Unbreakable

by Ruth Buchanan

  She knew. Rachel set the mug down. “I’ve told you a million times there’s nothing going on between Mr. Martin and me.” At least, not in the way they were thinking. “If you didn’t believe me then, certainly nothing I say today will change anything.”

  Chris crossed his long legs in the aisle. “Well, what are we supposed to think when you drag in here the day before his wedding looking like you haven’t slept in a week? You have to admit that the evidence isn’t in your favor.”

  “Thank you, Judge Judy.”

  Chris scoffed. “I’m a man.”

  “Fine. Judge Jude.” Rachel waited for the snickers to die down before she slapped her hand against the cover of The Taming of the Shrew. “Now, then. Kate and Petruchio may be together, but the story still isn’t over. We have one more act before the end, and you can bet it’ll be thrilling.”

  Chris leaned back in his seat and groaned. “Is a friendly little stabbing too much to hope for? Just a little one? To keep it interesting?”

  She spread her hands. “I have no control over endings,” she reminded him. “But this is a comedy. So adjust your expectations accordingly.”

  ~*~

  In some ways, it was still dawning on Rachel that she actually had a boyfriend. Or, to be specific—a man friend. Although the mental adjustments weren’t easy, she was excited that for once she wouldn’t have to dither over going to a wedding without a date. Because Ian had to work that night, however, she did have to attend the rehearsal dinner without him.

  Once she’d arrived at the Botanical Gardens for the rehearsal, she found a quiet corner, pulled out her phone, and called him.

  “I can’t talk long,” she said when he picked up. “Lee just texted that he’s picked up Mavis, and she seems clear-headed. They’re on their way over.”

  “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine.”

  “The last time you saw this woman, she whacked you in the face with a tree branch.”

  “I’m pretty sure it was an accident. I mean, sure—she did throw a branch at me, but I don’t think she was trying to hit me in the face. She just wanted us to leave her alone. Besides which, she sent me a letter taking full responsibility and apologizing for that. And it didn’t leave a scar. Not like that time with the cinderblock.”

  “Rachel,” he said. “Your life.”

  “I know.” He did have a point.

  “Steer clear of her if you can. If you can’t, do whatever you can to deescalate the situation.”

  “Like what?” What was he expecting? She didn’t have his training.

  “Well, you know what you would normally do?”

  “I think so.”

  “Do the opposite.”

  She laughed. “I don’t think I’m the one we have to worry about.” Briefly, she described Sharon’s mother. “With those two in a room together? It’ll be like clash of the Titans.”

  ~*~

  At first, Rachel didn’t even recognize the mousy woman walking beside Lee, her scrawny arm looped through his burly one. Then she realized it was Mavis Martin. She wanted to ask someone to pass her a drink so she could take a sip, choke in surprise, and spray a mouthful of water through the air. She could think of no better way to effectively display her surprise at Mavis’s transformation.

  Her hair, despite looking scraggly and badly in need of a trim, was pulled back in a neat tail at the base of her neck. She’d either purchased or borrowed a dress for the occasion, although the effect of the elegant cut was offset by protruding shoulder blades and her seeming inability to keep her hands from twitching at the fabric with quick, jerky movements. She appeared more like a nervous bird than a woman.

  Rachel wondered if she should duck behind the ficuses to keep herself out of firing range. But Mavis was bound to see her eventually. Rachel stepped forward and planted herself directly in front of them. To her astonishment, Mavis Martin ducked her head behind Lee’s arm and peeked one eye around it to peer at Rachel. She curled her claw-like hands into her son’s dress shirt and quivered.

  Against her will, Rachel’s frustration ebbed. This poor woman.

  “Mrs. Martin.” She extended a hand. “You’re looking well.” Which wasn’t exactly true. This was the skinniest Rachel had ever seen her.

  Lee smiled behind his beard.

  “Let’s get you in place before the rehearsal starts.” Rachel motioned Mavis toward the back of the room where the ushers waited to escort her down the aisle to her seat of honor as mother of the groom.

  Muttering his thanks, Lee jogged over to drop a kiss on Sharon’s cheek before turning to Deirdre Day, obviously working to placate her.

  Rachel wondered what, exactly, Sharon and Lee had told Mrs. Day about Mavis, and then decided that she didn’t want to know. She shepherded Mavis forward, planting her well out of Mrs. Day’s range. She wondered if it would be possible to keep the two women apart for the entire night.

  Absently, she explained the evening’s events to Mavis. “As mother of the groom, you’ll wait in one of the side rooms until it’s time for you to be seated by an usher. I’ll show you the room later. Then, when it’s time—” she paused as Mavis’s fingers clutched her arm.

  Mavis stopped walking. “I know you probably hate me.” Her rough voice carried the mark of a thousand cigarettes. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, swaying back and forth. Her hand danced along Rachel’s sleeve. “You and Lee both have a right to hate me. Especially Lee. I don’t know why he even wants me here.”

  Rachel grasped Mavis’s hand, tugging at it to draw them both down the aisle. “Of course Lee wants you here. You’re his mom.”

  “I haven’t been much of one.” This was more like the Mavis she knew: needy and self-involved even in her apologies.

  Only with great physical restraint did Rachel keep from rolling her eyes. While she could appreciate that Mavis was going through something, she also wanted to shake her. This weekend wasn’t about Mavis and her many problems. It was about Lee and Sharon and the start of their life together.

  “Mavis, I can’t speak for Lee, but I can speak for myself. I forgive you. I already did a while ago—even before you sent me that letter. It’s water under the bridge.” More like lava under the bridge, but now didn’t seem the time for new and confusing metaphors. Rachel squeezed the hand she held. “If you’re really sorry, focus on changing, and not just for Lee’s sake. Do it for your sake too.” She patted talon-like fingers one last time before releasing them. “Now sit here, and I’ll get you a bottled water. We’re getting ready to start.”

  But when she returned, Mavis was gone.

  Rachel spun on her heel and trotted up the temporary aisle between the folding chairs, slowing as she approached Lee and Sharon. They stood close, encased in a tiny bubble of privacy, hands clasped between them and heads bent together. She hated to be the one to interrupt them, but it was better that they deal with this now than partway through the rehearsal.

  Lee must have spotted her, because he turned and lifted his chin. “Yes?”

  “It’s your mom.”

  A deep sigh. His gaze scanned the back of the room. “What’s she done now?”

  “It’s not that.” Rachel swallowed hard. “I just went to get her a water.”

  “And?”

  “And I think she left.”

  Sharon made a tiny sound. “I’ll check the gardens. Maybe she stepped outside for some air.” She trotted toward the side door

  Lee growled at the ceiling and slipped his phone from his pocket. “Let me call her.”

  “She has a phone?”

  “I bought her one of those cheap pay-as-you-go things.”

  She failed to pick up.

  Sharon returned, pink-cheeked and slightly breathless. “Not out back. Did you check the front?” she asked Rachel.

  Rachel felt stupid. She could kick herself. “I’ll do it now.”

  Lee’s phone chirped. “Hold up.” He held up a hand an
d read a text, shoulders rolling forward. He gave a little snort. “Apparently, she doesn’t feel as if she can face everyone tonight.”

  At least she’d checked in. That showed progress.

  Sharon stepped forward and took Lee’s arm.

  “Is she planning on coming tomorrow?”

  “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

  “Do you want me to call Ian? Maybe he could—”

  “No.” Lee huffed a breath, shut off his phone, and jammed it into his pocket. Behind his beard, his jaw was set in a hard line.

  “Forget it, Rachel. She’s a grown woman. There’s nothing to say she can’t go wherever she wants, whenever she wants. It’s what she always does. Just let her go.”

  Rachel’s heart squeezed. “But what if she doesn’t come tomorrow?”

  Lee met her gaze, the anger seeping away. “Rachel. I’m getting married tomorrow. Whether or not my mother shows up is immaterial. You’re here, I’m here, and most importantly, Sharon is here—an amazing woman who for some reason is willing to throw herself headfirst into this mess.”

  Sharon cooed, and he leaned down to give her a peck on the cheek. He turned her toward the back of the hall and gave her a gentle push. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  Lee grasped Rachel’s elbow and moved them to their places, turning toward the back to prepare for the bride’s processional.

  Standing behind her sister, the maid of honor, Sharon clung to her father’s arm, her face clear and radiant. She looked like something in a Renaissance painting, all soft tones and pure light.

  “Look at that.” Lee’s voice misted over. “Who would want to postpone that?”

  22

  For the first time in a decade, Rachel would have a wedding date. It was also her first official date with Ian. She’d thought about it, and she’d decided the stealth dates didn’t count. At least not to her.

  Sadly, on this momentous occasion they had to drive separately. What’s more, they wouldn’t even sit together. Because she was in the wedding party, she had to show up early for photos and would be standing at the front of the hall the entire time, then sitting at the head table during the reception.

  Even so, that hardly dimmed the glow. Rachel had a date to the one wedding that would have made her the saddest to attend solo. And not just any date. She had a date with Detective Ian Smith.

  Not that his name itself inspired much romance. Like the man himself, the generic-sounding name and regular features masked hidden depths. When they’d met, she’d told Lynn that he was “just ordinary.” She now recognized the shallowness of this assessment, but she still felt she should cut herself some slack. After all, on paper Ian didn’t amount to much. He was smart, but he didn’t flaunt it. He was kind, but it was a quiet kindness. He was nice-looking, but not so handsome as to make a woman uncomfortable.

  So this was how Goldilocks felt when she’d found the porridge that was just right for her. The literary allusion wasn’t very romantic, but it perfectly suited how Rachel felt about Ian. He wasn’t too hot or too cold or too tall or too short.

  He was just Ian.

  For her, he was just right.

  Rachel smiled as she pulled the garment bag from the back of her car and skipped up the cobbled sidewalk toward the front of the botanical gardens. Then she caught herself and slowed her pace. She needed to get a grip. She was practically prancing.

  But who would blame her? Life had never been better. Lee was getting married today to a woman who seemed capable of handling his situation. Rachel had a date with a just-right detective who already knew she was a hot mess and didn’t seem to mind. The Memento Killer was behind bars, Call-Me-Matt was out of the picture, and Myla’s dad had not made an appearance since he’d been hauled away from Osceola Park. Best of all, the resolutions she had made at the beginning of the new year, while not still fully habitual, had begun to yield fruit.

  God was in His heaven, her stalker was out of the picture, and all was right with her world.

  All was not right, however, with Lee’s.

  “Have you seen your mother yet today?” Rachel asked him as soon as she’d entered the room set aside for the groom to get ready.

  “Are you candidating for the job?” he snapped.

  Rachel stepped back and held up both hands, palms out. “Whoa.”

  Lee tugged the tufts of his beard until his cheeks pulled out in a grotesque mask. “I’m sorry,” he groaned. “I’m just stressed.”

  “I’m sure she’ll turn up.”

  “It’s not that.” Lee rubbed his eyes. “I already told you I don’t care if my mother shows up today or not.”

  “What is it, then?”

  Lee gaped up at her. His eyes were practically swirling. “Rachel,” he croaked. “I’m getting married today.”

  Oh. Lee was panicking. She almost laughed, but managed to reel it in at the last moment.

  Well, then.

  She straightened her shoulders and adopted her teacher tone. “Stand up.”

  “Why?”

  “I think I know something that might calm you down.”

  “What?”

  “Come with me and you’ll see.”

  “The photographer will be here in an hour,” he reminded her. But he stood, and once distracted from his freak-out spiral, he seemed to calm down.

  She tugged him toward the parking lot, scoffing. “You’re a guy. It takes guys five minutes to get ready for special occasions. All you have to do is change into your tux. We’ll be back in plenty of time.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Nobody’s looking at me anyway.”

  Anyone overhearing might have assumed Rachel referred to the fact that everyone would be staring at the bride.

  She wasn’t.

  An hour later, when Lee stood before a full-length mirror—freshly shaved, coiffed, and resplendent in his tux—they would have understood that she referred to the groom.

  From the top of his burnished head to the tip of his shiny dress shoes, Lee had been transformed. His thick mane had been trimmed close against his scalp, and his face neatly shaved to reveal those perfectly-sculpted cheekbones. His jacket hugged his shoulders, and his well-fitted dress pants revealed a shape he generally kept hidden under bulky vests and baggy jackets.

  Rachel eyed him appreciatively. This was more like it. She thought with misty-eyed nostalgia of the first time he’d shaved his beard and gotten himself cleaned up. It had been nearly a year ago, on the night of the ill-fated Arts Evening last spring. He looked just as good as he had that night, only a thousand times more so. This time, however, Rachel wasn’t distracted by her worries that a serial killer was about to pop out and strangle her, or that Lee would misinterpret her appreciative stare and sly grin. This time she could focus all her attention on enjoying how grown-up and manly he looked.

  What a difference a year made. She wished she could go back—slide the wheel in reverse until a window opened over that night—and whisper the truth in her own ear. She wished she could give Past Rachel a dose of patience and an extra shot of common sense. But alas. Other hands controlled the wheel of time—hands infinitely more suited to the task than her own.

  Thank God. Literally.

  Lee stuck a finger between his collar and his neck and tugged. His blue eyes met hers in the mirror. “Was this really necessary?”

  Rachel gestured toward his reflection. “Decide for yourself.” She stepped up beside him and took his arm.

  Rachel studied herself critically. She had to admit that Lynn had been right about the dress. The high neckline and snug front mimicked that of a traditional tux, with a black collar and black capped sleeves reinforcing the effect. The dress nipped in at the waist and hugged her hips before flaring into a mermaid cut, leaving a spill of black fabric to pool around her ankles. At Lynn’s recommendation, Rachel had completed the look with a pair of wickedly-spiked red heels.

  Lee’s eyebrows
rose as he got his first close look at her footwear. “Will you be OK with those?”

  Given her penchant for catastrophe, it was a fair question. Rachel didn’t generally wear heels—spiked or otherwise. Today, however, seemed one of those perfect days—a day in which she might get away with anything.

  She threaded her arm through his, marveling that almost without effort, she’d managed to arrange her explosion of curls into something resembling a style. She’d split it into two asymmetrical sections with a deep side part. The bulk of her hair tumbled down the left side of her face, but she’d lifted the heavy curls on the right side with a few strategically-placed hair pins. Although this laid bare her pale white cinderblock scar from all those years ago in Lee’s front yard, she didn’t think anyone would be coming close enough to notice. Except possibly Ian.

  She shivered.

  Pulling herself together, she answered Lee’s question about her shoes with a delicate snort. “They’re just heels. And the service is only a half an hour long. All I have to do is walk out with you, stand behind you while you get married, and then file down the aisle at the end. I’m sure it will be fine.”

  Probably the best aspect of being Lee’s best man was that Rachel was spared the drama of helping prepare the bride. Just imagining the emotional swath that Deirdre Day had cut through the morning made Rachel extra thankful to be a best man rather than a bridesmaid.

  As strange as it was. And it was strange.

  The strangest aspect was definitely the pre-wedding photoshoot. Since Lee and Sharon didn’t want to see each other until the ceremony, they scheduled their pictures together and the shots with the full wedding party for after the ceremony. Since Lee didn’t have any other attendants or any family members attending, the pre-wedding shots turned out to be just the two of them. The fact that she was partially wearing a tux helped stave off the prom-like feel. The fancy hair and strappy red heels did not.

  Either way, she’d be happy to have a good shot of her and Lee. In spite of their bond, they’d never taken any photos together. She planned to have this one framed and hung in her living room. She didn’t care what Lee or Sharon or Ann or Lynn or Ian or anybody had to say about it.