He looked up, catching his breath, and jumped at the sight of her.
"Jesus Rachel!" he yelled, "You scared the shit out of me!"
"I'm sorry!" she offered, collecting herself quickly, pretending she hadn't seen anything, "Henry Lowe is here, I think he's serving you with legal documents. I'm going to get dressed."
She practically ran out, racing up to her room to get away from him, unsure who was more humiliated.
She was alarmed at her arousal. And annoyed that he would rather jerk off than fuck her.
Why, after twelve years of marriage, why was everything still so strained between them? No matter how attractive she thought he was, they'd never meshed well in the bedroom. They had plenty of sex, and it hadn’t been horrible, but she was too insecure, too frigid, and she'd never felt comfortable trying new things when he'd asked.
Still, she was hurt that he hadn't tried harder. It wasn't just her, he'd held back, too.
***
Kenneth sat at the table in his uniform, shuffling through the paperwork.
"Is everything alright?" she asked.
"Not really."
Henry sat drinking his coffee, as if he had nothing better to do than sit around her kitchen soaking up the drama. His observations would probably make their way to the nail salon before she made it to her office.
She poured herself some more coffee and considered how best to have this conversation without giving Henry ammunition to run and share with his wife.
"Anything I can do, Kenneth?"
"No, I've got to get to the station. We'll talk later."
"Sure. I'm going to get the kids ready," she said as she started walking out, then she turned back, "Hey, can you please drop them off this morning? I want to get some stuff done around here before I go into the office."
He'd have rather eaten a dead cat if the look he gave her were any indication, but he agreed and went back to the paperwork on the table.
"See you later, Henry," she said before turning to leave, "You're welcome to take a travel mug!"
Maybe he’d take the hint and get the hell out of her house.
She rushed the kids out the door as Kenneth waited impatiently by the jeep, the legal documents tucked safely under his arm.
Dammit.
She'd hoped he would leave them and give her a chance to look them over. It would take her a week to get him to open up and share what was going on.
***
Rachel waited, her breathing slow and deliberate, as his long fingers pulled her blouse open, and she tensed when a finger brushed against her collarbone. She’d never exposed herself like this to anyone, and she closed her eyes, apprehensive, afraid he wouldn’t be attracted to her anymore, that he’d finally see her flaws and stop loving her.
"You are so perfect, Rachel," he whispered, giving her the courage to look into his face.
He smiled then in that wicked and beautiful way he had, urging her to trust him.
"Don't blush," he laughed, "I'm serious, you are so fucking beautiful. Your skin, your nipples. You're perfect."
"Dylan-"
"You belong in a museum," he said, nuzzling the soft skin behind her ear, "Or on the cover of Playboy."
She laughed, his fingers traced the skin down towards her navel, she dug her nails into the sheets, surprised by the heat growing between her legs.
I love you.
"Wake up."
His teeth sank into her painfully then, his fingers moved up to her neck, digging into her flesh until she couldn't breathe, and her hands flew to her throat, desperate to pry him off of her.
"I hate you," she choked.
"Wake up, Mommy. I don't feel good."
She lay in bed with Hunter until he fell back asleep, still running a fever, then walked down to the kitchen to start the coffee.
She took her usual seat in the corner where she could see everything going on. She never could have her back to a room, it made her nervous not to see what was going on around her. The mess in the kitchen had grown, Rachel wondered how she'd never noticed all of the clutter.
Kenneth walked in and went straight to the coffee.
He was already dressed and appeared to be in a hurry, either late for work or eager to get away from her. No telling how long he'd been awake. The old Victorian was designed to give people plenty of privacy in different parts of the house, and the spare room where he’d been sleeping downstairs was far enough away for him to come and go without Rachel noticing.
He was mostly a stranger to her now. He reached into the cabinet and grabbed a coffee mug. She waited for him to acknowledge her. It was Wednesday already, she still hadn’t worked up the courage to ask him about the paperwork he’d been served Monday morning.
For all she knew, it was something to do with the accident on Friday. He told her at home after the game that they’d performed a serious procedure on the field because Michael wasn’t getting air to his lungs. He’d had to cut a hole in his neck and insert a straw-like tool to make room for air to get through, but he hadn’t said a word about it to her since then. Rachel was sure he’d performed the procedure flawlessly, but the ambulance that was normally on site had been running late, and Kenneth didn't have the tools he needed until they arrived. Something about a ventilator.
He was probably too upset to want to talk about it. Sarah had texted her the night before, she’d heard Michael went too long without oxygen, he was still non-responsive. When Rachel told Kenneth, he’d said, “I’m sorry to hear that,” and walked to his room. And now here he was again this morning, stone silent.
"Kenneth, can I do anything for you?" she asked.
"No, I'm fine, thank you," he said, stirring sugar into his coffee and then toying with the spoon.
She tried to think of something to say to him, anything to show him she was concerned and wanted to help. Their phone had rung nonstop the last four days, nosy friends and nosy people who weren’t friends calling to check on him, most called to dig for gossip or to tell them they’d heard Michael's mother was threatening to sue.
Texas is ripe with attorneys suing or defending hospitals, doctors, nurses and any other health care provider. It wouldn’t have surprised anyone if Michael's mother found one willing to take on the Harrison Township Independent School District or a lowly local paramedic who’d tried to help while he was off-duty.
"I called Jerry Houseman yesterday,” she said, “He said not to worry, he’ll represent you if they file a civil suit."
Jerry was a long-time friend and colleague of her stepfather’s, well respected throughout the state for putting down attorneys who made big bucks chasing ambulances. “Some assholes will look for any reason to sue,” he’d said on the phone.
"That's great, Rachel,” Kenneth said, “Tell him I appreciate it."
He was still toying with that damn sugar spoon.
"Kenneth, please talk to me,” she begged.
He sighed and shoved the spoon back into the sugar bowl, turning to look at her, he leaned against the counter and tucked one arm under the other smugly as he lifted the coffee mug to his mouth. Her stomach knotted while she waited for him to say something, anything. He had to know this affected her, too.
"Rachel, you haven't wanted to talk to me for a year unless it was to complain that the kids don't listen, or your mother won't leave you alone or Jake's boyfriend isn't good enough for him. I've been waiting for you to really talk to me for months, and now that I'm being threatened with a lawsuit because a kid is brain dead, now you want to talk to me?"
She fought the fluttering in her chest and dug deep for the nerve to fight back.
"That's total bullshit, Kenneth,” she said, her hands already starting to shake, “I try to talk to you all the time. Is it so hard for you to take the initiative and approach me once in awhile?"
"Total bullshit, huh?” he laughed, “Rachel, how am I supposed to approach you when every time I look at you, every time, you're frowning? Like you hate me. Your mouth might s
ay you want to talk to me, but your face says to leave you the hell alone."
That stung. Was she always frowning? She felt like she’d always tried to be pleasant, even when she wanted nothing more than to be out of his sight.
"But I don't want you to leave me alone, I am asking you to talk to me now," she said gently, standing to walk towards him.
"That's convenient since you know I've got to get to work. We'll talk later, okay?"
And with that he slammed the rest of his coffee, put the mug in the sink and walked out of the kitchen, slowing only to snatch an old banana from the now empty bowl on the counter.
Rachel was left grinding her teeth, searching her memory for where she'd left her purse the night before. She needed a Valium, and she was angry at the frustration building inside her. Why did he work so hard to push her away? How had he gone from the needy man who’d never wanted to leave her side to this distant hateful person who couldn’t stand the sight of her?
***
She had a lunch meeting in Houston with a potential donor that afternoon. Hunter would have to stay home since he'd been feverish, he probably picked up whatever Lauren had the week before. She texted Sarah to ask if she could come sit with the kids, she responded immediately that she could and Rachel headed upstairs for the bath, eager to forget the anger she’d felt but couldn’t give words to.
The hot shower ran, steam filling the bathroom, and her pale skin turn pink as she lowered herself into the enormous tub. She loved that bathtub, she’d loved it since she was a little girl. When Frank died and left her the house ten years before, they'd noticed damage underneath the old bath. Kenneth argued it had to be replaced, but she'd paid somebody to refinish it instead. Rachel had always surrounded herself with old things, preferring history and wear over the polish of something new, and the emptiness it made her feel. Too often throughout her life, that antique cast iron tub was her only refuge from the chaos around her.
Her brain slowed, but her body still ached. She felt old. She'd called Dr. Valentine and said she was having more anxiety than usual, she left out everything about seeing Dylan, her marriage crumbling around her, and not taking care of herself like she should. He'd have only wanted to explore it further, and she wasn't ready to deal with questions she didn't have answers for.
She reached for a loofah and started to scrub, needing to feel good about her body again. Rachel never felt truly beautiful, but she used to care about how she looked. It was one of the only things she and her mother had in common. There was a time when she'd style her long curly hair and carefully apply makeup. But lately she'd taken to running her fingers through her wet hair and pulling it into a ponytail. And she rarely left the house in anything but jeans, a t-shirt and her boots. The last time she'd put on makeup was when she'd taken the picture with Jake for the Houston Courier article.
Thank God for that article, it had been Jake’s idea to let the paper do it. At least one of them still had their head in the game. Rachel was feeling burned out, but Jake swore he still loved doing it, said he wanted to give back. She liked to tease him about using it to pick up dates, but she knew his heart was in it. He'd always been a giving friend, never asking for anything in return, and she depended on him like she'd never been able to depend on anyone.
She needed him today, he'd gone to Austin to help film some documentary about a bat conservatory, and she was nervous about her lunch meeting. Rachel was a machine behind the monitor of her computer, but a disaster at soliciting funds from people face to face.
Even worse, she didn't know anything about the potential donor she was meeting, a secretary had called first thing Monday morning, she’d only told Rachel they were interested in supporting the organization.
She could have used Jake today, he understood people with money in a way the average person never could, he'd always been good with big donors, skilled in the small talk and ego-stroking it took to coax real money out of people. Rachel had never been able to seal a big deal.
She dug through her closet and settled on a sleeveless plum-colored silk blouse and grey slacks. Plum worked well with her green eyes, the only feature she truly liked about herself, and the slacks were the only decent ones she had that still fit.
She was still ten pounds heavier than she'd been before she had Lauren, and her round ass at the top of her chicken legs made her look like a candied apple on a stick.
She'd have to tell her mother she needed some new pants. Rachel preferred books and oil painting to shopping, but Savannah was always perfectly happy as long as she had somebody to shop for. It gave her purpose. She made sure Rachel's closet was organized and stocked with whatever was in fashion, it was something charitable they did for one another.
She carefully combed out her lose curls, and pulled out her makeup bag, hoping to hide the evidence of poor diet and even poorer sleep habits.
Sarah came through the kitchen door as Rachel poured a third cup of coffee.
"Hey Girl, how's Hunter?" Sarah asked.
"He's fine now, of course. They're eating cereal and watching cartoons. Thanks so much for coming over."
"No biggie. Where you headed?"
"I've got lunch with a donor, but I need to go to the office and do some research before I go into town."
Sarah edged in closer and lowered her voice, "So, listen, Rachel, I've been trying to give you some space, but I have to ask, how's Kenneth?"
How the hell was she supposed to know? He wouldn't talk to her, he treated her like a stranger, he spent all of his free time hanging out at the fire station or playing video games with Hunter.
"I don't know. I think he's managing, I think he's waiting to hear anything official. How about Caleb? How are the kids?"
"The kids are all shook up. Coach insisted they continue with practice every day this week, they think the best way to get them past this is to push and get them right back into the game. They brought in a grief counselor yesterday, but you know sixteen year old boys, they aren't going to share their feelings with the group."
"What about Caleb? How is he?"
"He's been pretty quiet, hanging out in his room. Nathan doesn't want to let him spend too much time alone without a distraction, so they’re going camping this weekend after the game. Something to keep him occupied, you know?"
"Yeah, so," Rachel stirred her coffee and continued hesitantly, "Sarah, do y'all know anything about this kid? About his parents?"
She wasn't ready to tell anyone she'd seen Dylan at the game, but she had to find out what he’d been doing there. Sarah knew Dylan when they were younger, they’d been friends when he and Rachel first started going out, but he was long gone before Sarah came back to Harrison Township. She'd never asked her about him, so Rachel never offered.
"His name is Michael Fletcher. His mom is from Ellis, his dad’s a petroleum engineer. I heard they're suing the district. Have y'all heard anything?"
Relief washed over her, she knew Michael couldn’t have been Dylan’s son, he was too old. But at least now she knew for sure, she could stop obsessing over whether he’d been getting other girls pregnant, too, while they were together. Her mind still raced though, wondering what he’d been doing at the game, wondering who Michael's mother was to him, but then annoyance took over, and she cursed herself for caring. She told herself it didn't matter, he was nothing to her now, and she'd worked for years to accept that she'd been nothing to him then. He meant nothing to her.
So why couldn’t she get him out of her head?
“Rachel,” Sarah asked again, “Have y’all heard anything?”
"Just a few rumors from the station, and Kenneth hasn't told me much of those, only that she might sue."
"I’m sorry, I know it's probably eating y'all alive not to know, is there anything I can do?"
"No, we'll be fine. But thanks, Sarah. Coming over this morning is plenty helpful, I promise I'll let you know if something else comes up."
Rachel had a difficult time asking people for help,
she suddenly felt sad she'd never let Sarah get close enough to be more of a real friend to her.
"Really. Thank you, Sarah. I'm lucky to have you."
"Stop,” Sarah said, “You're always helping people, let somebody help you every now and then. Go to your meeting, we're good here.”
Rachel surprised herself then, she reached over and gave Sarah a hug. Rachel hated hugging people.
CHAPTER FOUR
She hit the play button on her blinking voicemail, enjoying the cool air on her face after walking through the humidity. It wasn't even ten o'clock and the heat outside was already unbearable.
"Rachel, why aren't you answering your cell phone?” Savannah’s voice whined, “Call me, dumplin', I want to take you and Lauren shopping. Let's go into Houston this weekend."
Her mother always wanted to go shopping. It was the only thing she knew to do with all the money she'd gotten out of the divorce from Rachel's father. She hadn’t needed it really, her second husband was ten times wealthier than the first.
Rachel knew plenty of women who’d have welcomed their freedom after twenty unhappy years of marriage to a man thirty years their senior, especially if they’d walked away with large enough fortunes to live well the rest of their lives, provided they only maintain a moderate sense of frugality.
But Savannah Bannister Beauchamp St. John wasn't the sort of woman who cared to live frugally. Her parents were unskilled laborers, products of the depression living in a small West Texas farm community, one of those tiny places destroyed by the Dust Bowl in the 1930’s. Savannah was the youngest of eight, her childhood shadowed by penny-pinching and hand-me-downs, and she'd come too far from the shoeless walks to school and the three room farm house with no electricity or running water.
As far as she was concerned, she'd suffered enough frugality, and within half a year of divorcing Frank Beauchamp, she was married to another attorney, this one considerably younger and more powerful than the first, and infinitely more connected to the elite inner circles of Houston society she'd always aspired to. Savannah hoped Jameson St. John would be less inclined to sleep around than her first husband, but she only expected he prove better equipped at keeping it out of the papers when he did. And he must have, because if her stepfather ever did have an affair, Rachel never heard anything about it.
Damage Done Page 5