"Seems far-fetched."
"I guess you're right."
Silence filled the line for a moment, and Rachel ran her fingers over the keypad of the telephone. She wasn't ready to let him go yet. "How was the camping trip?" she asked.
"It was fun." He sounded tired.
"And have you recovered from your support group yet?"
"They meant well," he said. "And I know they're right. I'm denying it backwards and forwards, but the truth is I have a problem. It might not be quite as juicy as some of them think, but it's a problem nonetheless."
"What can I do, Michael?" she asked. "What can I do that would be the most help to you?"
"Besides going back to San Antonio?"
She said nothing, hurt.
"I'm sorry, Rache. You know that's not what I want. I'm just frustrated, in a lot of ways. I have to think things through, and you cloud my head."
She wondered if she could still think of herself as a good, honorable person. She wanted Michael. She would do nothing to encourage it, nothing to harm his marriage or his career, but she wanted him all the same.
"Do you still want to go to Washington with Gram and me on Friday?"
"Are you kidding? That's the only thought that's keeping me sane right now. Knowing I'll be with you on Friday night and away from here. If only I didn't have to bring my conscience along with me, I'd have a great time."
"What about Jace?" she asked.
"He'll stay at the Pelmans'. He's going with them to some computer show in Lancaster on Saturday."
The receptionist poked her head in the door. "Your car vindows up yet?" she asked. "Going to make dawn any minute."
"They're up," Rachel said, stifling a giggle.
"What's that?" Michael asked.
"The receptionist said it's going to 'make dawn' soon." She looked out the window at the darkening sky and thought of her grandmother. "I'd better go, Michael. I want to get back to Gram before the storm hits. It's not raining there yet, is it?"
"Uh-uh. But it's looking ugly out."
"Okay. I've got to run."
"Rache," he said. "It's good to hear your voice. Are you doing all right?"
"Pretend I'm in San Antonio, Michael." She smiled, feeling just for an instant stronger than he was. She hung up before she could say she missed him.
* * *
Helen had been looking forward to this time all day long. Rachel had been with her throughout the morning, and much as she loved her granddaughter's company, today she wanted her out of the house. Her wrist was fine—well, almost—and the piano was calling her. She'd played several times in secret over the past few days, and now she couldn’t wait to sit down at the instrument again.
She wasn't shy about playing for others. That wasn't it. She simply needed the time alone with the piano, the way lovers who've suffered a long separation need their privacy. So as soon as Rachel pulled out of the driveway, Helen took her seat at the keys and lost herself in the music.
This was when she most appreciated Peter's insistence on wall-to-wall windows in the house. She felt as if she were playing in the forest, Swallowed up in green. The sunlight, filtered through the trees, formed a delicate ash-colored filigree of light across the open piano lid.
She felt close to Hans, sitting here. She could almost picture him at the other piano, a lock of dark hair slipping over his forehead as he stormed across the keys, dueling with her piano as they played. His face would be glistening when they'd finished, and she would be breathless. For a long time she'd thought that was as close as they would ever come to making love.
Friday night she would see him from her seat in the concert hall at the Kennedy Center. Should she have made some excuse to stay home? She still could. She could feign illness. But how could she stay away from a concert filled with Huber works? She would simply have to endure watching Hans play. She had endured tougher things in her life.
She finished one piece and immediately began another, this one slow and sweet. Her pleasure in playing was back in full force. Over the past year or so she had lost her excitement, not only for the piano but for everything else in her life as well. She recalled her willingness to die after being struck by lightning. Now, though, everything seemed touched with golden light. She owed Rachel for this fresh start, she knew. Rachel and her attention and caring and silly games. She should never have allowed the distance to exist between herself and her granddaughter for so long. They had missed out on too many years together.
She couldn’t shake the feeling, though, that her pleasure and Rachel's were conversely related. Rachel had been so happy at finding Michael again, but her love for him had nowhere to go. The girl didn’t complain, but Helen saw the sadness in her eyes, the tightness in her cheeks that told her the smile she wore was wider than the smile she felt inside. Ah, yes. Piano or no piano, Helen had a new reason for living. Her dear granddaughter needed her comfort and counsel in a way no one had needed her for a very long time.
* * *
Rachel pulled the car into the driveway as the first few drops of rain were beginning to dot her windshield. She turned off the ignition and slipped her keys into her pants pocket. She heard them clink against Marielle Hostetter's key, and she shook her head with a laugh. Probably the key to her room at the nursing home.
Stepping out of the car, she heard the far-off rumble of thunder and something else—the sound of a piano coming from the house. She cocked her head to listen. Was it a recording? It had to be. The music was so clear and lively and loud. But she knew all of Gram's CD's by heart now, and this piece was not familiar.
Something told her not to go inside. She walked slowly around the side of the house until she could see in the rear windows, and what she saw made her gasp, hand to her throat. Gram was at the piano, her arms and shoulders pumping feverishly. Rachel's gentle, octogenarian grandmother was attacking the piano, with extraordinary results. Not missing a note, as far as Rachel could tell.
Gram came to the end of that piece and quickly started another, this one teasing in its pace: slow, then fast, then slow again. Rachel leaned against the wall of the house, listening, the rain light on her face. The theme quickly developed, and by the second time it wafted through the open windows, Rachel felt its warmth and longed to hear it repeated over and over again.
The rain was more insistent now, the thunder closer. Through the trees, she saw a pulse of light. She walked around the house again and climbed quietly onto the porch. She was about to reach for the knob of the screen door when a violent clap of thunder shook the floor of the porch. She heard her grandmother make a sound, like a moan, and the music abruptly ceased.
Rachel pushed open the door to meet Gram's frantic eyes. The hands that had only seconds before played the piano with strength and confidence now trembled as they pressed against her cheeks, and Rachel wordlessly pulled her grandmother into her arms.
–23–
Becky's car was parked in front of the Lutheran church. Hooray. Becky had missed aerobics class both Friday and Monday, and Rachel wasn't sure she could face this group of women one more time without her friend's presence.
All was not well in the class, and she knew she was the cause. She'd been alone among strangers during the past two sessions, and without Becky there, she could more clearly see the lines of battle. A few women—two actually—had been kind to her; others had gone out of their way to avoid her. They'd talked about one woman named Ellie who had dropped out of the class, and although no one said it in so many words, Rachel felt certain that she was being held responsible for the loss. After both classes, she'd made excuses—offered only to herself, since no one asked her—to avoid changing in the ladies' room. She hadn't known if she could bear the silence, or the forced kindness, or the whispers behind her back.
She was beginning to be seen in almost supernatural terms, she thought—a demonic temptress come back to seduce the man who wanted to save Reflection. She'd come back to bring harm to the town once again. She wa
nted to have a T-shirt made up that read I'M WILLING TO TALK ABOUT IT. If someone would confront her directly, she thought she could handle it. The subtlety of people's dislike put a lock on her tongue. Where she'd once talked to anyone on the street or in the shops, she now avoided meeting the eyes of strangers and didn’t speak until spoken to. Despite the conciliatory bag of tomatoes, the words of the man at the farmers' market were the last thing she heard each night before she fell asleep.
The class was already in its casual formation when she walked into the gym. Becky glanced at her but didn't acknowledge her wave, and Rachel felt an immediate sense of dread. She's merely preoccupied, she told herself. Don't panic.
In the ladies' room after class, she positioned herself close to her friend. "Missed you the past week," she said."How've you been?"
"All right." Becky's attention was focused on buttoning her blouse.
"Any chance you have time to get something to eat?"
"Not tonight."
Becky was clearly angry. There was a taut line to her jaw, a sharpness to her movements, and when she left the ladies' room, it was with a general "bye" to everyone in the room.
Rachel quickly stuffed her workout shoes into her gym bag and ran after her, catching up with her on the stairs.
"Wait a minute, Becky. Please."
Near the top of the stairs, Becky turned to face her, and Rachel recoiled from the look of hostility on her face.
"What's going on?" Rachel asked.
Becky waited until a few of their classmates had passed between them on the stairs. When they were alone again, she dropped her gym bag on the floor and folded her arms. "What's going on is that I'm pissed off, that's what."
"At me?"
"Yes, at you. I feel as though you used me. You played on my sympathy."
"I don't understand."
"Look, Rachel. I'm sorry for what happened with you and Luke. And I still don't blame you for it, like some people do. I was feeling bad at first about the way some people were treating you. But I'm a friend of Katy's, and I was quite honestly disgusted when I found out you were going after Michael."
So that was it. "I'm not going after anyone," Rachel said. "Come on, Becky. You know Michael and I go back forever. We're friends. That's it. Doesn't it make sense that I'd be spending time with him this summer?"
"I've heard you're much more than friends, and it infuriates me. Katy's going to hear about it from someone, and she's going to be hurt by it. She's living in some dump in Russia, and Michael's here entertaining his testosterone. I thought he was above that." She shook her head in exasperation. "He and Katy had the best marriage in this whole damn town. I don't know what's gotten into him. Except you. You seem to have no respect whatsoever for the fact that he's married."
"You're—"
"Look, I admit I'm supersensitive to infidelity. My husband cheated on me, and it just about killed me when I found out, but—"
"Becky, listen to me! No one's cheating on anyone. We are not romantically involved. If anyone tells Katy that we are, then they're the person responsible for hurting her. Not Michael. Not me."
Becky looked away from her, toward the foyer.
"Why are you so set on believing the worst?" Rachel asked.
"Because it's your word against the word of people I've known for a long time. And the truth is, I don't know you at all. I knew you once, but you could be a…a sociopath now, for all I know. Besides, Michael's walking around with guilt all over his face." She picked up her bag again and walked into the foyer of the church.
Rachel followed her with a sense of defeat. There was nothing more she could say. Becky was going to believe whatever she wanted to, and Rachel couldn't change it.
"You're wrong about us," she said as they stepped outside. "I can't prove it to you, but as long as you have no proof to the contrary—and I know you can't possibly—then I wish you'd give me the benefit of the doubt."
"I wish I could, too, Rachel." She waved at a woman who was standing by her car. "I'll be right there," she called, and Rachel had the sinking realization that in a few minutes Becky and the woman would be gossiping about her.
She held back as Becky caught up with her friend, then slowly headed toward her car where it was parked in front of the small brick chapel across the street. Her eyes were on the Mennonite church next door. The last place you should go, Rachel, she told herself. The very last place.
She was nearly to her car when she saw the light on in Michael's basement office. With a glance over her shoulder, she turned and walked quickly toward the rear of the church. The welcome cover of darkness fell around her.
She looked through his office window. His back was to her. There were half a dozen books spread out on his desk, and he was writing something, his hand busy on a yellow legal pad.
She hesitated a moment before knocking on the glass. He looked up, and the smile came to his face so quickly that she laughed. He didn't speak, but as he rose from his desk, he nodded in the direction of the building's rear entrance.
She walked around to the basement door, and he met her there. He stood in the doorway, not inviting her in.
"Sorry." She hugged herself. "I have no right to be here, but I'm upset and it just feels like I should be able to see you if I want to."
"Yeah, it does," he agreed. "What's upsetting you?"
"I just had a run-in with Becky."
He glanced behind him, and she wondered if anyone else was around.
"Let's take a walk," he said, stepping out into the darkness. "Come on."
They walked toward the path around the pond, quickly, silently, and she knew they were in hiding. She felt both her body and his relax when they reached the woods.
"So," he said, "tell me about Becky."
She described the conversation, and he groaned. "Where is this stuff coming from? This town must be hard up for a good piece of gossip."
"She said your marriage is the best in town."
Michael snorted. "If mine's the best, I'd hate to see the worst." He caught her arm and pulled her low as an overhanging branch suddenly appeared in the darkness.
"I'll call Becky," he said. "Set her straight."
"Don't bother on my account." Rachel ducked to avoid another branch. "I figure my reputation can't get much worse. But maybe you should talk to her for your own sake." She looked up at the trees and let out a sigh. "I don't know how I'm ever going to make Chris understand what's going on here," she said. Chris had called that morning to say he could come on the twenty-eighth and stay for a week, and she was both delighted and unnerved by the thought of having her son here with her.
They were walking on the far side of the pond, where the woods surrounding the path were so thick that even at midday it would feel like evening. At eight-thirty it was very dark. Neither of them spoke, as if some hidden being might overhear them. Rachel shuddered. They were on what had been the scariest part of the path when they were kids. They couldn’t be far from Marielle's cottage back here.
"I still have that key Marielle Hostetter gave me."
Michael glanced at her. "I can't believe she gave it to you." He reached above his head and snapped off a twig. "Let's do it," he said.
"Do what? See if it fits her house?"
"Sure."
"Oh, right. I wouldn't walk through these woods in broad daylight when I was an immortal teenager," she said. "I'm not about to do it now."
"Come on." He nudged her arm.
She looked at him through narrowed eyes but couldn’t read his face in the darkness. "Are you serious?"
"Uh-huh."
"It's too dark. We'll get lost."
"I have a flashlight in my office. Wait here for me, and I'll go get it."
She darted a look over her shoulder. "I'm not waiting here," she said. "I'm coming with you."
They walked back to the church, and she stood in the shadows outside while he got the flashlight and a compass. They made their way back up the path in silence, and when
they reached the spot where they'd turned around, Michael shined the light into the woods.
"I don't see a path," he said, "but look here." He pointed the light toward an area where the brush seemed thinner, newer. "I think we can get through. You game?"
"Sure." She feigned courage.
Michael led the way, and it was slow going as he walked with the flashlight in one hand, his other arm outstretched to catch branches before they slapped him in the face. The woods were eerie and quiet, the only sound the crackling of twigs beneath their feet. It was a minute before she noticed the fireflies. They were high above them, silently blinking in the trees like pale yellow stars. Rachel stopped walking. "Look up," she said.
Michael turned off his flashlight, and for a moment they stood still, mesmerized by the lights. "Late in the summer for them," he said.
"I don't think I've ever seen so many in one place," she said, then reached for the flashlight. "I'll lead for a while, if you can promise me we're going in the right direction," she said.
He held the compass into the beam of light. "We know the cottage is east of where we started out. We'll just keep walking east. And we're on a legitimate path now, don't you think?"
He was right. It was narrow and overgrown, but there was no doubt that someone had at one time cut this path through the trees.
They plodded on in silence. From somewhere high above them, an owl hooted, sending a shiver up Rachel's arms. She stopped in the middle of the path, realizing she no longer heard Michael's steps behind her. Turning around, she saw nothing but empty forest in the beam of the flashlight.
"Michael?"
"Bat woman!" He grabbed her from behind, and she jumped in the air. She spun around to face him, annoyed she'd fallen for his old childhood stunt.
"God, don't do that." She laughed.
His arms were still around her, the pressure of them light, barely there, and she rested her hands on them, flashlight dangling from her fingers. His eyes were locked with hers; there was no smile on his face, and for a moment neither of them spoke. Above them the owl hooted.
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