by Amy Knupp
“I can help myself to water.” Cale went to the cupboard with glasses before she did and helped himself.
“I forgot you know your way around our house.”
He’d spent as much time here as he had at his own place. “It’s been a while. Rachel...”
The microwave beeped and she took out her food. “Yeah?” she said without looking at him, instead digging for a fork from the drawer and then jabbing a corner of her wedge of quiche.
He was about to speak when she put the bite in her mouth and yelled. “Damn! I cooked it too long.” She fanned the air in front of her mouth as if that would cool the piping-hot bite on her tongue. Cale slid his glass of water to her, and she took a drink and gave him a grateful look.
“Thanks. Can you hold that thought and give me two minutes to change my clothes while my food cools?”
“Go right ahead.”
“Make yourself comfortable,” she said as she rushed from the room.
Cale took a swallow of water and looked around at the familiar kitchen. It had been a while since he’d been here. Since the day of Noelle’s funeral, now that he thought about it. The Culvers had had people over after the service for a meal made up from the dozens of dishes friends, neighbors and even Noelle’s mom’s patients had brought with them. Nothing had changed since then, as far as he could tell.
He wandered toward the living room, glancing up the stairs as he passed by them to see if Rachel was on her way down yet. All three doors in the hallway were closed.
He was drawn to the bank of grade-school photos on the stairwell wall. He’d gone by these pictures countless times in the past, but he stopped and studied the ones of Noelle and Rachel again. He knew which sister was which in every single photo because he’d been fascinated with the subject soon after he and Noelle had started dating and she’d made a point of quizzing him for fun. But now he looked more closely, searching for differences between them.
Up through second grade, the girls looked as if they could be the same person dressed in different-colored, similar clothes. Their hair was the same length, styled the same. From third grade on, though, it was evident they’d started showing their opposite personalities in earnest. Rachel’s hair was always the shorter of the two and neater, as well. Her clothes were more conservative, in less vivid, less noticeable colors. Noelle’s smile was bright and natural in every last photo. Rachel looked as if someone had been holding a gun to her head off camera and threatening her if she didn’t smile.
One of the doors in the hall opened—Sawyer’s bedroom door, Cale noticed in his peripheral vision. Not Rachel’s room. He frowned and recalled his earlier conversation with Sawyer.
“I hated those things,” Rachel said, gesturing at the photos as she came to the top of the steps. “I could never figure out how to smile on cue and make it look real. Obviously.” She shuddered with exaggeration as she studied her fifth-grade mug shot.
“My hair was always, without fail, a mess in grade school,” Cale said.
“Guys’ hair is supposed to be a mess. Try having everyone and their grandpa compare your picture to that of your perfectly photogenic twin sister’s. As you can see,” she said as she gestured to the row of photos with a sweep of her hand, “Noelle’s turned out twenty times better than mine did every single year. I used to kind of hate her for that...until report cards came out and I trumped her every time. Of course, she claimed to not care about grades.”
Rachel whisked by him, down the stairs and back into the kitchen, leaving no question she was on a mission for food. That was the thing about Rachel, he was noticing—she always had a purpose. Noelle had been more of an in-the-moment kind of girl.
He silently reprimanded himself to stop comparing the twins. There was no comparison. Rachel was Rachel, a very competent, serious brainiac. Noelle was the woman he had loved and made plans to spend the rest of his life with. They just happened to look a lot alike, and he needed to get over that.
By the time he joined her in the kitchen, Rachel was standing with her back to the counter, leaning against it, digging in to her lunch. She’d changed into jeans that hit just below her knees and a faded, black University of Iowa med school T-shirt. It appeared that she’d brushed her hair, but her cheeks and nose still had that pink afterglow from the sun.
“You came out of Sawyer’s room,” Cale said, approaching her.
“Yep.”
“Is that your room now?”
“It’s the room I’m using.”
Sawyer had said she was an expert at avoidance. Cale could guess why she wasn’t using the room she’d shared with her sister, but he wondered how long this family could go on just stepping around the fact that Noelle was no longer with them. Rachel obviously wasn’t up for a discussion about it now, though, judging by the stiffness of her shoulders and forced concentration on her food. He saw her sneak a sideways look at him when he settled against the counter a couple of feet away.
After she finished the bite in her mouth, she spoke. “You never said why you’re here, but I’m guessing it’s not to watch me eat some really freaking good quiche.”
He held back a smile at her veiled defensiveness. “I wanted to apologize for Mariah being so...overzealous the other day at the meeting.”
“Overzealous?”
“With her grand ideas and enthusiasm.”
She frowned and finished another bite. “You came all the way over here for that?”
“‘All the way’ being a mile and a half or so, yes, I did. And to make sure you don’t feel pressured to speak at the benefit.”
Her lids lowered for a moment, just long enough that he noticed, and then she set aside her half-eaten quiche.
“It’s okay. I can’t blame her for trying. Objectively, I can see how it would seem like a cool thing to do.”
He could practically see her swallowing back...emotion? Anger? Grief? It was gone too quickly for him to tell.
“Rachel—”
“What?” she snapped.
“Pretend she never mentioned it. The concert will be successful without you giving a speech.” He looked at her as she stared at the floor, and an urge came over him to brush her hair back from her face, to hug her. Reassure her. He ignored the urge.
“There’s no way I could keep my composure....”
“I understand,” he said gently. He could tell she was beating herself up for something he never would have asked her in the first place had it been up to him. Not this early, anyway.
“I wish I could manage,” Rachel said, crossing her arms and still staring downward. “For Noelle. If our places were reversed...”
The regret in her voice was real, making her sound younger than she was. She seemed so alone at that moment, and again, Cale considered pulling her into his arms and trying to make all the pain go away—for both of them. He settled for brushing against her arm and covering her fingers with his hand. “Don’t. It’s okay.”
She met his eyes. Looked as if she were about to say something and then swallowed and shook her head. “Never mind.” It was clear that she was fighting to keep her composure.
“Hey, Rach,” he said, turning to face her. “I know we don’t know each other that well when you get down to it, but what I don’t understand is why you shut me out. Why we can’t, I don’t know, be there for each other. Be friends or something.” He nudged under her chin with his knuckle, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I lost her, too,” he whispered.
She stared into his eyes with her turquoise ones for maybe three full seconds and then lowered her lids again. Clenched her jaw tightly in a battle against, he would bet, losing it completely.
Because he could feel the lump in his own throat swelling, he ignored all the arguments in his head, pulled her close without another word and wrapped his arms tightly around her, unsure whom he was trying harder to comfort—her or himself.
God, moments like this still knocked him on his ass out of nowhere. He ignored the dampness of his eyes and f
ought to get through the next minute or two. He breathed in Rachel’s scent of coconut and soap. Registered every one of her breaths, as her rib cage expanded repeatedly against his arms and chest. And when she raised her arms and wound them around his middle, he put all his awareness into the feel of her touch on his back.
Minutes ticked by and Cale gradually leveled out, contented himself with the woman in his arms who was very much alive, instead of haunting himself with her sister...who wasn’t.
As his wave of killer emotions subsided, it felt awkward to be holding on to Noelle’s sister so tightly, for so long. They seemed to become self-conscious at the same time, and he stepped back a few inches as they both dropped their arms, him to his sides, hers back in front of her chest.
“Your sister didn’t mean to make me feel bad, I know. Her idea would be good...for someone else. She seems like a nice person.”
“She means well,” Cale said.
“I’m okay. Really.” She flashed a forced grin. “Thank you, though.”
She didn’t say exactly what she was thanking him for. Didn’t say anything else, but in that moment, as he looked down at her, he saw so much more than she knew. He saw her backbone and her deep, deep love for her sister and, yes, a good dose of stubbornness. A mix he couldn’t help but admire. A mix that, it turned out, he couldn’t get out of his mind for the rest of the day.
CHAPTER NINE
IT WAS DARK when Rachel opened her eyes.
She blinked several times, trying to grasp where she was and what time it was. With a turn of her head, the outline of Yoda against the glow of the digital clock came into view. Ah, yes, home sweet Yoda. But...9:07? At night?
After Cale had left, she’d tidied up the kitchen, caught up on email and then finally crashed in the early afternoon. She wished she could say she’d slept soundly but that would have been a lie.
She’d tossed, turned, dreamed and woken up wanting. Rinse and repeat a dozen or so times. No matter how agitated she’d been when she woke up, no matter how many times she’d told her brain to move on to something besides Cale Jackson, every time she’d drifted off again, there he was. Calming her, comforting her, touching her, making her want more. The dreams had been delicious, but waking up to the reality of being alone every few minutes...not so delightful.
A light tapping sounded on the bedroom door.
“Yeah?” She cleared her throat and the grogginess from her voice as the door was eased open, letting in the bright light from the hallway. Rachel closed her eyes against it.
“Are you okay, sweetie?” her mom asked from the doorway.
Embarrassed that she’d wasted the entire day, Rachel sat up. “Yeah. Fine. Fabulous.”
“I’m sorry to wake you up, but I was worried. It’s not like you to sleep the whole day away.”
“You didn’t wake me up. I took my kayak out after work so I didn’t go to sleep until late. I meant to be up for dinner, though. What’d I miss?”
“I made some spinach and ricotta manicotti. You lucked out—even half the recipe makes enough for several meals...well, unless your brother’s home. There’s some in the fridge.”
“I’m becoming addicted to your gourmet leftovers. The quiche was excellent.”
“Glad you liked it. I’m no expert, but I’ll give you cooking lessons anytime.”
The prospect had absolutely no appeal. “Why would I want to do that when there’s another dish of something awesome in the refrigerator every time I open it? Plus there’s the time thing...”
“Just offering. I’m heading to bed. Hospital rounds come early and I’ve got a tennis match tomorrow after work.”
“I’ll be at work by the time you get home tomorrow evening, then,” Rachel said. When she looked at her mom again, she did a double take at the doorway beyond and her heart felt as though it had crashed to a halt. “Mom? Why is that door open?”
Her mom glanced at the door to Rachel and Noelle’s room. To her credit, she didn’t play stupid.
“I just thought, after all this time, it was time to open it,” her mom said curtly. “The air in there is stale, and it’s become this void in our house. One of these days we need to do something about it.”
“Have at it,” Rachel said, glad the lights were still off so she could hide her scowl.
“I thought it would be best if you went through the room yourself, sweetie. Half of it’s yours, and the other half... I figured you have the right to any of your sister’s things that have special meaning to you.”
Knowing she risked protesting too much and unwilling to draw her mom’s attention to her inability to even step in the room, Rachel remained quiet. Counted the seconds and waited for her mom to leave. She could feel the open door, the room and everything in it, taunting her. Disquieting her.
“Well, good night,” her mom finally said after an uncomfortable pause.
“Close my door, please, would you? I’m going to change and get out of here for a while,” Rachel said, unsure of what her plans were beyond fresh air and escape. “Night, Mom.”
Her mom pulled the door shut, leaving the room in full, blessed darkness again. Feeling as if she’d been struck by a wrecking ball, Rachel lay back down on the bed, rolling on her stomach and blocking out the sight of the open door across the hall from her mind’s eye.
Closing her eyes, she coached herself to think calming, happier thoughts. Like Cale. His muscular arms around her. His words...
What I don’t understand is why you shut me out. Why we can’t, I don’t know, be there for each other. Be friends or something.
She hadn’t intentionally shut him out—it just seemed to be her way. She wasn’t a social goddess like Noelle and never would be. When the sadness started stabbing at her, she didn’t want anyone to witness it, so she did whatever she had to to close herself off. But Cale was right. They’d suffered the same tragedy, were battling with similar losses. Rachel’s age-old feelings for him aside, they should be able to be some kind of support for each other. She was no expert at “friends,” but for Cale, she would figure it out. There was no one she wanted to see right now more than him.
Tossing off her slept-in capris and T-shirt, she located a clean pair of khaki shorts and a striped shirt. Once she’d thrown them on and brushed the tangles out of her hair, she set off to find her mom’s benefit binder with the master list of volunteers and phone numbers and her own cell phone.
Rachel had never been the type of girl to call a guy she wasn’t seeing regularly, let alone invite him out for ice cream. Apparently she was turning over a new leaf.
* * *
SHE STOOD OUTSIDE the door of Lambert’s Ice Cream Shoppe waiting for Cale to get there, trying to ignore the doubts that poked at her over whether he would indeed show. Studying the colorful menu board through the floor-to-ceiling windows, she tried to decide what she was in the mood for. Butter rum...caramel pecan...rocky road...triple dip? Only if she wanted to look like a cow.
When she spotted Cale getting out of the impossible-to-miss, bright orange Sport Trac, her mood improved tenfold and she insisted to herself it was just because he hadn’t left her standing there alone, feeling like a loser. She had trouble believing her lie when he reached her, put his hand at her waist and flashed a smile at her in greeting, sending her heart racing. As he looked down at her, smiling that amazing smile, he pierced her with those vivid green eyes she wanted to drown in.
Rachel shut down the little voice in her head that suggested she shouldn’t be thinking those thoughts about him, that the only possible thing between them was a friendship that didn’t include a racing heart or butterflies of excitement. Just for this moment, for tonight, she needed to feel good for a change, and looking at Cale, having ice cream with him, and not overthinking the situation, accomplished that.
“You weren’t waiting too long, were you?” he asked.
“Just long enough to decide my flavors.”
“And those are?” He opened the door and held it for h
er, still touching her with his other hand as he ushered her inside.
“Double dip. Rocky road and marshmallow dream. I had trouble choosing between marshmallow and toasted almond but the extra sugar power wins.”
“Well done,” Cale said as they stepped into the line to wait their turn. “Very...complementary. They’ll blend well.”
“Exactly. Unlike my sister’s clashing ice cream tastes.”
“Bubble gum, mint chocolate chip—”
“And orange sherbet,” she finished. “I have no idea how she could stand it but that was her standby since we were three feet tall.”
Cale smiled sadly. “Sometimes I suspected she didn’t even like the combination that much, but she took so much flak from everyone that she kept ordering it out of stubbornness.”
“That’d be our Noelle,” Rachel said and they both sobered. “What are you getting?”
“Strawberry cheesecake and vanilla.”
She nodded her approval. “Another good mix. Clearly we’re both ice cream blending experts.”
When they received their sugar cones packed with oversize dips of creamy perfection, Rachel insisted on treating. That made it less of a date, in her mind. “I dragged you out.”
“Yeah, horrible of you,” Cale said. “You bought breakfast, too. You’re making me look bad. Next time, it’s on me—no arguments.”
They turned around to find a place to sit in the small, overcrowded seating area.
“It’s loud and bright in here. Want to go outside?” Cale suggested.
In reply, Rachel headed for the door. Once they were outside, the noise level diminished several decibels, and she breathed out. The three outdoor tables were occupied, so Cale nodded toward the beach, which was about twenty feet away. “Can you stand the chaos of the waves on the beach for a few minutes?” he joked.
“The ice cream will soothe my nerves, or at least occupy my attention.”
