Touchstone

by Sharon Sala

  “I dropped my rabbit. Would you get it for me?”

  It was the closest thing to an apology he was going to get, and he knew it.

  “Yeah, sure,” he said gruffly, and picked the rabbit up from the floor where she’d thrown it. “It’s brown, with black eyes and a little pink nose.”

  Rachel sighed as he put it in her hands, then she began the awkward journey of feeling her way across the stuffed animal’s face. As her fingers traced the length of the long lop ears, she chuckled, then tucked it under her arm. It was soft, and in a very few moments it began to grow warm from the heat of her body.

  “I’m ready,” she said.

  Houston opened the book with shaking hands. The wounding of Rachel might be the end of him yet. He shuffled through the pages until he found the last place marked, then cleared his throat again and leaned closer to the light, letting the story fill the silence between them.

  “ ‘The stripper was dead. Shot through the heart with an arrow, just like the four other victims had been. The inspector sighed. It was going to be another long day.’ ”

  A dollop of paint dripped on Beatty’s cheek. He swiped at it with the back of his hand as he ran the paint-filled roller up and down the wall. Every now and then he took a step back and squinted to get the full effect of his work. It had taken him longer than he’d planned to get to this day, but it had been worth it. There had been mountains of his mother’s junk to discard. Closets to clean. Drawers to empty. Everything had to be perfect for Rachel when he brought her home from the hospital.

  His routine at work was the same, and except for the penthouse, all of the other apartments were habitable. He and every other employee of the building had been interviewed by the police, some more than others, but there were no suspects. He almost chuckled with glee. Life was back to normal. It would take days longer, maybe even weeks, before the repairs on the penthouse were finished, but Beatty didn’t mind. He still clocked in on time, was courteous on the job, and kept to himself when it was over. Everyone talked about what had happened to their most famous tenant, but no one suspected a thing. The clerk who’d delivered the package to Rachel had turned in her resignation, claiming mental distress. But none of that mattered to him. To Beatty, the ends had more than justified the means.

  Twice he’d made plans to go to the hospital and see Rachel, and each time he’d talked himself out of the trip. It wasn’t time. When her last so-called friend walked out, then he would make himself known. Besides, he didn’t want to show undue interest in her welfare while the investigation was so fresh.

  There was another facet of the events he’d set in motion that pleased him greatly. It was all over the news. An all-out search was in progress for the new “face” for Farrier Cosmetics. That was good. Her career had been the cause of their troubles.

  And while he yearned to be with her, he satisfied himself by calling the hospital every day to check on her progress. When it had been upgraded from critical to serious, then from serious to stable, he had rejoiced. He dismissed the fact that her suffering was a result of his actions. Like his mother’s death, it had just happened. Rachel had transgressed. He had disciplined her. It was over. When she was ready to be released, he would be there for her. He would remind her that he had not abandoned her when the going got tough. In fact, he was the only one who’d stayed true.

  With a smile of satisfaction, he dipped the roller back into the pan, loading it with a fresh coat of paint. He thought nothing of the fact that he was painting the walls red. She was magnificent in red. It was one of her best colors.

  Rachel stood at the window in her hospital room, trying to shut out the chatter from the people behind her and taking comfort from the warmth of the sun upon her skin. Even though her legs were still shaky and her endurance was short, it felt good to be standing.

  Behind her, Esther was repeating to Houston the story of how she and Rachel had met. Rachel sighed. That seemed so long ago—and in another lifetime. Something clattered loudly in the hall outside her door. Startled by the sound, she turned, and in doing so almost lost her balance. She reached out, desperate for something concrete to hold, and found herself grasping Houston’s arms.

  “I’ve got you,” he said softly, and then gave her a swift hug.

  “Maybe you should lie back down, dear,” Esther said.

  “I’m not dying, damn it, I just lost my balance,” Rachel muttered, then bit her lip at the silence that followed her thoughtless remark. She sighed. “Sorry. Even though we all know the outcome, I guess I’m a bit nervous about the bandages coming off, after all.”

  “It’s okay, baby,” Houston said. “You can bark at me all you want.” And then he added, “As long as you don’t bite.”

  Everyone laughed, including Rachel. “Maybe I will lie back down,” she said. “My legs are still a bit shaky.”

  Rachel got back into bed with more help than she needed. But after her outburst, she didn’t have the heart to tell either of them no. While she was still fussing with her covers, the door opened. At the sound of footsteps she froze, unaware it was Jules instead of the doctor they were all awaiting.

  Jules gave Houston a defiant look, then walked to Rachel’s side.

  “Rachel.”

  Her mouth curved into a bitter smile. “So, Jules, did you come to see the show, too?”

  A bit taken aback by the tone of her voice, he stuttered out an answer.

  “I—I just thought I should be here for you.”

  Suddenly Rachel was tired of pretending a flippancy she didn’t feel. She was tired of lies and of not being able to see the truth on people’s faces.

  “How is the search going for your new Timeless model?” she asked.

  Jules’s skin turned pasty. “What do you think?” he muttered. “You are impossible to replace.”

  A corner of Rachel’s mouth turned down in disbelief. “Nice try, Jules, but we both know it has to be done.”

  Jules turned away, unable to look at Rachel any longer. The devastation of this moment was harder than he had imagined. The explosion hadn’t just robbed her of her sight, it had ripped her from the world in which he lived. He knew, as readily as he knew his own name, that when she left this hospital, he would never see her again.

  Houston kept quiet. As much as he hated to admit it, what was going on between Rachel and Jules Farrier had nothing to do with him. And while he suspected that Farrier was in love with Rachel, he wasn’t certain how Rachel felt about him.

  Esther took one look at both men, and then at the defeated expression on Rachel’s face, and decided it was time to butt in.

  “Rachel, darling, I want to tell you a story.”

  Rachel managed a smile. Esther’s stories were always a front for some lesson in life.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Esther smiled, then stepped close to Rachel’s bed and took her by the hand.

  “When I was a little girl,” Esther said, “I wanted to be a ballerina. I thought the ballet was the most beautiful expression of creativity on this earth.”

  Rachel heard the wistfulness in the old woman’s voice. “When I was little, I wanted to be a boy,” Rachel said.

  Esther laughed and stroked Rachel’s cheek. “And what a waste that would have been,” she said, then winked at Houston. “Anyway . . . I lived with my dreams, as all children do. And then everything in my world started to change. It became frightening and ugly, and my days became filled with different sorts of issues, such as would we have enough to eat that night, and would the soldiers come and take us away, as they were taking my friends.”

  Rachel knew a little about Esther’s background, but this was the first time Esther had ever brought up the subject of her past. Still clutching Esther’s hand tightly in her own, she grew still. Esther’s sigh drifted into momentary silence, and Rachel heard more pain in that sound than in any tears the old woman might shed.

  “The little girl who had longed to be a ballerina now hid in cellars and ate
food unfit for the rats that crawled at her feet. All of her dreams, and all of the fantasy of her childhood, quickly died.”

  Esther’s voice was shaking, but her gaze was strong as she stared into Rachel’s face. Both men remained mute, stunned by the power of the old woman’s tale and at the same time horrified by what a race of people had endured at a monster’s hands.

  “What I’m trying to say to you is that I survived when everyone around me did not. Like you, I lost my home and my parents, as well as my brother and sister, through no fault of my own. For years afterward I suffered terrible guilt that I had lived when they had not. But I never once gave up, because I knew God must have had a reason to keep me alive—just as he kept you alive.”

  Rachel was crying now. Tears spilled out from under her bandages and onto her cheeks.

  Esther dabbed at Rachel’s face with her ever-present hanky. “Now, now. No tears, child. No tears. I learned long ago not to cry for the living.”

  Rachel grabbed Esther’s hands and then laid them against her cheek.

  “You shame me,” she whispered.

  “No,” Esther said. “I don’t tell this to shame you, but only to remind you that you have survived. What you do from this day on is up to you. But you must remember: You lived for a reason. Search for it and it will be your salvation.”

  Houston moved because he could no longer be a bystander to such a profession of faith. He hugged Esther to him, then reached for Rachel’s hand.

  “Esther is right, sweetheart. And I would be honored if you would let me help you find your way.”

  For a long moment no one spoke. Houston could feel Rachel’s tension. Her fingers were cold, her pulse racing beneath his touch.

  Behind them, Jules cleared his throat, then moved to where Rachel was lying.

  “Trust yourself, Rachel.”

  “No,” Esther said softly. “Trust God. He’s gotten you this far. He won’t let you down.”

  Rachel exhaled slowly, and as she did, a great weight seemed to lift from her heart. No matter what today’s outcome was, somehow she knew she would find a way to endure.

  “Houston?”

  His voice was gentle as he gave her fingers a quick squeeze. “What is it, baby?”

  “When the doctor comes in, will you stay?”

  “Yes.”

  Esther sighed with relief as she glanced at the somber expression on Houston Bookout’s face. Rachel had a long way to go before she found her inner light, but with this man at her side, nothing was impossible.

  Jules turned away, suddenly aware that he didn’t belong here.

  But Rachel heard the rasp of his shoes upon the floor and reached for him. There was something that she needed to say to him, too.

  “Jules, wait!”

  He turned, and when he saw her outstretched hand, he grasped it as a drowning man would have reached for something afloat.

  “I’m here,” he said quickly, letting her pull him closer.

  Rachel patted his hand, feeling the brush of fine silk and the hard edge of his Rolex.

  “I have to thank you,” she said. “You made the dream of a lifetime come true for me.”

  “But I couldn’t make it last,” Jules answered, his voice breaking.

  Rachel smiled crookedly. “Nothing is forever.”

  Houston spoke. He knew he was interrupting, but he couldn’t let that pass.

  “That’s not true, baby,” he said softly. “Some things last, whether you want them to or not.”

  The smile slid off Rachel’s face. She knew what he meant. He’d loved her before, and he still cared enough to come even though she had walked out on him. Only now she didn’t have the luxury of telling him that her leaving had been a mistake, that she still loved him, would always love him. There was no way she would inflict herself as a burden on anyone, especially a man with a heart as big as Houston’s. He would never tell her no. And she would be his downfall. He had nothing. The last thing he needed was a blind woman to take care of.

  She sighed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” she said, then she tugged again at Jules’s hand. “But just because it didn’t last doesn’t make it any less special. For a while I was at the head of the class.”

  Jules stared at her face. It was healing. She might need a trip to a plastic surgeon to remove one long scar on her neck, but aside from that, within a few weeks it would be difficult to tell she’d ever suffered the injuries. But the bandages on her eyes told the story. He shook his head, struggling to maintain decorum when all he wanted was a bottle of whiskey and a hole to crawl into.

  “Rachel, I don’t know what to—”

  “I don’t want you to do anything,” she said. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

  “Then you’re welcome,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

  Before anything else could be said, the door to her room opened again. She could tell by the sudden silence of the trio at her bedside that it must be the doctor. Nervousness returned. She dropped Jules’s hand and reached blindly outward.

  “Houston?”

  “I’m here, baby.” He grabbed her hand, feeling her tremble and wishing with everything he was that he could suffer this for her.

  She clutched at him, hating herself for the fear, but unable to do this alone.

  “Remember your promise.”

  His voice never wavered. “I won’t leave you alone.”

  “Then let’s get this show on the road,” she said, unaware that she lifted her head toward the light.

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” the doctor said.

  The nurse quickly added, “I’ll have to ask you to leave while the doctor examines Miss Austin.”

  Everyone began to file out except Houston, who remained at Rachel’s side. The doctor looked at him.

  “Sir, if you wouldn’t mind stepping out while—”

  “No,” Rachel said. “He stays.”

  The doctor shrugged. “As you wish, Miss Austin.” Then he turned to the business at hand and began to undo her bandages. “Now, do you remember what we discussed several days ago about your concussion?”

  “Yes.”

  “Although your lack of vision before you went into surgery could have been a result of the severe swelling of your brain, we still aren’t certain. Obvious damage to the optical nerve is not indicated at this time. I have to be honest—right now I don’t know what will happen. Only time will tell us the whole truth. What we do know is that there was no permanent scarring on your corneas or about your eyes.”

  “So what you’re saying is that even if I can’t see, I’ll still look good?”

  The doctor paused in the act of removing her bandages. There was a moment of silence. And then Rachel heard him inhale.

  “Just a few more bandages,” he muttered, picking up his commentary as if she hadn’t spoken.

  Rachel sighed. What she’d said was stupid. But she’d been saying a lot of stupid things lately.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right. I can’t say that I wouldn’t be feeling a bit antagonistic myself right about now.”

  He dropped the last of the bandages into a pan the nurse was holding, then took a fresh swab and began dabbing at her eyes with a bit of lubricant. Rachel’s eyelids began to flutter.

  “Easy now, wait a moment,” he said gently. “Your lashes are still a little bit stuck.”

  Houston squeezed Rachel’s fingers, reminding her that he was at her side. She squeezed back. It was her only comment.

  A minute passed, and then another, and then another. Finally the doctor dropped the last swab into the pan and stepped back, eyeing Rachel with a practiced stare. Although he knew it was probably futile, he waved to the nurse to close the shades, just in case.

  “All right now, Miss Austin. Please open your eyes. I want to check the corneas again.”

  Suddenly the moment of truth was here, and she was afraid—so afraid.

  “Cherokee, whatever happens . . . it’
s okay with me. Do you understand?”

  Rachel wanted to cry. Yes, she understood. Houston was saying he loved her no matter what. But what he didn’t seem to understand was that it wasn’t okay with her. She didn’t want to be a burden to anyone—especially herself.

  She clenched her teeth. Slowly, slowly, she opened her eyes.

  “They’re so dry,” she said.

  “Here,” the doctor said. “This will help.” He tilted her head.

  She felt the cool sensation of something liquid flowing over her eyes but saw absolutely nothing that gave her hope.

  “How’s that?” he asked.

  She blinked rapidly several times in succession. “Better,” she said, staring straight ahead, willing something—anything—to appear.

  “Are you in pain?” the doctor asked.

  Rachel’s breath caught at the back of her throat.

  “Only in my heart,” she whispered.

  Startled, he reached for her wrist to check her pulse, but she pulled away.

  “From disappointment. Only from disappointment.”

  Fighting back tears, Houston let out a slow breath. So today wasn’t her day for miracles after all.

  The doctor sighed. “Tell me what you see, Miss Austin.”

  Rachel’s chin quivered, but her voice was surprisingly strong.

  “Nothing.”

  Just outside the doorway, Jules Farrier heard Rachel’s answer, then took a deep breath and walked away.

  Esther Goodman sighed, unaware that she was, once again, absently rubbing at the numbers tattooed on her wrist. It was sad to face, but far too often, life just wasn’t fair.

  Thirteen

  As usual, the media had gotten wind of Rachel’s release from the hospital. And while she’d been out of the public eye during her recuperation, the pictures the photographer had sneaked out of the hospital had kept public interest high. The waiting news crews at the hospital exit did not surprise Rachel. It was Houston who should have been warned.

  He took one look at the crowd outside the double glass doors and cursed beneath his breath. They would have to go through that mass of people to get to the limousine that Jules Farrier had sent to take Rachel and Houston to the airport. Hauling one camera-bearing snake out of Rachel’s room had been one thing. A writhing nest of them was another thing altogether.