“You’re mine…”
Focus, damn it, she told herself, wanting to push Theresa out of her head, but unable or unwilling to do so and feeling guilty for both things. Her jeans were unfastened and her bra was off and Rachel was lowering her mouth to one erect nipple as her fingers slipped beneath denim.
Concentrate. Concen—oh, my God… An electric jolt of pleasure went searing through Courtney’s body and a groan she barely recognized as her own was pulled from her lungs. God, it felt good. Everything Rachel was doing to her felt so good, so incredibly sensual. If she just kept her eyes closed…just kept them closed, maybe she could pretend…
Rachel’s teeth raked lightly across Courtney’s hardened nipple in her mouth and Courtney gasped at the sensation. She was wet beneath Rachel’s fingers, soaked and hot, and each time Rachel moved them, Courtney hummed. Her head back, her eyes closed, she let her body take over and tried not to worry as Rachel kissed her again, slowly, teasingly, using her tongue to give Courtney an idea of what was to come. After several long, luxurious minutes, Rachel pulled slowly away, working down Courtney’s neck again. It all felt so good, so…indescribably delicious. Courtney arched up just a little, her head pushing back into the pillow, her eyes still squeezed shut.
“Courtney.” Rachel sounded hoarse.
“Hmm?” Courtney hummed dreamily, not opening her eyes. Her fingers moved lightly through Rachel’s hair.
“Courtney,” Rachel said, a bit more firmly this time. “Courtney, look at me.”
Courtney opened her eyes, lifted her head to look at Rachel, and felt a split-second jolt. It was very slight, small, and Courtney did a masterful job of covering, but not masterful enough. It zipped across her brain like a flash of lightning, and she recovered almost as quickly, but she could tell by her expression that Rachel had seen it.
Surprise.
Wetting her suddenly dry lips with her tongue, Rachel pushed herself up on an elbow and withdrew her fingers from inside Courtney’s panties. “We don’t have to do this. Maybe it’s not such a good idea?”
A million thoughts raced through Courtney’s head, a million different reasons, a million different false explanations, but she knew deep down that Rachel had seen through her, that Rachel knew what—or more accurately who—Courtney had been thinking about. A phony excuse at this point would just make her even more pathetic.
“I’m sorry.” It was all she had to offer.
“It’s okay,” Rachel said. She reached over Courtney’s body and pulled the knitted afghan from the foot of the bed. She covered Courtney’s naked torso with it, tucking it around her like she would a child. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”
“You didn’t. You didn’t push, Rachel. I…” Being at a total loss wasn’t something Courtney was used to and she hated it. “I’m sorry,” she said again in defeat.
“Don’t be.” Rachel stood up and tucked in her shirt, her demeanor completely changed.
“You don’t have to go.” Courtney braced herself up on her elbows, her legs still dangling off the side of the bed. There was a sad note of begging in her tone that caused her great annoyance and she fought to keep from rolling her eyes.
“Yeah, I think it would be better if I did.”
Rachel wanted to run, to sprint far away from this situation. Courtney could see it on her face. And she almost did beg then. Almost. “Okay.” Her voice was small, resigned, and sad.
Rachel stepped close, kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay,” Courtney said again, this time in barely a whisper. She managed to hold the tears in check until she heard the front door click closed. “Damn you, Theresa,” she whispered to the darkened room, her voice cracking.
When she realized what she’d said, she only cried harder.
*
“Could we get two more, please?” Amelia waved her hand and gestured to the almost-empty wineglasses on the bar in front of her and Courtney. The bartender lifted his chin in acknowledgement, giving her the universal “I’ll be right there” sign as Amelia studied her. “Baby, it’s okay. You need to understand that it’s okay.”
Courtney downed the last of her pinot grigio in one gulp. “I don’t know, Meel. I couldn’t get her out of my head. Every time I closed my eyes, there she was.”
Amelia was trying her best to be gentle; Courtney could feel it and she appreciated it. “Honey, don’t you think that’s normal?” she asked.
“It’s been almost three years. Three years. Isn’t that long enough?”
“You had the same problem with that phys ed teacher last year, didn’t you?”
Courtney sighed and shook her head. “It wasn’t the same.”
She could almost hear Amelia’s mind whirring and she wondered if her friend had ever tried to imagine what it would be like to lose her husband—the only man she’d ever truly loved—and then attempt to make love with somebody new. Wouldn’t Carl’s face pop into her mind, just as Theresa’s popped into Courtney’s? It only made sense that it would. How would Amelia handle it? Differently? Better? She wanted to ask Amelia these questions that tumbled around and around in her brain, but she was afraid of giving voice to them, of making them too real, of getting the wrong answers. Was it possible to give your heart fully to more than one person? Did humans have the ability to find true love a second time? They must, right? They must. God, she hoped so. She was too damn young to be alone for the rest of her life. It wasn’t fair.
The bartender gave them each a full glass of wine and Amelia pushed a twenty toward him. They sipped in silence for several minutes before Amelia spoke again. “Did you try talking to her about it?”
Courtney grimaced.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“How do I broach that subject?” Courtney turned to Amelia. “Tell me. How? ‘Gee, Rachel, would you mind if we stopped in the middle of having sex so I can talk to you about the fact that I only see my dead girlfriend’s face instead of yours? That won’t bother you, will it?’”
Amelia sipped her wine, but she looked a little stung and Courtney felt bad about that. Changing the subject, Amelia asked, “Have you heard from her at all?”
“No.”
“Have you called her?”
“No.”
“How come?”
Courtney took in a deep breath and blew it out in exhausted frustration. “Because I feel stupid.”
“Honey—”
Courtney held up a hand, interrupting Amelia’s reassurances. “I know I shouldn’t. It doesn’t change the fact that I do.”
“I know.” Amelia watched the sports report being broadcast on the television mounted behind the bar. Without taking her eyes from the screen, she said, “You like this girl, don’t you?” She cleared her throat. “I mean, you like her.”
Amelia always could see right through to the heart of things, and ever since their second semester together in college, she could see right into Courtney’s head, read her mind, and Courtney knew it…and sometimes hated it. She had never been able to hide a thing from Amelia, and this moment was no exception.
Also focusing on the TV, she didn’t look at Amelia as she answered. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. I have no idea what it is about her. I don’t even know her that well. Getting personal information out of her is like pulling teeth.” She smiled at that, despite her muddled emotions. “But I like her. I think she’s warm and I think she’s got a kind heart. I think she’s interesting and mysterious. I like her a lot and I’d like to spend more time with her. Get to know her. I think…” Her voice trailed off as the fear of giving voice to the feelings took over. God, it seemed like she was afraid of everything these days.
“You think what?” Amelia prompted gently.
Courtney tried to swallow the apprehension back down.
“You think…it could end up being more than like?” Amelia guessed. Her voice was hesitant, Courtney noted, and she knew exactly what was going on in Amelia’s head. Her friend was concern
ed that Courtney was being too careful, keeping herself closed off emotionally for fear of a meltdown like the one she’d had several weeks after Theresa’s death. She understood it, this concern, as Amelia had seen her at the very bottom of despair. It wasn’t something they talked about or revisited, but Courtney could see it in Amelia’s eyes, hear the worry in her voice even as her mind flashed back to that day more than two years ago…
Two quick raps sounded on the door—Amelia’s signature knock—then she let herself in.
“C? You ready?”
She must have heard Courtney’s muttered curses and followed them to the kitchen. When she got to the doorway, she stopped in her tracks. Courtney could feel her stare.
“Courtney? What’s the matter?”
Courtney was sure that everything about her screamed “frantic.” She was hunched over the answering machine on the kitchen counter, anxiously poking at the buttons, panic souring her blood. The machine whirred and then Courtney punched a button again. Static issued from the speaker.
“No,” she said, her teeth clenched. “No, no, no…” More punching of buttons ensued.
“Courtney, what’s going on? What are you doing?”
Without looking up, she gave an angry explanation. “The stupid car dealer called and left a message that it was time for the Ford to have its oil changed.”
Amelia said nothing.
“What, they didn’t get the memo?” Courtney’s anger built, simmering almost tangibly just under the surface of her skin. “Don’t they know their precious vehicle was cut in half on the thruway by a semi and that my girlfriend was inside? If they want to change the oil, they can go to the fucking junkyard and do it!”
Courtney suspected later that Amelia had been waiting for that moment, knew it would come sooner or later and just stood on the sidelines waiting until it inevitably happened. Courtney had tried her hardest to be so strong, so tough. She’d put on a mask of stoicism, especially in front of Theresa’s parents, from the day after the accident, and she’d kept it in place for weeks and weeks. Now, finally, it was slipping and Amelia seemed to know it, seemed almost ready for it. She stood still and silent, waiting as Courtney continued poking at the black plastic.
“And I got so mad at the goddamn idiots that I punched at the buttons on the machine because I couldn’t erase the fucking thing fast enough and I…” Her voice cracked, going from fury to anguish in a split second. For the first time since her arrival, she looked up and met Amelia’s gaze. “I think I erased Theresa’s message by mistake, the outgoing one.”
She hadn’t been able to bring herself to delete what she felt was one of the last snippets of Theresa’s voice she’d ever hear, and this seemed an inexplicably cruel turn of events. To prove her point, Courtney pushed Rewind and then Play one more time. The static filled the room yet again, punctuating her loss with a generic, empty buzz. With a tormented growl, Courtney picked the square black box up, yanking its cord from the outlet, and hurled it at the wall, where it shattered. Her chest rising and falling so rapidly, hyperventilation was a danger, she pressed a hand to her aching heart and looked to Amelia once more, her eyes welling. “Oh, God. Oh, God, Amelia.”
Amelia dropped her purse and rushed forward, wrapping her arms around her as Courtney’s legs decided to no longer hold her weight. Both women slid to the linoleum floor, the sound of Courtney’s keening, pain-filled wail echoing through the entire house as Amelia held her and rocked her gently.
“Oh, God, she’s gone. Oh, Meel, my Theresa is gone. She’s gone. What am I going to do? Oh, my God, Theresa...”
Courtney had completely fallen apart that day, finally, and it took Amelia and Mark and Courtney’s family months to help clean up the fallout. Another collapse was the last thing Courtney needed, and she was reasonably sure Amelia never wanted to see one again.
When Courtney finally turned to look at Amelia now, she wondered if her friend could see the strange combination of excited hope and worried dread that she felt swirling around in her stomach, in her head. Her voice was as small as a frightened child’s as she returned to the question Amelia had posed. “Yeah. I think it could be more than like.” She blinked several times, no idea what else to say.
“And that scares you?”
“That terrifies me.”
Chapter Fifteen
By Saturday morning, Rachel’s mind was a jumbled mess. She wanted nothing more than to spend some time at Happy Acres, quietly walking the dogs, breathing in the crisp fall air, and allowing her brain to clear, but she was due at the hospital by seven and there was no time for meditating. Courtney, clients, her father, her sister about to give birth—it all tumbled in her head like a giant Chex Mix and there was nothing she could do to sort it all out. There was simply no time.
She liked the feel of the scrubs, though. They were like wearing pajamas. Her brother-in-law, Greg, smiled at her from across the small waiting room where they sat and waited to be called in. He wasn’t a big man, standing an inch or two shorter than Rachel. His thinning blond hair was covered by the scrub cap, but his goatee was neat and his face was clean-shaven. Rachel was weirdly touched that he’d shaved for the birth of his child. Using one finger, he pushed his wire-rimmed glasses higher on his nose. Echoing her earlier thoughts, he said, “These are cool, huh?” He pulled at the sky blue shirt he sported. “I wonder if we get to keep them.”
“I hope so. They’ll make a pretty cool souvenir.” She watched him as he fidgeted, shifting in his seat. He was nervous, and that only made her affection for him swell.
“I think they’re kind of sexy,” he confided in a conspiratorial whisper.
Rachel chuckled, recalling all the doctor fantasies she’d entertained in her life—women in lab coats, women in scrubs of all colors. “So do I,” she responded, casually crossing her legs.
“How is it that you’re so calm, cool, and collected?” he asked her. “Aren’t you nervous at all?”
“Of course I am.” The truth was, Rachel felt completely jittery inside, like she had a stomach full of slithering snakes. Her heart was hammering in her chest and adrenaline was rushing through her system as if she’d ingested too much caffeine. She was excited and nervous and thrilled and terrified all at once. Her exterior, however, showed none of these things. It was a skill she’d perfected over the years. Never let ’em see you sweat. Unlike Greg, her hands were steady and her knee was not bouncing up and down. As she sat calmly in the orange plastic chair in her scrubs, matching booties covering her shoes, anybody walking by would simply assume she was a doctor chatting with an anxiously expectant father in the waiting room of the maternity ward.
Greg scanned her. “Yeah, well, you suck,” he said, but the affection in his tone took any sting from the words.
Before she could make any reassurances, a nurse caught their attention. “Mr. Shipman? Ms. Hart? We’re ready for you.”
“Oh, God,” slipped out before Rachel could catch it.
Greg glanced at her, and the wash of relief was plainly obvious in his features. “Come on, Aunt Rachel,” he said, putting an arm around her. “Let’s go witness the birth of our own flesh and blood.”
The operating room was sterile in every sense of the word…the color, the smell, the sounds. All of it cold, white, and clean. They followed the nurse around the stretcher in the center of the room to the head, where Emily lay sprawled out like a crucified prisoner. IV lines pierced her arms, which were strapped down, but her face was beaming and only brightened as her husband and sister came into view to stand near the head of the gurney.
“Hi, guys,” she said, her voice a cheerful whisper. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Her hair was tousled and her shoulders were bare, but she looked radiant. Greg leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips.
Rachel took her place on the opposite side of Emily’s head from Greg, slightly shell-shocked by the endlessly beeping equipment piled in neat stacks. She scanned over the anesthesiologist, deciding he looked
capable and older than twenty-five, unlike Emily’s OB/GYN, whose boyishly good looks made him seem as if he’d just graduated from college.
Small stools had been placed on the floor on either side of Emily’s head for the spectators. A screen made of the same blue material as the scrubs was erected at her chest so that if Rachel sat on the stool, she couldn’t see the procedure. Deciding that was exactly what it was for, she took a seat and smiled at her sister’s glowing face.
“Nervous?” Emily knew her sister well and her smile said as much.
“No. No, of course not.” Rachel smirked at the lie. “Okay. A little. You?”
“Not at all.”
“Good.” She looked from one person to another in the room, making mental notes on each of them.
“Stop it,” Emily reprimanded her playfully.
“Stop what?”
“Sizing up the crew to decide if they’re good enough to operate on me.”
Rachel felt properly chastised as Greg chuckled. She had been the protector of her little sister for more than thirty years. She wasn’t about to stop now.
“Emily?” Only the doctor’s eyes were visible—a bright, festive green framed by dark eyebrows and thick lashes that instantly reminded Rachel of Courtney’s—as he got his patient’s attention. “We’re ready to begin. How’re you doing?”
It didn’t seem possible, but Emily’s smile grew bigger. “I’m ready to have this baby, Doc.”
“Good. Then let’s get started.” With a curt nod, he turned his attention back to the other doctor across the table. There were also two nurses in addition to the anesthesiologist who was standing behind Emily’s head and carefully monitoring the beeping equipment.
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