Unbreakable

by Ruth Buchanan

  “No, turn left,” he said.

  She complied, flustered. It occurred to her that she would finally see where he lived. Her pulse spiked. What if he invited her inside? What if he didn’t? “Where are we headed?”

  “The station,” he said, bursting her bubble. “Garcia and I met there and drove out to the park together. That’s where my car is.”

  “Oh!” Rachel overcompensated for her disappointment with a sudden burst of false cheer.

  If Ian noticed, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he filled the drive across town with companionable chatter about how the community had changed over the past decade.

  In the parking lot of the station, she pulled smoothly into the space next to his car and turned to face him. At the unexpected openness in his gaze, she stilled.

  Gone was the placid unreadability of the Ian Smith she’d met months ago. Although his face didn’t hold a ready smile, she recognized a relaxed quality around the eyes and mouth that indicated happy contentment. Confronted with this easy, open look, Rachel’s brain shut down.

  He had no right to look at her like that. What was going on?

  The moment stretched between them. Her face warmed.

  “I had a nice time tonight,” she said. Then, realizing how end-of-date-like her words sounded, she cast about furiously, hoping to find something to say that would allow her to back out of this moment with a shred of dignity.

  Before Rachel could utter more than a few gobbling noises, Ian released a light laugh. “Which part qualified as the nice time? The part where you got hit with the tree branch, the part where you fell into a ditch, the part with the terrible coffee, or the part where my partner told you that you stink?”

  “Definitely not the tree branch.” Rachel traced the tender skin near her temple. “My eye still stings.” And she was pretty sure she had twigs in her bra, but she wouldn't say that out loud.

  Ian flipped on the overhead dome light. He leaned forward and placed the tips of two fingers under her chin. With careful pressure, he tilted her head to the side, inspecting the puffy redness around the corner of her left eye.

  She tried to keep her voice level. “Is it bad?”

  When he didn’t immediately answer, Rachel brought her face around to make eye contact.

  Ian shifted his gaze directly to hers. He didn’t remove his fingers.

  Her heart hitched.

  A slap on the trunk of the car made them both jump. Rachel pulled back so quickly that she bonked the back of her head against the window.

  Thank goodness. They weren’t even dating. He hadn’t even had the talk with her. Where did he get off touching her face and making her go all swoony? This was getting out of hand. She needed to draw a line in the sand. Maybe more than one.

  Ian closed his eyes and released a slow breath through his nose. He popped the passenger’s door open and stepped out of the car. “Evening, gentlemen.”

  Rachel craned her neck and spotted the Damelus brothers standing behind her car, looking entirely too innocent.

  Ian leaned down to face Rachel. “I’ll handle this.” He shut the door.

  Rachel, who hadn’t turned off the engine, popped the car into reverse and slung an arm over the passenger’s seat, preparing to back out and escape before she died of mortification. Neither of the officers had moved, however. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder behind her car, arms folded over massive chests, white grins flashing in the dim light of the parking lot while they talked quietly with Ian—obviously teasing him.

  The one on the right caught her eyes in the rearview mirror and winked outrageously. “Evening, beautiful!”

  Sighing, she shifted the car into park, killed the engine, and opened the driver’s-side door. Standing, she turned and leaned against the car, trying her best to look controlled and competent. “Can I help you?”

  “We’re just hoping to help you,” said the one on the left.

  “We’ve seen this man bothering you before,” said the one who had winked, gesturing toward Ian with his thumb. “It’s just part of the job. Serve and protect.”

  Rachel arched a brow. “How do you know I’m not bothering him?”

  As the brothers cackled, Ian’s eyes flashed to hers, crinkling around the edges.

  He had to stop smiling at her like that. It wasn’t fair. Not if the smiles didn’t mean anything. She thought of Craig Crocker’s easy smiles and her stomach churned.

  “Well, if there’s anything you ever need,” the one on the right told her, “and I mean anything, you just let us know.”

  “Well,” Rachel said. “I’m flattered.”

  The one on the left shrugged. “Smith has our back. We have his. That means we have yours too.”

  Rachel nodded, half touched. But she didn’t want these men—least of all Ian—thinking she was too easily flattered by such attention. Besides, she and Ian weren’t even anything. Not really. “I’ll let you know,” she told them, keeping her voice light while her insides quietly worked toward a boil. Almost as an afterthought, she added, “Do you run background checks?”

  “We might,” said the one on the left.

  “For a good cause,” said the other.

  “Why would you need to do background checks?” Ian asked, his voice warm with amused anticipation.

  “You can’t just trust anybody you meet on the internet.”

  “If you’re worried about that, you shouldn’t friend people on social media if you don’t know them in real life,” the one on the left told her.

  “Oh, it’s not that,” she said airily. “It’s for my matches on Lockstep.”

  It was as if she’d tossed a live grenade, only their reactions were the reverse-image of an explosion. They all went still, trapped in a heavy pocket of silence.

  Ian stared at her, but she refused to meet his eyes. She tamped down an almost instantaneous wave of remorse. Whatever disappointment Ian felt was his own fault. After all, he’d known her all this time and had never made a definitive move. Now, at least, he would know she wasn’t sitting around pining for him. Which she totally wasn’t.

  She’d done the right thing. He needed to know.

  Still, the silence was terrible. The silence, and the staring, and the pit in her stomach yawning wider and wider.

  Rachel rushed to fill the void. “My sister and my friend Lynn tell me internet dating’s not safe,” she prattled, “but I figure as long as I take precautions, it should be fine. People meet online all the time, right?”

  Still the men did not react.

  With superb timing, a cricket chirped nearby.

  “Well,” said one of the Damelus brothers.

  “Good night, then,” said the other.

  They hustled toward the station.

  She could feel Ian’s gaze on her. She squirmed under the scrutiny.

  “Thanks again,” she said, her throat tighter than she’d expected. Her heart hammered oddly. She risked a glance at his face and quailed. Gone was the openness of moments ago. His expression was flat and his eyes shuttered.

  “Are you really on Lockstep?”

  Rachel scratched the back of her head. Her much-abused topknot finally gave way, spilling tangled red curls down around her head. Dead leaves fluttered to the pavement at her feet. “Yes.”

  The word dropped between them and settled.

  Ian shifted his weight, mimicking the move Donovan took when he absorbed one of Ann’s killer kicks. “OK, then.”

  And he walked away.

  14

  “Most of Shakespeare’s comedies end with a wedding,” Rachel told her class, “while his tragedies tend to begin with one. So what does it tell us that The Taming of the Shrew has its wedding smack in the middle?”

  “That the play should end with Act III?” Chris stifled a yawn.

  Shayla flicked an eraser at him.

  Rachel turned a beady eye on her. “Although I am tolerating Katherine’s violence toward men because she’s written that way, it doesn’t mea
n I condone such behavior.”

  Shayla huffed, but she retrieved her eraser.

  “Now, then,” Rachel proceeded. “Let’s get back to my question. What does it tell us that Kate and Petruchio’s story doesn’t end with their wedding?”

  “Um, that it’s going to be a disaster?” Todd squinched his nose and scratched a freckled cheek. “I mean, look at the wedding. Petruchio’s late on purpose, then when he does show up, he looks like a slob, swears during the ceremony, and throws wine in somebody’s face!”

  “You’re leaving out the best part.” Rachel slanted a sly glance at Todd. She laughed as the tips of his ears turned red. She lifted her copy of the script, flipped to a passage she’d marked, cleared her throat, and read aloud: “This done, he took the bride about the neck and kissed her lips with such a clamorous smack that at the parting all the church did echo.”

  Denise sighed. “That must have been some kiss.”

  Chris waggled his substantial eyebrows, leering. “Sounds like the beginnings of a healthy marriage to me.”

  In the back, Alice lifted her eyes.

  Rachel waved a hand to give her the floor.

  “Attraction doesn’t always mean a couple is compatible.” Alice’s voice was low and even. “At least, not in the long run. The fact that Kate and Petruchio’s wedding is happening with two acts still to go lets us know that even though they’re married, their relationship hasn’t arrived.”

  Rachel nodded. “The point of most books and Hollywood movies—not to mention Shakespeare’s comedies—is to get the couple together. The stories end with weddings as if a wedding is the final fulfillment of a romantic relationship. But the truth is that most couples are just starting to know each other at that point. I think that for people who stay together over the years, ideally their relationship never reaches a resting state. They just keep growing and changing together, their relationship evolving the whole time.”

  She paused.

  “Something wrong?” Chris leaned forward in his chair and tilted it up on the front two legs.

  Rachel shook her head. “Nothing. Four on the floor, please.”

  Chris leaned back until all four chair legs rested against the tiles.

  “Nothing’s wrong except Kate and Petruchio’s whole relationship,” Shayla muttered, earning her a smattering of applause.

  Chris groaned. He flipped his script onto the desktop and tapped his pencil against it, the rubber eraser striking Petruchio’s face repeatedly. “This is boring. What’s a guy gotta do to get a few stabbings?”

  ~*~

  Rachel sat at Lynn’s kitchen table, tipping her mug forward for a top-off of fresh coffee. “That’s when it hit me. If Lee and Sharon were characters in a Shakespeare comedy, I would probably be defending their relationship. I mean, look at them! Lee needs companionship and affection. Sharon needs someone to ground her. Of course they’re not ready for marriage, but honestly, who is?”

  Lynn laughed. “Alex and I sure weren’t. We had to figure it out as we went along. I mean, we still are.”

  “Exactly! So I should have been proud of Lee for finding a good woman and settling down. Instead, I’ve spent these last few weeks sitting back and waiting for it all to fall apart. I’m such a hypocrite. I mean, Lee and Sharon have a better starting foundation for their relationship than Kate and Petruchio had.” Not that those two set the bar particularly high.

  “I’ll have to take your word for that.” Lynn stirred cream into her own coffee. “But I’m glad to hear you saying this. I’ve been praying for the Holy Spirit to open your eyes, and this could be an answer to those prayers.”

  Rachel nodded. She propped her chin against one fist. “The Holy Spirit has revealed that I’m the worst.”

  “I wouldn’t put it like that.”

  “I’ll never get anything right, will I?”

  Lynn waved a hand. “We rarely get things right on our own. So you’re in good company there. And at least you noticed this one on your own. That’s progress.”

  Rachel’s shoulders lifted. “You’re right!” She smacked a hand against the table. “I figured something out!”

  Lynn smiled and sipped her coffee. “Now tell me more about this blowout you had with Lee’s mom.”

  Rachel described the battle royale alongside Ponce de Leon, waxing grandiose over how she’d blocked her face from a tree branch and glossing over the fact that she was almost flattened by a semi. She also failed to mention the plastic bag she’d tied over her head or that for someone with more combat training than most, she’d still somehow been bested by a drug-addled woman her mother’s age. She was sort of hoping it would never come up.

  “…and then Lee and Ian took her back to the halfway house while Sharon and I went to get a table for dinner—”

  “Wait, Ian? Ian Smith was there?” Lynn set down her coffee with a thunk. “How were these not the first words out of your mouth?”

  Rachel strove to sound offhand. “Lee called him. He didn’t want Mavis to get arrested. Not when she’s been making so much ‘progress’ lately.” She rolled her eyes at the word progress.

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “I’m not changing the subject—”

  “Start again and tell me everything.”

  Rachel ran a hand down her face. She should have known. “Fine.”

  She started again, this time fitting in all the details: the plastic bag, the awkward dinner, the ice cream bars, and the abrupt ending in the precinct parking lot. “And then he just walked away.”

  Lynn let out a long sigh. “What else did you expect him to do, Rachel?”

  “Lynn, you of all people know how hard I’m trying not to read into people’s motives and second-guess their actions. Unless he made himself clear and outright asked me to date him, I don’t see how it’s my fault if he got his feelings hurt.”

  “I don’t think he can be much clearer about his intentions.”

  Rachel shook her head. “Have the words ‘I like you and I want to date you’ crossed his lips?”

  “You would know.”

  “They have not. So how am I supposed to know what he’s really thinking unless he tells me?” Rachel clutched the coffee mug as if it were a lifeline. “I mean, I’ve been wrong before.”

  Lynn reached across the table and pried Rachel’s hands from the mug, pulling them across the table and clasping them in both of hers. “Rachel. Do I love you?”

  Rachel blinked. “Of course.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You give me coffee.”

  Lynn squeezed her hands. “And?”

  Rachel laughed. “Well, you tell me all the time.” She squeezed Lynn’s hands.

  “And do you and Ann love each other?”

  “Define love.”

  “Please cooperate.”

  “Of course we love each other. We’re sisters.”

  “But how do you know? Does Ann tell you?”

  Rachel snort-laughed. “She’s more likely to punch me in the face.”

  “Then how do you know she loves you?”

  It was a fair question. Despite the lack of affectionate words and gestures passing between them, Rachel was secure in her sister’s love. “I’ve never thought about it.”

  Lynn patted Rachel’s hand. “Ann doesn’t tell us that she loves us. She shows us. Think about it. You’ve never once asked for her help wondering whether or not she’ll show up. That’s the way Ann loves people. She just keeps showing up.” Lynn released Rachel’s hands and curled her fingers around her own mug.

  Rachel pushed her curls over one ear. As ideas rearranged themselves and locked into place, they formed a picture she wasn’t sure she wanted to face.

  “I’m the worst,” she reiterated.

  “You’re not the worst,” Lynn said firmly. “You’re just a bit misguided.”

  “So what do I do?”

  Lynn considered her quietly for a moment. “You have to realize that there’s a balance
between overthinking things and not thinking about them at all.”

  “And then?”

  “And then…” Lynn tapped her fingers against her mug. “And then you ask for grace to make amends.”

  ~*~

  Rachel dragged up the sidewalk to her apartment, let herself in the front door, and flopped face-first onto the couch without bothering to switch on the light.

  She didn’t deserve light.

  Although her stomach gurgled, she made no move toward the kitchen. She'd been talking to Ann about how she wished she had a husband to take her out for dinner. She let out a half-sigh, half-groan into the pillow. It was no wonder she found herself in the prime of life, lying alone and hungry in a dark room. The life she’d built for herself was no less than she deserved.

  No matter how she tried to spin it, she couldn’t figure out an angle that put her in the right. In her efforts to stop overthinking everything and assigning motivations to people’s actions, she’d swung too far the other way and turned off logical thinking completely.

  If she’d been a character in a book she was reading, she’d be screaming at herself right now to get it together and put the hero out of his misery. Lynn and Ann were right. A woman would have to be blind to miss Ian Smith’s intentions. No, even a blind woman wouldn’t have missed it. But a willfully-blind redhead with uncertain balance and a flair for humiliating herself? That was another story.

  She shouldn’t have announced that she’d joined Lockstep. Not like that, in front of his friends and everything. What a jerk move.

  Unfortunately, flailing into the pillows would solve nothing. Rachel sat up and stared straight ahead into the dark. Her upstairs neighbor must have been out for the evening, because no thrumming bass line disturbed the stillness.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she said aloud, half-processing and half-praying. “I’ve been trying, but nothing works.” Then she sat and waited—for what she didn’t know. No voices split the sky, and no light from heaven shone down. “If I’m ever to get wiser, You’ll have to help me. I can’t figure it out on my own.” Now she was definitely praying.