The Tie That Binds

by LAURA GALE

  “Oh?”

  “They did keep saying we were too young.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, okay then, you weren’t from our…class.” He cringed at the word. It was a little too close to the racial point. “You weren’t raised for…for the role a society wife would have to fill. You didn’t conduct yourself that way.” God, that sounds even worse, as if she lacked manners or something.

  “Of course, Lucas, the society-wife bit. A stunning living trophy who can bat her eyelashes and play hostess—and talk fluff. Alana is prepared for that. I’m not. I’m not glamorous or elegant, and I don’t care about designer clothes, jewelry or cars. I have my own definition of ‘having the right friends, knowing the right people.’ I think for myself.”

  She paused, looking up, wondering if he was getting this. He met her gaze. He nodded. She nodded, too, and continued. “I don’t come from money. That could be considered one aspect of background. My pedigree isn’t what Alana’s is. But that isn’t all of it, is it, Lucas?”

  She stood up, beginning to pace. “The problem was never simply all the things I am not. The real problem was what I am instead. Being Mexican, it’s part of who I am. No big deal for me, but I know prejudice when I see it, Lucas, when I experience it. Michaela deserves better from her grandparents.”

  She stirred her tea, not really wanting to drink any more of it.

  Taking a deep breath, she returned to her chair. “As long as we stayed away from them, we were fine. We had our own ways, together, you and I. Good ways. But gradually you started spending more time with them, without me, and with Alana. It made a difference. You see, Lucas, despite all their efforts to drive me away, they didn’t succeed—but you did. You succeeded. You followed whatever your father said, did whatever he wanted you to do. You just…drifted away from me until you couldn’t see me anymore.”

  “Rachel, it wasn’t like that.”

  “Wasn’t it? I left the marriage, Lucas, but you deserted the relationship. You chose a successor while I was still there. You put her in my place.” Sadness had crept into her voice. “I was alone, just the way your mother is. The difference is that, having not been raised to accept that sort of thing, I walked away. She’s lived with it, accepted it, for…how long? Maybe for the entire marriage? I couldn’t do that, Lucas, I just couldn’t. To their way of thinking, I deserved far less than Sophie had. It just never occurred to me that you shared their views. Had I ever suspected that, I would never have married you. I thought you were different.”

  Suddenly Lucas was desperate to say what he should have made clear a long time ago. “Rachel, I never shared my parents’ opinion about you, your status or your…background. You need to know that. Hell, I would have never allowed…” He shook his head ruefully. “But I did, I guess.”

  “Like I said, maybe I could have insisted you listen. Maybe I could have been more diplomatic.” It was an olive branch, extended as a peace offering. Both of them knew it.

  Lucas ran a hand through his hair, belying his outward calm, hinting at his internal confusion. “I also admit I have a hard time thinking about prejudice the way you’re describing it. I…don’t relate to it. I don’t feel it. I don’t have negative feelings about your heritage or about Michaela sharing that heritage. Really. I just don’t look at people and evaluate them that way. I never did.”

  Rachel regarded him carefully. She didn’t really think Lucas was prejudiced. She thought it more likely that he had been so well cocooned in a world that didn’t experience it that honestly he didn’t understand what prejudice could look like. He was—or had been—horribly naive about such things.

  No matter what her anger or wounded heart tried to make her believe, she knew Lucas, knew him deep down. If he had ever judged people based on anything less than their own attributes, their own personalities and self-worth, she would have known. She would have known.

  “I believe you.”

  He smiled, a weight lifting from him. She smiled back. It was a step in the right direction between them.

  A buzz from Rachel’s phone interrupted them. She pushed the appropriate buttons, waited for the voice on the other end.

  “I’ll be right back, Lucas. Paul needs me for a minute.”

  When Rachel returned to the reception area, she spotted the Neumans. They had apparently not left yet. Arnold was standing at a window, gazing out at the parking lot, a cup of coffee in his hand.

  “Rachel,” came Sophie’s tight voice, startling her. She approached Rachel cautiously, taking great pain to choose the right words. “I apologize if we have…intruded. But, please…would we be able to see the child? From a distance?”

  Taken aback by Sophie’s hushed tone, Rachel hesitated. She eyed Sophie carefully, cautiously, as one would examine a coiled snake. Despite her misgivings, Rachel sensed a war of emotions battling it out inside the older woman. Somehow Rachel knew what it had cost Sophie to speak up. Regardless of her flawless, impeccable appearance, Sophie Neuman was not calm.

  Welcome to the club, Sophie, she thought. Rachel took a long time in answering.

  “Rachel, tell me to go to hell if you want. I would understand, actually.” Sophie’s smile was brief, tentative. “But I had to ask. We’ve come this far.”

  Wondering if she was making a mistake, yet somehow attuned to the older woman’s genuine need to see her granddaughter, Rachel pointed to Sophie. “You, you only,” she stressed. “Come with me.”

  Avoiding any glance in Arnold’s direction, Sophie nodded and followed Rachel toward another hallway.

  Replacing her mask over her nose and mouth, Rachel walked into Michaela’s room, closing the door behind her. Moving quietly, she pulled back the blinds that covered the glass partition separating the room from the corridor. Gently she lifted Michaela into her arms, into a sitting position. Michaela mumbled something, but didn’t wake. Rachel kissed her daughter’s forehead through her mask, then glanced toward the window.

  Confident that Sophie had had a reasonable glimpse of her granddaughter, Rachel lowered Michaela back to the bed, rearranging her bedding and closing the blinds.

  Stepping back into the corridor, Rachel glanced at Sophie, who merely nodded in response. Rachel returned to her office, not waiting to see what the Neumans were doing. Collecting her mug from the table, she dumped the dregs of her tea into the sink, debating whether she wanted to fix another round.

  “So, Rachel,” Lucas’s voice was slow and languid, slowing the air molecules to the speed of honey, prompting an immediate throb of response in Rachel.

  It made her jump, nevertheless. “Dios mio, Lucas, you scared me. I didn’t realize you were still here.” Her breathing had quickened, along with her heartbeat.

  Noticing this, he smiled slowly at her, took a step toward her. “So, then. I guess that leaves one other thing.” The caress she remembered so well was in his voice, the blackness of his eyes had changed. “What about us, Rachel?”

  “Us?”

  “Yes, us.” He chuckled softly as he extended his hand toward her, seeking her hair. He could smell her—vanilla. Vanilla and spice and something else, something Rachel. Her own scent. The one he had missed, even without knowing it.

  One hand was in her hair then, tipping her face toward him. With his other hand he stroked the curve of her cheek, watched as the rhythm of her breathing changed yet again. “What are we going to do about this, Rachel? This thing between us…” He pressed himself against her, letting her feel the state of his body, his readiness. It could happen so fast, he marveled, when Rachel was near.

  I want her so much.

  He bent lower, so that his lips brushed her cheek, in place of his fingers. “You smell so good, Rachel, you feel so right…” And she did. Absolutely perfect. His arms stole around her, pulling her against him tightly, leaving no room for doubt. She fit him. Perfectly.

  “Damn you, Lucas! I’ve told you no!”

  When she began to resist, he sought a way to soothe her. He
wanted this so badly. Wanted her so much. He knew she felt the same way. He just needed to remind her. “Rachel, it’s okay. This is us, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

  “No, Lucas! It’s not okay! Maybe it never will be.” That was the sad truth she could not hide from.

  He felt her turmoil. He didn’t understand it, but he knew it was real. His arms dropped to his sides. Rachel wrenched herself away from him, nearly tripping on the little table in her rush.

  “I’ve told you I can’t do this, Lucas.”

  Her back was to him, her arms wrapped around herself. He realized then that she was fighting tears, that sobs were racking her body. Or was she just gulping in air, trying to get control? He couldn’t be sure.

  He moved toward her again, needing to extend…something to her. “Rachel, I don’t understand. I’m sorry, whatever I’ve done here, I’m sorry.” He struggled for words. “I feel so close to you, Rachel. The physical—it’s part of my response to you. I only have to be near you.”

  A shudder went the length of her body, an involuntary response to his need. A need that spoke to her at a deeper level than she could accept.

  She shook her head. “That’s fine for you. But I’m not you.” Despite her physical reaction, she knew this was true. “I told you before—our history, being normal, healthy adults—that’s not enough for me. Please, Lucas. Try to understand. My guard is up. I don’t know if that will ever change. Just don’t touch me. I can’t take it. I really can’t.” Her breathing had slowed down. Her composure was returning.

  Involuntarily Lucas reached toward her again. When he saw her hold her breath, he let his hand drop to his side. Not knowing what else to do, Lucas gave a little wave of farewell. And left Rachel alone. He was more confused than ever.

  But that was nothing compared to what Rachel was feeling.

  Chapter 9

  The dream came again when she tried to sleep. Or rather, the dreams. Dreams that had plagued Rachel for years. Dreams of being cornered, abandoned. Of wanting too much, of wanting something that always seemed just out of her reach. Of emptiness, of the unknown, of what she couldn’t quite see. And an understanding that she had to move toward it, anyway.

  Sometimes she awoke on a sob. Sometimes it was with a stifled scream. Sometimes it was with the sense of falling.

  Exhausted, Rachel pulled herself to a sitting position in her bed. Pushing her damp hair away from her face, she expelled a long, shaky breath.

  She would prefer insomnia. At least with insomnia, she had some control over her thoughts. Dreams demanded a response; they required that a person follow. Sometimes even after waking. Which was what was happening now. Even though she was awake, Rachel couldn’t avoid thinking about the dream.

  It was all being stirred up again. Lucas’s presence was bringing back all the old pain. She could keep the hurt pushed down, buried someplace where she couldn’t feel it, most of the time. But in her dreams, it had returned.

  That awful night. That awful year that had culminated in that awful night.

  Only a few months into her marriage, Rachel couldn’t help feeling that Lucas had come to prefer Alana or, at least, Alana’s company. Lucas called that ridiculous. He couldn’t see that Rachel had cause to think that—and that many other people thought it as well.

  Okay, Rachel could acknowledge now, maybe she’d been a little jealous. But not of Alana exactly. Jealous of the time Lucas spent with her. Jealous that he seemed to enjoy the time he spent with Alana and thought that time with Rachel was…owed. That being with Rachel was no longer the preferred choice.

  Things had added up. The graduation party had mattered. The condo purchase had mattered.

  Nothing she’d tried had worked, nothing could get through to Lucas. She couldn’t reach him no matter what she did. Eventually she began to turn her pain, her loneliness, her disappointment, her humiliation, inward. She quit trying to connect, to fix things. She quit allowing herself to feel.

  And after the Las Vegas trip, she knew there was nothing left.

  Las Vegas. True, Lucas had asked her to go with him, the only time he had ever invited her to travel with him. But it had been a week of life-altering events for her, events that belonged to her. A week when she couldn’t go with him. Lucas hadn’t listened, hadn’t believed her, hadn’t caught on that something important was happening for Rachel. He simply reminded her that she was a failure in supporting his career and had stormed out of the condo, suitcase in hand.

  A week later, when he returned home, she had had such wonderful news for him. She was already dressed for bed, wearing a simple white eyelet nightgown she preferred during warm weather. Her silky, dark hair was free and loose, just the way he liked it. But the minute Lucas walked through the door, she knew that something was dreadfully wrong. For the first time in their lives together, Lucas couldn’t meet Rachel’s eyes.

  “Is everything okay?” she’d asked.

  “I’m tired, I guess,” he said with a shrug.

  She didn’t push him for answers. She’d been bursting to talk to him, but he managed to cut her off.

  “I think I’ll take my bag to our room,” he said, still avoiding her eyes. “I’ll take a shower. Maybe that’ll revive me.”

  While he was in the bathroom, Rachel began the familiar routine of sorting his gear for washing and dry cleaning. He’d wrapped a towel around his waist and walked from the bathroom, drying his hair with another towel. He paused when he saw her sitting on their bed, abnormally still.

  “Did you have something to say to me?” she questioned quietly, but not quite a whisper.

  “What…what do you mean?” he floundered.

  “Oh, Lucas, please,” she said, sounding tired. “Let’s at least have some honesty. Here—” she lifted a shirt she held in her hand “—is a shirt smeared with two different shades of lipstick. Here—” she pointed absently “—is an invitation of sorts, written on hotel stationery, which I found in your jacket pocket, apparently sealed with a kiss by Cathy. Cathy, I notice, was not wearing either color of lipstick that I see on the shirt. And here—” she motioned toward the bed again “—would be a handful of condoms that I found in the inside jacket pocket. I’ve rescued them for you. Wouldn’t want to send them to the dry cleaner, I’m sure.”

  She was rolling something back and forth in her hands but continued calmly, “I wasn’t snooping, Lucas. I was just sorting, that’s all.”

  She stood up, looking him in the face for the first time. “Did Cathy seal you with a kiss, too, Lucas? Or did someone else leave all those marks down your neck and across your shoulder?” Her voice vibrated with resigned sarcasm. And defeat.

  “What do you mean?” he asked as he moved to look at himself in the mirrored closet doors. “Oh,” he said, smiling sheepishly as he lightly touched the fading love bites. “I didn’t realize I had them. But no, that would have been Alana.”

  “Oh, well, I see,” Rachel said. “Excuse me, will you, Lucas?” Rachel, feeling strangely dead inside, stood and moved toward the bedroom door, turning as she remembered she held something in her hands. “Let me give this back to you,” she’d said, hurling the small item at his head. “It was in your jacket pocket, too, nestled among the condoms. I’m sure I don’t need it. But then, I don’t suppose you need it, either.”

  She’d left the bedroom, and Lucas looked at the floor, searching for the object that had missed his head only because he had moved quickly enough to avoid it. It lay on the floor next to the closet door track, sparkling vaguely in the muted light of the bedroom. It was his wedding ring. Only then did he notice that his hand was bare.

  Shaken and not understanding why, he grabbed underwear and a pair of sweatpants, stumbling into them as quickly as he could. He heard familiar noises coming from the kitchen now: Rachel locating a mug, filling it with water, setting it to heat in the microwave, pulling a teabag from the canister, retrieving milk and honey to add to her tea, tapping her fingers on the counter while she waited.

/>   He raced out of the bedroom, not sure what he would find, but expecting…something. Conflicted emotions roiled within him: fear, guilt, defensiveness, even triumph. He was oddly exhilarated, pumped up for a fight—a rarity in him. He was unprepared for what he encountered.

  Rachel was sitting in a lounge chair near the window, her legs curled beneath her, quietly sipping from her mug. She looked out the window, not looking at him.

  “I didn’t actually have sex with Alana, you know,” he burst out. “I didn’t.”

  Her expression never changed, her gaze never wavered from some point on the horizon. Lucas couldn’t be sure she’d heard him.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  She answered by shrugging her shoulders. Then she spoke so quietly that Lucas had to lean toward her to hear.

  “What would you have me say, Lucas? How does that make any difference?”

  “What do you mean by that? I would think that the fact that I could have, that I nearly did, maybe I even wanted to, but I didn’t—well, that should matter.”

  Rachel shrugged again. “Is that what you think, Lucas? That my reaction to this news should be gratitude? That I should be thankful to you for stopping short of…” She couldn’t say it.

  She sipped her tea. She still didn’t look in his direction. Her voice remained deathly quiet and calm. “No, Lucas, what matters is that you were in that position to begin with. Everything you’ve done lately, Lucas, it has not been the behavior of a man interested in honoring his wedding vows. If you didn’t actually violate them, well, that doesn’t mean abiding by them, either.” She shook her head. “No, I really don’t see where this fine line of distinction that you’re trying to paint matters. The trust was bruised before, Lucas. Now it’s broken. Fine lines of distinction won’t change that.”

  She paused, continuing to look out the window, surprised at how calm she felt. Then she resumed in a voice that would have been soothing in other circumstances. “Lucas, tonight I’m forced to acknowledge what I’ve been fighting for months. Before this I hoped we could work things out. You’ve demonstrated very well for me, however, that I can quit hoping.”