She’d been standing in front of the stacks of toilet paper, debating whether to buy the forty-two-roll pack or the seventy-roll pack. It made sense to buy in bulk and reduce her costs, no matter how ridiculous she’d feel wheeling seventy rolls of toilet paper through the rest of the store and then lugging it into her tiny, single-bedroom apartment. Anyone who saw her probably thought she had some sort of problem.
But enough of this. Dithering over what people would think about her for buying toilet paper was definitely a violation of the resolutions. Besides which, it was not as though she would see anyone she knew anyway. And who cared what strangers thought?
She had just leaned over to grip the seventy-roll pack when she became aware of someone hovering at her right. Assuming this was because she was blocking access to the toilet paper, she slid her arms around the gigantic pack and hefted it, hitching it upward as she stepped aside. At least she’d already settled in her heart not to be embarrassed at being seen buying seventy rolls of toilet paper. This moment would have been a disaster otherwise.
Hugging the giant pack of toilet paper to her chest, she turned to apologize to the stranger who’d been waiting so patiently and gawped directly into the face of Myla’s dad.
~*~
“It’s not funny,” Rachel said.
Dabbing tears from the corners of her eyes with her knuckles, Ann sprawled on her back in the center of Rachel’s tiny living room. “So—you just stood there, staring at him and hugging the toilet paper?” She curled one arm over her face and turned her head to the side as if so much laughing had completely exhausted her.
“What else could I do?” Rachel spluttered. “Tap-dance?”
Ann clutched her ribs and cackled.
Rachel blew a curl back from her forehead. “If you don’t stop, I’m not cooking you dinner.”
Ann sat up, wiped moisture from the corners of her eyes, and braced her palms against the floor behind her, leaning back and crossing her long legs at the ankles. “Since when does heating up a pre-made pot pie count as cooking? And seriously, what did he say?”
“Who—Craig Crocker? I started rambling before he could say much of anything. I told him I was in a hurry to get home because I had to cook dinner for someone, and then I ran away.”
“Clutching your toilet paper.” Ann wiped moisture from the corners of her eyes.
“Clutching my toilet paper,” Rachel repeated expressionlessly.
“I wonder if he lives around here. Wouldn’t it be ironic if you’ve moved into his neighborhood? Wait—that would be ironic, wouldn’t it? Not coincidence?”
“It would be annoying. What if he started showing up everywhere?” She paused, arrested by sudden thought.
“He’s not stalking you,” Ann yawned. “I thought we’d covered this with Call-Me-Matt.”
Rachel let the comment pass. This was a stale debate between the two of them. Besides, Rachel had given up worrying anyway. She had the Resolutions to keep her from blowing things like this out of proportion. At least, in theory.
Ann lay back and let her gaze roam the room. “Seen any more spiders?”
“Not lately.” Rachel stood and walked into the pocket-sized kitchen, flicking on the oven light and bending down to check the pot pie. She liked the crust just a tiny bit brown around the edges—no more. If she left it in too long, they might as well eat the cardboard container instead. “I think Lee killed the last of the spiders when he helped me move my bookshelves to the other wall.” Oh, for the days when her relationship with Lee had been uncomplicated enough that she could call him and ask for favors. Not that their relationship had ever been strictly uncomplicated, but it hadn’t always been the train wreck it was today.
“Have you called him?” Ann called from the living room.
“No,” Rachel admitted, feeling sheepish. After all, she was the adult in the relationship. She should act more like one. But still. Now that she knew she couldn’t trust her instinctive reactions, it was hard to decide what to do. She walked back to the living room and said as much to Ann.
“Look,” Ann said. “Change doesn’t mean that you let go of your instincts completely. For you, it probably just means you slow down long enough to think through your options before you do anything.” She lay back against the living room carpet again, yawning, “You know, instead of just doing the Rachel Thing.”
“The Rachel Thing?”
The oven timer pinged.
“Pot pie’s ready.” Ann didn’t open her eyes or make any move to get up. Saved by the bell.
Rachel stomped toward the kitchen. “This isn’t over.”
~*~
“My favorite part so far,” Chris informed the class, “is where Kate bashes her lute over Hortensio’s head.”
Of course. That would be his favorite part.
“Just because there haven’t been any stabbings yet,” he told everyone. “Obviously.”
Denise rolled her eyes. “Oh, obviously.”
Jessica Potts raised her hand. She didn’t take her eyes from the wall at the front of the room. “That’s my favorite part too.” Her voice was flat and curiously detached. “Katherine is my favorite Shakespeare heroine. She’s strong and opinionated and she’s actually the star of her own play. Other Shakespeare plays have women in them, but this play is Kate’s play. Petruchio and everyone else get to be in it because she lets them.”
Chris turned sideways in his chair to gawp at her, along with the rest of the class—except for Alice, who merely smiled down at her desk.
“That’s an astute observation, Jessica.” Rachel was impressed that Jessica could operate under her medicated fog.
If Jessica was pleased with the praise, she didn’t show it. She continued staring at the wall.
Shayla raised her hand. “I still don’t see why Kate has to change, though. I think she’s awesome just the way she is.”
Ryan’s eyes bugged. “Imagine if you were Bianca, and Kate was your sister. She’s terrible.”
Denise sniffed. “She was an independent woman born out of time. And I love her.”
“She’s a ‘wildcat’ and a ‘curst shrew,’” corrected Ryan, making liberal use of air quotes. “To quote her own father.”
“As if he has any room to complain,” scoffed Denise. “After all, who raised her to be like that?”
“Baptista raised Bianca too,” Chris said. “And she doesn’t seem so bad.”
Carl shook his head. “She’s boring.”
“I guess if we should blame anyone for the way Kate is,” Denise said, “we could blame Shakespeare. After all, he made her that way.”
“Jessica had a good point,” Rachel reminded them, attempting to steer the discussion back on course. “As flawed as Kate is, we need her. I mean, the play needs her—changed or unchanged. Whether we like her or not, we’re stuck with her. She’s the focal point—the hinge on which everyone else turns. Without the shrew, there’d be no Taming of the Shrew.”
Chris signed. “If only.”
~*~
That afternoon, as Rachel slowly gathered her items and stowed them in her bag, she thought again of Lady Macbeth.
Unlike Kate in The Taming of the Shrew, Lady Macbeth hadn’t changed. Well, she’d changed, but in the worst way possible. As the play progressed, she just became a more hideous version of her original self. What Lady Macbeth didn’t seem to recognize as she and her husband murdered their way through five acts was that her evil intents weren’t just outward. Every time she sinned, she mutilated her own soul; until the last act found her wandering the castle at night, muttering to herself and hallucinating as she tried to wash invisible blood from her hands.
That was no way to end up. Maybe Rachel was more like Kate than Lady Macbeth after all. Yes, Kate had her flaws—not the least of which was bashing unsuspecting men over the head with lutes. But at least she didn’t go about clutching daggers and dribbling blood.
Besides, by the end of her play, Kate had changed. Because s
he’d been written by Shakespeare, who was himself a product of his time, Kate’s change had been brought about through the exertion of a strong male hand over her will and emotions. In that sense, Rachel was no Katherine. Petruchio may have been born to tame Kate, but Rachel couldn’t imagine a man born to tame her.
Not that any one person could change her—or anybody. If that were possible, Lynn and Ann would have worked their influence over her long ago. No, it would take more than a person—which is what the resolutions were about in the first place.
She closed the classroom blinds, flicked off the fluorescent lights, and pulled her phone from her bag. Seeing an unread text from Lee, she paused mid-step and almost tripped. Bobbling her phone while trying to operate it one-handed, she pushed open the door, and a whoosh of humid air blew her red curls from her face. She stalked across the staff lot toward her car, goggling down at the text Lee had sent.
Sharon-run wedding planning session at The Drip, 4pm. Pls come. I need backup.
Well, well, well. It seemed that doing nothing about Lee had been an effective strategy after all. Here he was, breaking the ice himself, taking charge and setting the tone.
Hope rose like sunrise, washing her soul in a golden glow. “I did it,” said Rachel softly.
She clicked respond and started typing with her thumbs. Seeing out of the corner of her eye that she was about to walk directly into her own car, she sidestepped to the right and walked instead into a broad male chest.
6
Rachel stumbled back and blinked up, squinting against the afternoon light slanting low against the horizon.
“There you are,” said a voice. Hands steadied her.
Yes, here she was.
But why was Craig Crocker here? Myla had switched schools. As far as Rachel knew, he hadn’t been back on campus since.
But what did she know about him, really? Only that he was Myla’s dad. She scanned her memory for pertinent details. Because he’d had some sort of back problem, he’d been on disability the last year Myla had been at the school, meaning he’d had time to get involved in volunteer functions through the PTA. He and his wife had split up recently, which is why Myla had left. Apparently, she’d moved away with her mom. Rachel’s stomach swooped. What if—
No. She could not do this. Not when she’d been making so much progress.
She had no reason to panic. Myla’s dad was friendly. Perfectly harmless. A bit smarmy sometimes, but in an innocuous way. He hadn’t been stalking her when he’d shown up at church or when they’d bumped into each other at the store, and he wasn’t stalking her now. The only reason her heart was beating so hard was because he’d startled her. She wasn’t afraid of him.
The New Rachel was better than this. She wouldn’t babble, and she wouldn’t assume the worst. She wouldn’t assume anything.
“You startled me.” Rachel gave herself points for honesty.
Craig Crocker lifted his hands, palms out—the picture of concern and solicitude. “Miss Cooper, I’m so sorry!” His teeth flashed white. “I did not mean to startle you. Let me take your bag.” He reached for the shoulder strap.
Paranoia or no paranoia, the proximity didn’t feel right. Rachel shifted her weight to her back foot and wrapped her hands around the strap. “I’ve got it.”
Myla’s dad dropped his hands to his sides and rolled his shoulders, leaning back slightly as if favoring the muscles of his lower back. Then he smiled again.
Did he think whatever happened next should be her move?
“Can I do something for you?” she asked.
“Would you like to go for a drink?”
“A drink?” Surely not. The bottom of her stomach dropped away.
“Just some coffee,” he clarified.
“Oh, thank you. But I have plans.” Thank goodness. Who knew what excuse she would have come up with if not for Lee’s most recent text. She probably would have just looked for an open manhole to fall into—or pray for a coconut to fall on her head and kill her. Anything to escape the awkward weirdness of this moment. She had never before been so thankful for Lee. How could she not forgive him? He’d saved her again, and he wasn’t even here.
“Maybe I could take a rain check?” She mentally kicked herself. Then New Rachel reminded her that this was the standard polite way to decline an invitation. Besides, she had no reason not to have coffee with Myla’s dad. He was probably very lonely. It wasn’t as if she officially had a boyfriend, and Craig Crocker had done absolutely nothing to warrant her suspicion—other than showing up at odd times and smiling at her like that.
At the mention of a rain check, Craig brightened. “Where are you headed now?” he asked. “Could I give you a ride?”
“No, that’s fine. My car’s right here.” Rachel pointed over his shoulder. “I’ll just drive myself.” She stepped forward, assuming he’d give way to let her pass. He didn’t budge, and that one little step brought her directly into his space.
He smiled down at her.
She felt her face heat. This was getting silly.
“I should really get going,” she said pointedly. Remembering what Donovan had said about using the teep kick to create space, she briefly considered deploying it. That seemed a bit extreme. Despite how much Myla’s dad annoyed her by invading her personal space, kicking him in the chest was probably not the answer.
Besides, she was wearing a pencil skirt.
“Please move. I need to get by.”
Smile holding steady, Craig Crocker turned sideways to let her pass.
She hit the unlock button on her keychain fob, and he pulled open the door. She sat down, threw her bag onto the passenger’s seat, and yanked the door shut. She cranked the engine without rolling down the windows and pulled out. When she glanced into the rearview mirror, Myla’s dad stood in the empty spot, staring after her. He wasn’t smiling or waving. He just stood, hands pressed against the small of his back, staring.
Should she be concerned by such behavior? Myla’s dad had always been perfectly pleasant, and with her new Resolutions in play, Rachel wasn’t sure how to handle situations like this.
Should she panic or not? Worry or not? Tell someone her concerns or not?
She reflected on what Ann had said: for her, learning to slow down and think before taking action was progress.
Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—she had another problem to distract her at the moment. She was headed across town to do some wedding planning with Lee and Sharon.
Wedding planning with Lee and Sharon.
Just thinking the words in her head made her stomach churn—with what emotion, she wasn’t sure.
7
Rachel pulled open the door to The Drip, her gaze immediately latching onto Lee and Sharon. They hunkered down in a booth in the back, too busy canoodling to notice her. Yes, canoodling, an old-fashioned word, but apt. There was no other word for what they were doing.
They sat on the same side of the booth, their heads bent together as they conferred over a sheet of paper. The lowering sun burnished Lee’s brown hair, providing a beautiful contrast with Sharon’s blonde locks, glowing softly golden in the late-afternoon light.
Didn’t Sharon ever have bad hair days? It didn’t seem natural.
The barista with the perfect cheekbones took Rachel’s order.
“Rachel!” Lee’s voice boomed. He waved broadly. “We’re back here.”
As if she could have missed them.
Rachel lifted the piping hot mug and slid her feet slowly across the floor as she glided toward their booth, trying not to spill the coffee that apparently had been brewed inside a volcano.
Lee whispered to Sharon, who laughed and rested her head on his shoulder.
Rachel eased her cup onto the table and slid into the booth across from the couple.
Lee leaned back and shifted his arm to the seatback behind Sharon.
Sharon blushed and fluttered her eyelashes. “I’m so glad you’re here, Miss Cooper. I don’t know
what we were thinking, planning a wedding on such short notice. We’re absolutely in over our heads, just as Mom said.”
Lee snorted. “Your mom says a lot of things.”
Rachel leaned to sip from her mug without picking it up. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be. I’ve never planned a wedding.”
“No, but you’ve lived in this area longer than either of us.” Lee scratched a sideburn as lush and full as a Civil War general’s. “We thought you might be able to help brainstorm venues.”
“My mom’s flying down from Indiana to help with some of the other stuff later next month,” Sharon clarified. “But she says we need to book a venue as soon as possible.”
“And we all know my mom won't help,” Lee said. “Unless ‘help’ means bully us into picking the most expensive place possible and then disappear with the deposit money.”
Rachel wondered if Lee’s mother would even be invited to the ceremony. It didn’t seem likely, given her spotty history with sobriety—not to mention reality. Old Rachel would have asked right then. New Rachel understood that she had lost some of her right to pry into Lee’s affairs.
And yet when her gaze caught his and held, he seemed to guess what she was thinking.
Rachel lifted a brow. “And you’re not having the wedding in Indiana…why?”
Sharon’s hands fluttered in front of her. “Oh, I’m not from Indiana. My parents just relocated there because of my dad’s work. He’s an engineer. I’m actually from Illinois. But since my parents don’t exactly live in my hometown anymore—and since I don’t know anyone where they live—well, it made more sense to have it here, with most of our friends and family.” Sharon snuggled closer to Lee.
“Family.” Lee snorted. He met Rachel’s eye. “Mom doesn’t know. And Sharon hasn’t met her yet.”
“Are you—” Rachel hesitated, trying to word her question correctly. “Is there a plan to tell her?”
Lee ran his free hand through his hair, leaving half of it standing on end. “I really don’t know. You know how she is.”
Sharon smoothed his hair and bestowed a melting smile. “One crisis at a time.”
Unbreakable Page 5
