by LAURA GALE
Rachel enjoyed the momentary warmth of Diego’s hug, secure in the easy camaraderie they’d shared since childhood. “It is unbelievable,” she agreed.
“And how is the mother of the child doing?”
“She is thrilled, excited, anxious…”
“Scared?”
She glanced at him quickly, acknowledging his astuteness. He knew her so well.
“Yes,” she admitted. “A little bit scared. Afraid to believe. Unwilling not to.”
Diego went to sit on the couch, allowing her some breathing room. “Perhaps that should become your motto, Rachel.”
“What do you mean?”
Diego sat back, brought one leg up to cross the ankle over his knee. “I think, hermana, that believing—trusting—is difficult for you. Life has taught you to be wary. You have been…only existing for some time, no? Afraid, sí. But perhaps also…waiting. Sometimes it takes more than hope. Sometimes you must take a risk. Sometimes you must take action.”
Rachel did not have a response. She heard the truth in what Diego said.
“Hermana,” he continued, “what you have been waiting for is within your reach. For Michaela, certainly. But also for yourself, as a woman. If you can believe, corazón. If you can trust it.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.
Diego stood and walked back to the window. He tipped her chin so she could not avoid looking at him.
“Think, hermana, of what it would take to make you complete again. What do you need? What do you want?”
He bent to kiss her cheek again, wondering if Rachel had any idea what it was costing him to speak to her so. “I would like to see you happy again, corazón. We all would. You deserve it. Take the chance.”
Diego was a good man, Rachel knew that. She wished she had been able to turn her feelings for him into something more, something a man like him deserved. It would have simplified her life unbelievably. She did love him deeply, but it would always be as a brother. She respected him and his opinions. She knew that he truly did want her to be happy and that he understood what it would take.
“Hasta luego, Rachel.”
Rachel did not immediately move away from the window. She knew what she needed—what she wanted—to be complete again. She simply had no idea if she could manage it.
A few minutes later, composed, she left her office.
“Buenos días, mija,” Rachel chimed as she entered Michaela’s room.
Michaela’s color was normal now, apricot, just like her mother’s, just like it had been before. Her gray eyes no longer looked hollow and lost in her face, the way they had over the past few months, when she had felt so miserable and had tried so hard to disguise it. Maybe most important, she had a headful of soft, downy black hair.
She’s got more than peach fuzz, Rachel decided. A little more and it will actually look like a short hairstyle. She smiled again.
“Buenos días, Mamá,” Michaela answered with a smile, her arms outstretched for a hug. Today Michaela had apparently decided to play Barbie dolls. Malibu Barbie and Teresa were sitting on the table, legs crossed, presumably contemplating their ridiculously extensive wardrobes.
“Having a good morning?”
“Sí, Mamá.” She eyed Rachel closely. “You’re dressed different today.”
“That is true.” Rachel laughed. “I’m dressed for cleaning. That’s what I came to tell you, mija. I’m going home to help Naná clean, to get everything ready for you to come home. ¿Claro?”
Michaela squealed at this, dashing toward Rachel for another hug. “Of course that’s okay, Mamá. I want to go back home so bad. I can’t wait.”
“I know, mija, I know.”
“So, clean it good, Mamá, and clean it fast.”
“Okay.” Rachel was still laughing, adoring these instructions that sounded so very much like her daughter should sound. “I will. I’ll probably stay there tonight, okay? So I won’t see you until morning.”
Michaela pursed her lips, crinkling her forehead in thought. “Well, okay. I guess you have to. Claro, Mamá.”
“Gracias, mija. Hasta mañana.” Rachel hugged her daughter again, kissing her on that fuzzy little head.
It was time to get down to business.
When Rachel arrived at her home, she found it empty. No one was there to clean with her, but evidence of someone else’s hard work was everywhere.
Someone had already purchased and put away a fair supply of groceries. Rachel had no idea who that might have been. She checked her cupboards and fridge, making mental notes of what she now had to choose from.
“Ah,” she said aloud, “my money’s on Rick and Diego being the grocery shoppers.”
This conclusion was based on her findings in the freezer. She discovered four different flavors of ice cream, as well as some frozen sugary product that came on sticks. Rachel, Rick and Diego had always believed that ice cream could cure anything and it would be like those two to fill her freezer with such things. She smiled.
Rachel wandered through the house, taking inventory of what had already been done. From what she could tell, all basic cleaning had been completed. It appeared that floor mopping and window coverings were all that were left.
Dios mio, Rachel wondered, was Mamá here when she called me this morning? How did they get so much done?
Rachel couldn’t quite figure out how this had happened without her knowledge. She’d believed she was very much on top of the cleaning progress. Apparently not.
The doorbell interrupted Rachel’s meandering.
“Hey, Tanisha.” Rachel felt glad to see her neighbor. Rachel had missed her. Tanisha’s daughter, Vanessa, was only one year older than Michaela, and the two of them were tight friends. They had all spent a lot of time together before Michaela’s illness. Rachel realized now that she hadn’t seen Tanisha since before Michaela’s BMT. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually seen Vanessa, although Vanessa routinely sent messages to Michaela at the hospital. Michaela needed help reading them, but she adored getting mail.
Still, Rachel hadn’t seen Tanisha in quite some time. “How’s it going?”
Then, noticing a box sitting on the ground behind Tanisha, she amended her question. “Or maybe I should ask, what have you got?”
Tanisha laughed. “I’ve brought you your bedspreads, Rach. I had them dry-cleaned. I thought about washing them, but when I got them over to my house, I realized there was no way they would fit in my machine. So off to the dry-cleaner I went.”
“Thanks, Tanisha.” Rachel meant it, and she knew Tanisha knew she meant it. Money was not in abundance around this area, and the dry-cleaning bill for two bedspreads would have been significant. But Tanisha considered it a gift, and there would be no point in arguing the issue.
Stepping outside, Rachel helped Tanisha bring in the box. They unloaded it and spent the next hour talking and replacing bed coverings.
After Tanisha’s departure, Rachel approached the tasks she knew she needed to complete. First on the list was floor mopping: the kitchen, the utility room, and all two and a half bathrooms.
That task completed, Rachel carried her bucket of dirty water and the mop outside and set to cleaning up her equipment. Then she noticed the miniblinds sitting on the table. A quick examination of them told her that they were desperately dusty and needed cleaning. She knew that Rick and Diego had taken down all the window coverings before they had done the carpet, with the idea that it would preserve the cleanliness of the carpet if clean window coverings were rehung after the carpet had been taken care of, rather than trying to remove dirty window coverings over clean carpet. Rachel figured her drapes and curtains must be at the dry-cleaners.
The miniblinds had obviously either been forgotten or time had become a factor and they hadn’t been touched after they’d been removed from the house. Shrugging, realizing that it didn’t really matter either way, Rachel gathered up her cleaning supplies, bringing them out to the patio. Sh
e might as well do this where she had plenty of room and where she could use the hose to its full advantage.
Back in the kitchen, Rachel savored the very thought of the sandwich she was preparing—genuine deli-cut turkey, fresh lettuce and tomato, not prepared by a hospital cafeteria. When she was about two bites from finishing, the doorbell rang again. Stuffing the last bit in her mouth, she went to answer the door, finding her father, brother and Diego standing on the step, amid drapes and curtains and copious amounts of protective plastic wrapping. She invited them in and spent the next several hours helping them return her window coverings to their proper places. She was glad she’d been there to oversee the process—none of these helpers seemed to remember which set of coverings had come from which window. Rachel wasn’t sure she would have liked the effect their decorating efforts would have produced, as much as she loved the men themselves.
Following their visit, she went back out to the patio, checking the dryness of her miniblinds.
“Hi, Rachel.”
She jumped. She hadn’t heard Lucas’s approach.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I rang the bell, but you didn’t answer. I was sure you were here, so I started looking around a little. I discovered this little path and just sort of kept following it. Someone, your neighbor Tunisia—”
“Tanisha,” Rachel corrected automatically.
“Yes, well, she opened the gate for me. Seemed to know who I was. I didn’t realize I’d end up here, that it would bring me directly to you, but I guess it’s okay that it did.”
He smiled at her, and she felt her pulse quicken. She had that floating sensation in her stomach—butterflies—and knew that Lucas’s arrival had sent her rushing back into that special spectrum he created for her.
“You know—” he was looking around the courtyard of the complex, nodding his head approvingly “—you’ve found a very nice little village to live in, Rachel.”
“Yes, I think so, too.” She found her voice.
He reached over and undid the latch on her patio gate, entering her little garden area. “Can I help you with those?” He’d spotted the miniblinds.
“Yes, actually. I could use the help. I washed them this morning. Papá, Rick and Diego were just here, putting up curtains for me. I should have checked these then so they could have helped me, but I didn’t think of it. So I’m left still needing to get them back inside.” She was babbling, and she hated it, but she couldn’t stop, either.
Lucas smiled and began loading his arms with miniblinds. Very quickly, Rachel was glad of his help. The miniblinds were cumbersome and most of the work was at ceiling level. He was taller than she was and could reach much more easily. And two sets of hands proved very useful.
Until they tried to hang the blinds in her bedroom. These blinds were big. Floor-length. Ten feet across. They went beneath the drapes, next to the glass.
The cords were tangled. They got them untangled. They hoisted the blinds up, ready to put them in place. One side slipped, leaving them skewed, out of balance and completely unmanageable. They sorted that out. They got them in place, evenly balanced this time, were ready to slide them into the little brackets—and one of the brackets broke. The blinds fell to the floor with a highly rhythmic clatter. And a thud.
Had she been alone, Rachel knew she’d have been issuing some very colorful language, her most expressive mix of Spanish and English.
As it was, she and Lucas just started laughing. Kept laughing. Couldn’t stop laughing. Pretty soon they had tears from laughing. They tried to talk but couldn’t for the laughing. They sat on the floor, side by side with the jumbled miniblinds, and laughed.
Until eventually they were in each other’s arms, and both of them knew where they were headed.
And neither of them was laughing anymore.
This time it was no gentle reunion. No dreamy, soft-edged romance. This time it was hunger. Two starving people desperate for each other.
Scrambling to get closer, each one’s mouth seeking the other’s, fusing, not wanting to break away.
His shirt, suddenly unnecessary, was pulled away, discarded. Rachel was finding the taste, scent and feel of his smooth golden skin, the crisp blackness of his chest hair—something he hadn’t had when he’d been twenty—and the flat, hard coins of his nipples. Her hands, her mouth, traveling everywhere. Her man. Absolutely.
Her hair freed from its bandanna, Lucas’s hands combing through it, burying his face, breathing in Rachel. Her red T-shirt, her denim shorts, her satin bra and panties—all of them left her body. Scattered wherever they landed. Her body beginning to quiver, ready for his touch, unable to stop the cries of need. Need fulfilled when his thumbs began to stroke her distended nipples, and then fulfilled again when his mouth took over the job.
“Oh, Rachel, I can’t wait. I can’t…go slow.”
“I don’t want you to.”
He slid home then, Rachel meeting each thrust with a rhythm of her own, pulling him deeper, closer—needing, wanting, loving every bit of him. And Lucas giving her everything he had to give.
Afterward, they collapsed together on the floor, still entwined, still connected, side by side with the tangled miniblinds and the forgotten clothes.
“Rachel, honey, wake up.” Lucas’s voice and breath on her skin caused Rachel to stir. Somewhere in her brain, she knew she must have slept because she was now waking up.
“Rachel,” he whispered again into her neck. “I need you again.”
At that, Rachel became aware of Lucas, warm and throbbing against her thigh—and of herself, utterly boneless and melting and ready for him.
Just like it had always been when they had awakened together.
“Yes, Lucas, now.” Her words were whispered, but their urgency was conveyed.
Needing no further encouragement, Lucas shifted to slip inside her, and they were together again in a slow, delicious, powerful ritual, reaching the final sweeping strokes together, as well.
“Did I rush you?” Lucas asked, stroking her hair.
“No.” She smiled. “Not at all.”
“Are you hungry?” He was kissing her mouth again, tasting her.
“For something besides you, you mean?” she asked in between kisses.
He laughed then, jokingly, tenderly, nibbling at her ear. “Yeah, for something that might sustain us in a different way.”
Still lying on the floor, Rachel turned to check her bedside clock, surprised to see that it was nearly seven o’clock. She’d already decided to stay at the town house tonight, of course. Now she knew she wouldn’t be alone.
Reaching for her panties, she said. “I suppose we should have dinner.”
“Rachel.” Lucas caught her hand. “We’re alone, right?”
She nodded.
“You’re not expecting anyone else tonight, are you—not even the cleaning crew on a return mission?” His smile said he remembered the numerous times during their marriage when marathon lovemaking sessions had been interrupted by the inopportune arrival of her familia.
And how Rachel and Lucas had smoldered until those visits ended, when they could turn to each other again.
Rachel smiled, tracing his mouth with her fingertip. She remembered, too.
“No, Lucas. I’m not expecting anyone.”
“Then let’s not dress.”
“What?” She was laughing, relishing the feel of his chest hair—that new sensation—against her as he lay propped over her.
“Let’s not dress. No one will know. All the drapes are back in place. And we won’t really be needing clothes, will we?”
“No. I guess not.”
He stood up then, extending his hand to help her.
And suddenly she was embarrassed. Heat rushed to her face—all-over salmon, she was sure. Quickly she ducked her head until her face was at least partially concealed by her cascading hair.
Not that they’d never before indulged in nudity in their home. They had. They’d made lov
e wherever, whenever they’d wanted…before. But that was then. That was…before.
“Rachel, what’s wrong?” Lucas tried to tip her face up to him, meeting resistance. “Tell me.”
She shook her head.
“Rachel, look at me.”
She raised her head slightly, still hiding behind her veil of hair, glad it was long enough to partially disguise her breasts as well as her face. Unconsciously she crossed her arms in front of her body, folding them across her stomach.
“Rachel, honey, come on. What is it?”
Her mouth opened, but words were slow to come. “You may not…want to see me, you know, running around naked.”
“Why not?”
On the one hand, Rachel was thinking “because I don’t look nearly as good as the women you’re used to.” She hated thinking that way, but there it was.
On the other hand, she could tell him the other half of what worried her. It was probably more important, anyway.
“I don’t look…like I used to.”
Lucas wasn’t following her train of thought. He shook his head. “What do you mean?”
“Just what I said, Lucas.” She slipped away from him, welcoming the distance. “I’m not young…and firm…the way I was the last time you…saw me like this.”
Rachel was quite aware that they’d made love a scant day or so ago, but she’d hardly been parading around without clothes that time.
“Rachel.” Lucas smiled. “I don’t look like a kid anymore, either.”
She thought immediately of his chest hair. “Yes, Lucas, but you look like a man now. You look better. You’re still hard—”
“Well, not so hard at this minute,” he said through a devilish grin.
She smiled in exasperation. “Not that kind of hard, dope. You’re…I don’t know, lean, fit. Filled out the way a man should be. I—” she faltered “—I’m not…firm and perky anymore. I’m not twenty and…I’ve had a baby. I have stretch marks, Lucas. There were some difficulties with Michaela’s delivery and I had to have a C-section—”
Lucas blanched involuntarily, hit hard by this sudden blast of reality, of what Rachel—and Rick—had experienced. The very thing that he, Lucas, had not participated in. Renewed disgust with himself swamped him.