by Angie Martin
Chapter Twelve
“It’s a boy!” Greg said. He walked toward the cash register with a photograph in his hand.
The grin on Greg’s face revealed him as a proud father in the making, and Mark laughed. “Just what the Jacobson clan needs,” Mark said. “Another boy.” He took the picture Greg held out. “What’s this?” he asked.
“It’s a sonogram picture. They even made a videotape during the sonogram. It’s amazing what they can do.”
James McCormick rose from the stool behind the register and stood over Mark’s shoulder. “A sono-what?”
“Sonogram,” Mark said. “You know, where they—”
“I know what a sonogram is,” James said. He grabbed the picture from Mark’s hand. “I didn’t hear what he said.”
“Please be careful,” Greg said. “It’s the first picture of my son.”
James ignored him. He held the picture in front of his face, and then moved it away. “I can’t tell what’s what on here.”
Greg walked around the counter and stood behind them. Pointing at the middle of the picture, he said, “There’s his head, and over here are his legs and feet.”
James handed the picture back to Mark, who stared at it for a moment before turning it upside down. He cocked his head to the side. The picture looked like a jumbled mess of white and grey dots. “You mean this white spot is his head?” Mark asked.
Greg took the picture back from Mark and frowned. “Yeah, I think so. That’s what Anna said anyway.”
Mark laughed. “You can’t see it either?”
“Don’t ever tell Anna I don’t know where he is in the picture.” As an afterthought, Greg said, “Oh, and when you see her next, tell her you loved it.”
“Of course,” Mark said. “I’m not about to get in trouble. I never know what her mood will be when I see her.”
James sat back down on the stool. He took the picture from Greg and moved it back and forth from his face again. “I don’t see it.”
“You have to hold it still,” Greg said.
“Nah,” James said. “It’s like one of those scrambled up pictures where you can’t see it unless you stare at one spot for a long time, and then start backing away from it.” He demonstrated with the sonogram picture.
“Let me know if that helps,” Greg said. To Mark, he said, “By the way, Anna wants you and Rachel to come over for dinner Sunday night. She’s offended you haven’t introduced her to Rachel. She thinks it’s because she’s fat and ugly and you’re embarrassed to have her as a sister-in-law.”
“How can she be fat? She’s four months pregnant and just started showing. Besides, Anna wouldn’t be ugly no matter how much weight she gains with the baby.”
Greg thrust his hands out, palms up. “That’s what I’ve been saying, but she doesn’t listen to me. Anyway, she wants to make sure she approves of ‘the new girl’, as she puts it. She doesn’t want you getting married before she can check Rachel out.”
“Like one overprotective sibling wasn’t enough. You can tell Anna there isn’t going to be a wedding anytime soon.” Mark grinned. “At least not for the next few months. I’ll see what Rach is up to Sunday, but I’m not guaranteeing anything.”
“Just convince her to come. Also, can you bring dinner?”
“Excuse me?”
“Anna’s such a perfectionist and she wants Rachel to think she can cook.”
Mark chuckled. “We both know Anna can’t even make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, same as you.”
“Don’t tell Anna that. She wants to impress Rachel, so can you cook dinner and bring it by earlier in the day? Then Anna can heat it up and look like she was hard at work in the kitchen all day. She wants you to bring your stuffed chicken with those spices in the red sauce you make,” he said.
“That narrows it down,” Mark said.
“And she’ll make her fruit salad.”
“Oh no,” Mark said. “Last time she made fruit salad we were all sick. I still don’t know what was in the sauce she added to it. Tell her not to worry about anything, except maybe some bread or rolls. I’ll make the side dishes and I’ll even bring a bottle of wine to keep up appearances.”
“Don’t forget some sparking non-alcoholic wine for Anna.” Greg stared at Mark’s outstretched hand.
“It’s going to cost money to do this. Normally I wouldn’t mind, but who ever heard of asking your guest to cook dinner?”
Greg groaned and pulled his wallet out his back pocket. He placed a twenty-dollar bill in Mark’s hand.
Mark left his hand out. “This will get you plain baked chicken, no sauce, no sides, and no wine.” He smiled as Greg placed another twenty in his hand. “Thank you.”
“I have a feeling you screwed me out of some money.”
“Of course I did,” Mark said, putting the money in his own wallet. “I never said we could make it to dinner.”
“I see him!” James said. He held the picture out so they could get a better look. “Here’s his head, and here’s his arms,” he said, pointing to different areas on the picture.
“No, I think that might be a leg there.” Greg took the picture and a smile formed on his lips. “You know, it doesn’t matter what’s what. That’s my son.”
Mark beamed with admiration. He had looked up to Greg since his youth. He learned Greg was his only true parent very early on, when he realized his mother loved alcohol more than her children, and when he saw his missing-in-action father kiss a younger woman. Both times his sense of being betrayed caused him to run to Greg for guidance.
Greg never hesitated to help him through whatever life brought. He was never condescending, but loving and reassuring. Greg had been there to help with homework, fights with friends, and the discovery that girls were more important than sewer snakes.
When Mark was ten, he came home from school to find his mother asleep on a recliner, a glass of vodka spilled on the floor by her feet. He picked up the glass and kissed her cold cheek. He found a blanket to cover her up, and ignored the empty prescription bottle in the chair beside her.
Responsible beyond his ten years, he retreated to his room to study his spelling words for a test the next day. When Greg returned home from his job at the bookstore, their mother had been dead for almost seven hours.
Their father continued his trucking job, keeping him away for days and even weeks at a time, their mother’s suicide a momentary distraction in his hectic, adulterous lifestyle. One year later, as Greg wrestled between taking classes at Wichita State University or working at the bookstore to help support Mark, their father suffered a heart attack on the road. His truck crashed into an overpass right after he took his last breath.
His future decided for him, Greg continued working at the bookstore as an assistant manager, while Mark finished middle school and high school. As Mark lived Greg’s dream of college, Greg became the manager at the bookstore.
When Mark emerged four years later with a business degree and no plans for his own life, Greg broached the subject of buying out the retiring couple he had worked under since high school. Mark agreed, and the brothers were soon partners in a venture of which neither could be sure. Seven years later, Mark knew he had made the right decision.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Greg asked, snapping Mark out of his reverie.
“I’m happy for you,” Mark said. “If anyone deserves this, it’s you.”
Greg smiled. “Thank you. That means a lot to me. And I’m happy for you, too.”
“What for?”
“You know, this whole Rachel thing. It’s good to see you so...attached to someone like her. She’s done wonders for you.”
“What are you talking about?” Mark asked.
“You have this healthy glow about you,” Greg said. His staccato laugh bounced off the bad acoustics in the store.
Mark rolled his eyes.
“You’ll never guess what he did today,” James said. “He bought her flowers.”
Greg clutched his chest. “You bought a woman flowers?”
“Yes,” Mark said. “What’s wrong with giving her flowers?”
“When’s the last time you bought someone flowers?”
Mark squinted and crossed his arms, as he tried to remember if he had ever done that before. “There was one girl—”
“What girl?” Greg asked. “You know you’ve never bought flowers for a girl before. Between ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ you’ve never had time for romantic gestures. Did Rachel like them?”
“I don’t know. She was working at the shelter when I stopped by, so I left them with Danielle.”
“Can you hook me up with Danielle?” James asked. “She’s hot.”
“Danielle hot?” Mark said. The idea of Danielle being anything other than Rachel’s hyperactive, yet loyal best friend was foreign to him.
“Yeah,” James said. A mischievous grin took over his mouth. “I’d like to—”
Mark didn’t let him finish. “No way. Anything you’d like to do would end up causing problems with me and Rachel.”
“You two work this out yourselves,” Greg said. “I have to get home. James, aren’t you working anymore?”
“Yeah, I’m over at the liquor store now,” he said, pointing out the window toward the strip mall across the street. “But I don’t work tonight. I’m keeping Mark company ‘cause Sarah went home sick.”
“I thought we were missing an employee,” Greg said. “You couldn’t call anyone else in?”
“We can handle it,” Mark said. “It won’t get busy for another hour or so, and Jason will be here for his shift by then.”
“Call me if you need me,” Greg said. “And Mark, don’t forget to ask Rachel about Sunday.”
“I won’t,” Mark promised. “I’ll ask her when I see her tonight.”
Chapter Thirteen
Rachel plopped down on her bed. She hiked one leg up on the mattress, tugged at her shoelaces, and pulled the shoe off. The shoe flew across the room, and hit the wall with a bang.
As she battled a knot in the shoelace of her other tennis shoe, Danielle appeared in the doorway holding a half empty roll of cookie dough, her waitress apron tied around her waist. She glanced at the shoe on the floor and frowned. “Bad day?”
Rachel gave up on the shoelace and yanked the shoe off with a grunt. “You don’t know the half of it. All I want to do is soak in a hot bath and forget I ever woke up this morning.”
Danielle walked over to the bed and offered her the cookie dough. “What happened?”
Rachel scooped some dough onto her finger. “We got a new one today. Sixteen years old,” she said. She placed the dough in her mouth.
“Oh, no.”
Rachel chewed the chocolate chips, and the dough melted on her tongue. “This is good. Exactly what I needed,” she said. She swallowed the dough before she continued. “The girl lives in Salina, but she was dating some guy who lives in a fraternity house here. Her mom and dad hate the new boyfriend and the whole world is against her.”
“Older guys sure are tantalizing for teenagers,” Danielle said. “Some girls don’t realize their parents are trying to protect them.”
“This girl’s parents knew something was wrong with her boyfriend, but she couldn’t see it. She ran away from home and came here to be closer to him. Two nights ago, she wound up in the hospital. Seems frat boy gets a little mean when he’s been drinking. She had a broken nose and cigarette burns on her abdomen.”
“Is she pressing charges?”
“She won’t even admit he did it.”
“Let me guess,” Danielle said. “She fell down the stairs and into an ashtray.”
“Subtract the ashtray and you have her official story.”
“Why is it always the stairs?”
“She was patched up at the hospital, but the doctor didn’t know who to release her to since she’s a minor. Every time a cop came near her she screamed and fought back. She refused to tell anyone her parents’ names or where she lived, so one of the doctors called the shelter. Whoever went to see her convinced her to stay at least one night at the shelter. After she got there, one of the counselors managed to get the information out of her and her parents are coming down tomorrow to take her home.”
“I’m not working at the shelter again until Monday, so I guess I won’t get to meet her.” At the shelter, Danielle provided support to incoming women as they adapted to their surroundings. “I don’t understand how you handle being there day after day, seeing the things you do. I have a hard enough time working there part-time. I couldn’t stand being around the shelter as much as you. It would tear me up.”
“I wish I could say I’m used to it,” Rachel said, “but I don’t ever want to get used to that. At least by the time I’ve heard their stories, they’re already out of the situation. That’s about the only thing that gets me through.”
“Yeah, but overall, you should feel good about what you do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it. At least you know if they go back or end up in another abusive relationship, they’re able to defend themselves against an attack.”
“But I never want any of the women to have to use what I teach them.”
Danielle sat down on the bed and faced Rachel. “It’s not only the self-defense, Rach. You teach them so much more than how to protect themselves. You teach courage, strength, confidence. That’s everything you taught me, and it helped me get past what that bastard did to me. You showed me how to look forward and not be a victim to my past.”
“I didn’t teach you those things. I showed you where to find them in yourself. There’s a difference.” She stood up and grabbed an elastic band off her bedside table. Pulling her hair up in a ponytail, she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload my day on you. I’m going to do the bubble bath thing and then go over to the bookstore. Mark and I are going to see a movie tonight and—”
Danielle gasped. “I almost forgot!”
“What is it?”
“Come here.”
“Why?” Rachel asked.
“Do you have to question everything? Just come here.”
Rachel followed her into the kitchen. On the table, red roses surrounded by baby’s breath flowed from a glass vase. “What are these?”
“They’re roses.”
“I know what they are, but where did you get them?”
“They were delivered today. They’re for you.”
Rachel stared at the flowers, and rested her hands on the edge of the table. “Who delivered them?”
“Mark. He said he wanted you to come home to something beautiful.”
Rachel flinched. “Why would he bring me roses?”
“Well,” Danielle said, her tone as if she was speaking to a child, “sometimes when a boy likes a girl, he’ll send flowers. It’s what some people call ‘courting’ and it’s a well-recognized and accepted practice.” Danielle sighed. “I’m so jealous.”
Rachel glanced at her, stunned by the statement. Danielle jealous? Rachel thought she was the only one who battled with envy in their friendship. Laughing, she asked, “Why are you jealous?”
“Mark’s one of the good ones.”
The simple statement summed up Danielle’s entire view of relationships. Good ones, bad ones. “Yes, he is,” Rachel said. She looked back at the roses, taking in their exquisite beauty and wondering what she had done to deserve them and him.
Scrutinizing Rachel’s expression, Danielle asked, “Haven’t you gotten flowers before?”
“No,” Rachel said. She reached out and stroked a petal on one of the roses, then withdrew her hand as if the rose bit her. Her cheeks flushed and she fought a smile.
“You’re blushing!”
Rachel tried to hide her face behind her hands. “I am not.”
“Your face is red and you tell me you’re not blushing. We need to work on this chronic lying problem you have. Repeat after me. You’re r
ight, Danielle. I am blushing.”
Rachel lifted her eyes toward the ceiling. “You’re right, Danielle. I am blushing. Are you satisfied?”
“A little. Now, I have to go to work and you have a date. I’m going out after work, so don’t get worried like you do. I want you to write, ‘I will not lie to Danielle ever again’ one hundred times on the chalkboard before I get home and I’ll forgive you.”
“We don’t own a chalkboard,” Rachel said.
Danielle took one last look at the roses before heading toward the front door. “Definitely one of the good ones,” she murmured.
Chapter Fourteen
“Name one real girl that can take on a guy,” James said. “And those fake professional wrestlers don’t count.”
Rachel bit her bottom lip in frustration. She sat on the back of Mark’s truck bed behind the bookstore, waiting for Mark to finish closing up for the night. She had arrived early, hoping to get a few peaceful moments to herself.
Instead, James found her sitting outside and lured her into a one-sided conversation. Rachel had welcomed the opportunity to get to know James better, as he was Mark’s closest friend. James, however, seemed to enjoy the chance to grill her on her ability to defend herself. From his excited questions, she got the impression he had been waiting a long time to bring up the topic.
James stood in front of her, his eyes challenging her. “You can’t name any, can you?” he said, continuing the debate he started when she arrived ten minutes earlier. “See, those self-defense classes don’t work in real life. In the movies, maybe, but not in real life.”
Mark came through the backdoor of the bookstore, saving her from having to choose a patient response. “You guys should have come in,” he said.
“That’s okay,” Rachel said, hopping off the truck bed. “We kept ourselves entertained.”
James grunted in agreement.
“Weren’t you going home?” Mark asked James.
“I was, but then Rachel walked up as I was leaving. We were having a discussion.”
Rachel glared at him. “More like a disagreement.”