difficult to stop watching her—maybe because, in spite of the half-assed disguise, she was so similar to Noelle in looks, if not manner.
Throughout the forty-five or so minutes she’d been there, Cale had kept an eye on her, gauging her reactions to what was said, watching her fight to keep it together. When her mom had stuck her on the publicity committee with him, Eddie and Cale’s sister, Mariah, she’d pulled her hat a little farther down over her eyes and barely nodded her acknowledgment. As the meeting had proceeded, Rachel had become further removed and more emotional, her gaze turning downward. When she’d finally retreated, he hadn’t been too surprised. Just concerned.
He’d noticed her purse soon after she’d hauled ass out of the room. From his place at the far end of the table, he could see the plain black leather bag on the floor next to the chair she’d been sitting in. Instead of taking off after her, he’d counted on handing it to Rachel’s mother after the meeting and letting her take it home to Rachel. The older Dr. Culver, however, had ended up being called away to the hospital less than five minutes after Rachel had taken off and had left Erin, who served as her right-hand woman, to finish up the last few minutes of the meeting.
As everyone began packing up their supplies and chatter rose around the table, Cale jumped up and grabbed the purse without a second thought. He knew the Culver home well. It was no big deal to drop it off on his way home. By the time he got there, surely Rachel would have regained her composure.
He had no desire to intrude on her when she was so overwhelmed by sadness, and hopefully getting out of the meeting had done the trick for her. Even though he inherently understood her sadness—or maybe because he understood it so well—he wasn’t a fan of trying to comfort an upset woman. Former almost-sister-in-law or not.
CHAPTER FOUR
CALE ALMOST MISSED Rachel on his way out the back door of the library. If it hadn’t been for the sudden slosh of water against the embankment—an uncharacteristic sound on the relatively placid bay side at night—he would have walked right on by.
When he automatically glanced out at the water to see if he could spot the boat responsible for the ripple, her blond hair blowing in the slight breeze caught his eye, even though she was camped out on one of two Adirondack chairs deep in the shadows. There was no hiding that hair short of absolute darkness.
Being intentionally noisy so he didn’t give her cardiac arrest, he followed the short path toward the chairs, which sat a few feet from the man-made shore. In daylight, the area, lined by flower beds and native plants, made a peaceful place to sit and read a book or watch the fishing and pleasure boats come in after a day on the gulf. It was one of several spots scattered along the bay on the city property that also held the library. All the others were deserted now that the library was closed and the sun had gone down.
“Not much to see out here at this hour, is there?” he said as he approached.
In spite of his heavy steps, Rachel’s shoulders jerked when he spoke. Cale lowered himself into the chair next to her, but she didn’t spare him a glance.
“You might be surprised.” Rachel’s voice was ragged around the edges, alerting him that she was still emotional.
It was too late to escape now. Besides, he wasn’t that much of a coward. And there was that part of him that felt compelled to ease her troubles somehow. Especially if he could do that just by sitting with her.
A wave, invisible in the dark, splashed the shore again. “Fishing boat go through?” he asked.
“Yacht. Headed for the marina.”
As Cale’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he was able to make out the serene surface of the bay. He watched for action of any kind—a fish jumping, a kayaker—but nothing broke the smooth, glasslike surface for as far as he could see. “So what are you watching?”
She turned her head halfway toward him but didn’t make eye contact. “Just...this.” With her arm, she gestured toward the entire expanse of water in front of them. “It’s so...tranquil. Beauti
ful. I forgot how much I love the bay.”
Cale grinned and leaned forward, her purse still grasped in his left hand. “Noelle used to say how opposite you two were. She’d be bored out of her skull sitting here staring at nothing, wouldn’t she?”
“She could watch the waves on the other side of the island for hours, like a movie marathon,” Rachel said quietly, a wistful smile in her voice. “She claimed to love the drama. So fitting for her.”
“And you crave the peace,” Cale said.
Apparently uncomfortable with the personal turn, she stiffened her shoulders.
“Why aren’t you on your way home?” Rachel asked, the wistfulness gone completely.
“I brought you this.” He held her purse out between them.
Rachel frowned, as if upset she hadn’t even realized it was missing yet, and took it from him. “Thanks.”
“Your mom got called in right after you left, otherwise I would have had her take it home.”
“I saw her hurry past to the parking lot. I hope everything’s okay with her patients.”
“She didn’t say, but if I had to guess...”
Rachel nodded. “Probably not, if she got called in.”
“The publicity committee—of which you’re now one fourth—is supposed to meet Sunday afternoon at two to go over our next step.”
“I’ll have to miss it. I’m working a double.” There was no regret in her voice.
“Another double?”
“They schedule me for night shifts exclusively—I’m guessing because I’m the newbie. Most nights, there’s not much action. I could probably squeeze in a nap here and there if I were the type. If I don’t take extra shifts, my brain is going to rot away from lack of action and I’ll forget everything I learned in med school.”
“If you work yourself to exhaustion, your brain won’t work right, anyway.”
She didn’t respond, and the noises of the night began to filter into Cale’s brain in the quiet. There was a slosh of water just south of them, probably a fish beneath the dock at the Lug Nut Bar. A frog had taken up residence somewhere nearby, singing his heart out, looking for a girlfriend or whatever it was amphibians did when the lights went out. Then he noticed Rachel’s index finger rhythmically scraping over the wooden arm of the chair repeatedly. It was a nervous action, one she might not even have been aware of, but after several seconds of it, it seemed to cut into the night’s tranquillity. Cale reached out and put his hand gently over hers to end the sound.
