Touchstone

by Sharon Sala

  Houston shook his head and then remembered she couldn’t see the gesture. “No, nothing has been moved. Everything is right where it was when you left, including a few dust balls, I would imagine.”

  Rachel sighed. “I don’t care. At least here I can see.”

  Houston swallowed. God, help me get through this. “Well.” He took a deep breath, trying to make light of something that was tearing him apart. “Who could have known that it would pay to be a slob?”

  A smile came and went so fast on her face he thought he’d imagined it. She looked exhausted and in pain. He thought of her healing ribs and the headaches she still suffered from the concussion.

  “How about lying down for a while? For someone who was just released from the hospital, you’ve had a very long, very rough day.”

  He could see relief on her face.

  “Yes, please,” she said, and then added, “I would like to take a shower first.”

  “I think that can be arranged,” Houston said. “Let’s just hope I have some clean towels.”

  She put her hand on his arm, expecting to follow his lead. Instead he handed her the bunny and picked her up.

  “I can walk,” she said.

  “I know that,” he said gently. “Just humor me, okay?”

  Houston watched an odd expression settle on her face as he began to move. He had no way of knowing that Rachel was remembering the last time he’d carried her through his house like this, and how when they’d reached their destination they’d wound up in each other’s arms, making love all through the night.

  He couldn’t know how bittersweet this homecoming was for her, or that she’d dreamed of such a moment many times during her year in New York. All he knew was that while she was back in his life, she had never been farther away.

  The hum of the window air conditioner in Rachel’s bedroom drowned out the sound of a squeaky hinge as Houston opened the door and peeked in. Moonlight spilled through the window and onto the floor, leaving a pale swath of light by which to see. Rachel was sound asleep in the middle of her bed, with one arm flung over her head and the other clutching the rabbit he’d given her. He’d bought it in the hospital gift shop on a whim. Who could have known how important the toy would become to her? He had no way of knowing that it had become a symbolic bridge in Rachel’s mind. The stuffed rabbit was the first thing she’d “seen” in her world of darkness.

  His heart twisted with yearning. She didn’t belong in that bed. She belonged in his, and within his embrace, his chest pillowing her cheek. Through the window, he could see a line of straggling clouds scudding across the sky. His eyes narrowed. Maybe the wind would blow up some rain. The good Lord knew it was needed.

  He gave Rachel one last glance. Satisfied that all was well, he closed the door and went back to his room. But sleep wouldn’t come. His mind was awash with worries. She needed to find herself again, but he didn’t know how to help her. He rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes. Maybe when she was better she could enroll in a school for the blind. There were so many things she needed to learn just to be able to get through a day unattended. He fell asleep with her face in his mind.

  Hours later he woke to the sound of breaking glass. He was out of bed and across the hall to her room almost before he’d opened his eyes.

  “Rachel, sweetheart, are you all—”

  She interrupted, pointing downward with an angry gesture. “Need you ask?”

  He exhaled slowly. “Don’t move. You might cut your feet.”

  “Damn,” she muttered, and thrust her hands through her hair in mute frustration.

  He touched her arm to let her know where he was, then knelt at her feet and began to pick up the pieces.

  “It’s just a lamp.”

  Her lips twisted bitterly. “Oh, good. At least it’s nothing you’ll have to replace on my behalf.”

  Houston frowned but kept on working. Within a couple of minutes everything was under control.

  “Okay, all clear,” he said, then looked around for her suitcase. It was on the floor against the opposite wall. “Why don’t I unpack for you while you wash up?”

  “Think you can trust me to wash my own face? Maybe you’d better tag along—make sure I don’t drip or make another big mess.”

  Houston froze. “I’m not going to play that game with you,” he snapped. “I’m not going to let you tear yourself—or me—apart. What happened to you was horrible. But it wasn’t your fault, and it damned sure wasn’t mine. I won’t fight you, Rachel. Do you understand?”

  She exhaled slowly as a single tear slid down her cheek. Her chin quivered, but she held it high.

  “I’m sorry, Houston. This won’t happen again.”

  When he tried to hold her, she pushed his hands away. “No, let me finish. I think I need to get this said, for myself as much as for you.”

  Houston stepped back, giving her the space she so obviously needed.

  “I’m listening.”

  She nodded. “This may not be something you can understand, but when I lost my sight, I lost control. Even of my emotions. Tears ride close to the surface, as does anger. I have yet to know a minute of calm. Even when I’m laughing on the outside, I’m screaming in here.” She put her hand over her heart. “So I beg you now, before I do it again, to forgive me, because the pain doesn’t come from being with you— never you. It comes because I no longer know who I am.”

  Again Houston found himself fighting back tears. But if Rachel didn’t break, he damn sure couldn’t.

  “Understood.”

  She nodded. “Good. Now about that offer of unpacking for me...”

  “Yes?”

  “If you do, put the small stuff in the empty chest of drawers.”

  “Okay.”

  “Put my underwear in one drawer. Then put my shorts and T-shirts in another.”

  “I can do that.”

  She hesitated, and he could tell that something was still bothering her.

  “What is it, Rachel? I can’t help if you won’t talk.”

  “I can’t see colors. How will I know what goes with what?”

  He grinned, and she heard it in his voice. “Well, I always liked you best in your birthday suit, but . . . I have an idea.”

  She blushed and then bit the inside of her lip. The mention of their previous intimacy hurt. There was so much she’d given up, and all in the name of greed.

  “I’m listening,” she muttered.

  “I will stack your shorts in one pile, your shirts in another. And whatever is on top in each stack will match.”

  Rachel’s eyebrows arched dramatically. The suggestion was brilliant.

  “Why, Houston, that’s wonderful. How did you think of that?”

  He chuckled. “That’s how my mother did my clothes when I was a kid. I would have put on whatever was handy. We didn’t have much, but she took pride in making her men look as good as she could.”

  Rachel laughed, and the sound startled her. It had been so long since delight had taken her unawares. She felt so good, in fact, that she could almost make a joke about getting lost in a room. She held her hands out before her.

  “Am I still heading in the right direction?”

  “Not unless you were planning to spend the day in the closet,” Houston said, then took her by the shoulders and turned her thirty degrees to the left.

  Rachel tried not to show her frustration. “I would have found it... eventually.”

  “Yes, Cherokee, of that I have no doubt. Now go do your thing while I unpack. When you’re dressed, home in on the scent of brewing coffee. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  “I won’t be long,” Rachel promised.

  “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

  At that, a thought occurred to Rachel. “Oh no! Houston, your job! You’ve been gone so long. Did Dale Emery fire you when you came to New York?”

  Houston flinched. This time if he lied, there would be no going back.

  “No, I
didn’t get fired. I quit.”

  Rachel gasped.

  “But not because of you. I had already quit before your accident happened.”

  “But why? How are you getting by?” Then she blushed, as if realizing that she no longer had the right to ask such personal questions. “I’m sorry. This isn’t really any of my business anymore, is it?”

  Houston moved until he was facing her, then cupped her cheek, not because it was the wise thing to do, but because he could no longer bear to keep his hands off her.

  “It’s always your business, Cherokee.” Then he added, “I have a different job. One with a nearby oil company.”

  She frowned. “When did all of this happen?”

  “Right after they moved in and set up shop.”

  “And they didn’t mind you being gone so long?”

  Lying to her was almost painful. “Nope. They were real understanding. In fact, I would guess you’ll be meeting one of the guys pretty soon. His name is Kenny Monday. He’s become a real good friend.”

  A little spurt of jealousy came out of nowhere, surprising Rachel with its intensity.

  “Unlike me, he’s one of those there-when-youneed-them kind of friends, huh?”

  Houston’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t, Rachel.”

  She tried to smile. “Sorry. That came out of nowhere. Now, where was I? Oh yes, on my way to the bathroom—which, if I may say so, is becoming a necessity now.”

  Houston stepped aside. “And I was going to unpack.”

  “And make coffee. Don’t forget the coffee,” Rachel added.

  “Yeah, right,” Houston said, watching as she made her way into the bathroom and closed the door.

  He stood for a moment longer, absorbing what she’d just done. If he wasn’t mistaken, that had been jealousy he’d heard. A slow smile of satisfaction settled upon his face. Good. He’d use whatever it took to get Rachel back in his life.

  He made short work of unpacking her clothes, noting that some shopping would soon be in order. Everything she owned had been destroyed in the explosion, and they had what was in the suitcase solely due to Esther Goodman’s foresight. When he had finished, he stood listening to the water running in the bathroom next door. Then he nodded in satisfaction. It wasn’t going to be easy, but Rachel wasn’t a quitter. Somehow, between them, they would find a way to make everything all right.

  Fifteen

  After three days at the ranch, Houston had solved the problem of coordinating her clothing, and while dressing herself was sometimes slow, she managed. She was competent enough to shower and shampoo her own hair without help. Her grooming wasn’t difficult. It was a matter of brushing her hair and then either pulling it back from her face with a band or leaving it down. Before modeling, she had rarely worn makeup, except for lipstick, so that wasn’t an issue, either.

  One of Rachel’s biggest hurdles had become feeding herself, and her inability to overcome the challenge of food on a plate was beginning to wear on her.

  The only way she could tell what was there or where it was located was if someone told her, or if she felt it for herself. Some foods she could identify by smell. But if there were several items on her plate, the scents got confused. She could tell which foods were hot from the steam rising against the palm of her hand. She could also locate cold foods in a similar way.

  Little by little, she was learning to cope. In Houston’s kitchen, most of the menu was simple enough: cereal or sandwiches for breakfast, sandwiches and soup for lunch, and something cooked on his outdoor grill for the evening meal. Quite often the main part of the meal would consist of frozen french fries, nuked until dry, and edible only with puddles of ketchup to swab them in. And hot dogs cooked on the grill were fast becoming her favorite food.

  They settled into an offbeat routine. Houston watched over Rachel like a mother hen with a single surviving chick, while Rachel stumbled her way through the days, slowly learning what it took to adapt. Only now and then did her patience run thin, and when it did, she let fly. Houston was of the opinion that time would help her cope and that Rachel would come to her own sense of understanding. But for the times when she did come undone, he let her pain run its course, and then hugged her when it had passed.

  But the emotion between them was stilted. Both knew it. Both could feel it. It was only a matter of time before one of them tripped an emotional trigger.

  Houston was out back dumping food scraps into Taco’s pan when the phone began to ring. He hastily scraped out the last of the leftovers and made a dash for the door. Rachel was in the kitchen, and it would be like her to answer. Which, in another life, wouldn’t have mattered a lick. But that was before the birth of the lie. Now every person she came in contact with became a possible danger to keeping the lie alive.

  “I’ll get it,” he yelled. But as his feet hit the back steps, he could hear her voice. Since she wasn’t talking to him, he knew it was already too late.

  He bolted inside, then stopped, holding his breath as he listened, the dirty plate dangling from his hand.

  “Yes, it’s good to be back,” he heard her saying. From the tone of her voice, it seemed that the call was for her.

  He frowned. Who could it be? He dumped the dirty plate in the sink and washed his hands, then tried to find something to do that wouldn’t make it seem as if he was eavesdropping. Nothing occurred to him, so he stood there unabashedly listening, watching her face come alive as she talked, and wishing to God it would come alive for him.

  “Yes, things are difficult,” Rachel said. “But I didn’t expect anything different.” Then she sighed, as if disgusted with herself for the answer. “He lets me eat with my fingers.”

  Houston sighed. Hell, she could eat with her toes if she wanted to. He didn’t care.

  “I know, I know,” Rachel said. “Houston’s already suggested the same thing. But the closest school is some distance away. I’d have to board there while I learned all there is to learn, and quite frankly, I’m not up to that yet.” Then Houston heard her voice soften. “Right now this house is as close to heaven as I’m going to get.... Why? Because I see it in my mind. The rooms are the same, as are the dishes in the cabinets. I’m not so lost here.”

  Houston’s guilt slipped a notch, maybe two, as he began justifying to himself why she didn’t need to know about his change of fortunes just yet. He wasn’t keeping secrets. He was just giving her time to adjust to this life before he thrust her into another. But it wasn’t all the truth, and he knew it. In the deepest part of his soul he needed to hear her say that she loved him as he was. Even if she was blind. Even if she might think he was her only hope. He still needed to hear the words.

  He tuned back in on Rachel’s conversation.

  “Yes, he’s here.... Good talking to you, too. Take care of yourself, and I love you.... Okay, hang on, I’ll get him. Houston, it’s Esther, for you.”

  Ah—so it was Esther whom Rachel could freely admit to loving. Just hearing those words made him ache. Once she’d laid the same claim to him.

  He strode to where Rachel was standing and took the phone, then put his arm around her and gave her a quick, nonthreatening hug. As he expected, she tolerated the hug only long enough to be polite, then moved out of his reach. He turned away to stare out the window, making himself concentrate on the call at hand.

  “Esther, darlin’, how’s my favorite shortie?”

  Esther chuckled. Her diminutive size had been a constant target of Houston’s teasing. “Still pushing five feet and hoping for more,” she answered.

  He laughed. “Hmmm, a positive thinker. My kind of woman.”

  “Enough already,” Esther scolded. “We both know your kind of woman is there at your side. How is she really doing?”

  Houston turned, checking to see where Rachel had gone. Through the screen door, he could see her sitting on the back porch steps. Taco was at her side, his head in her lap. Her head was bent to the task of rubbing an itchy spot between his ears, and he was waggi
ng his tail, happy that someone was paying him notice.

  Houston masked a shaft of pain. Even the dog got more attention from her than he did.

  “I think she’s doing okay. Some days are better than others. Frustration plays a large part of her daily life. Right now her biggest headache is coping with food. She doesn’t want to go out to eat, and my cooking skills are pretty limited.”

  “Have you talked to her again about going to an institute for the blind? You know... to learn some coping skills that would compensate for that?”

  Houston sighed. “Yes, but I don’t think she’s ready yet. Everything has become so complicated for her. I think she needs to heal a bit more in body as well as in mind before she moves on to a new environment.”

  “You’re probably right. I just don’t want her to stay in the familiar world so long that she becomes afraid to venture out.”

  “I know. I’ll be careful not to let that happen.”

  “You’re a good man, Houston Bookout.”

  Houston smiled bitterly. “You’re telling that to the wrong person.”

  Esther clucked. “She will come around, you’ll see. For now, you have to believe enough for the both of you.”

  Houston nodded. “Yes, ma’am. That I can do.”

  “Well, then,” Esther said, “I will leave you to the business of catching cows and whatever else you do on that ranch of yours.”

  Houston thought of the oil wells pumping and the new ones being drilled as they spoke, and grinned.

  “I sold the cows some time back, and the whatever else is pretty much taking care of itself. That leaves me all kinds of time to be with Rachel, which is what I better go do. It looks as if she and my dog are about to go for a walk. I’d better tag along before he takes her out to the north forty and forgets to bring her back.”

  “I will call again soon,” Esther said.

  “We’ll be looking forward to it.”

  But after he hung up, he stood looking out of the doorway, hurting beyond anything he could imagine at the hesitancy in Rachel’s movements.

  Suddenly Taco glanced back at the door, as if sensing that Rachel was moving out of some mysterious circle of safety. Houston heard him whine. He sighed.