She'd sworn never to limit or criticize Hunter or Lauren's creative interests. And no matter how terrible the music or how vulgar the book, Rachel would do her best to indulge her children in exploring the worldly things she'd never had the freedom to explore herself.
She pulled into Adam’s Elementary school to drop Hunter off, and tussled the shaggy blond hair he'd managed to get sticky with cereal. "I love you, bud," she said as he climbed out.
She wanted a kiss, but he'd already reached the age where little boys wouldn't be caught dead kissing their mothers in public. She watched him for a moment, thinking she never kissed him enough when she had the chance. She didn't hold him enough when he was a baby. What if something terrible happened at the school today? One of those shootings like they'd been covering on the news the last few weeks? How terrified would her baby be if somebody raced into his classroom with a gun, started shooting people? Would she be able to keep it together for Lauren?
Gross, Rachel. Stop it.
She pulled away from the curb and turned up the radio, some atrocious rap song, anything to drown out the morbid fears playing out in her head.
She pulled into Steps Beyond Childcare and whipped into the director's space. She was in a hurry. She flung Lauren out of the car, still singing, and they pretended to hopscotch their way inside, a challenging feat with her stiletto heels. Maybe when Lauren was her age she'd remember her mother wasn't always so serious, or neurotic.
A sloppy kiss and a wave of her hand, she hopscotched towards her classroom, brown curls bouncing side to side carelessly. Miss Independent. Nothing like her mother.
***
Rachel met her at the Galleria, Savannah had a tennis date after lunch. She hadn't wanted to ride with her mother anyway, two or three hours was more than enough to get some shopping done. Anything longer than that and they'd both have to get drunk at lunch.
"Hello dumplin'," Savannah cooed, "I'm so glad you called. Come with me, I can't wait to show you these new Valentino pumps."
"Hello Mother," she smiled pleasantly, sticking her hand inside her purse to double check for the Valium bottle.
"Rachel, do you have time for a facial?" Savannah asked quietly, their hells clicking in unison against the marble flooring, "You really could use one, did you run out of moisturizer? Do you need me to buy you some? We'll run by cosmetics on our way downstairs."
Rachel followed, nodding in agreement while Savannah chattered on about the importance of exfoliation and sunscreen, her perfectly manicured nails, bitch red, pointing at the various articles Rachel needed to incorporate into her repertoire if she were going to maintain her youthful appeal. Savannah was an expert on the subject.
At fifty-four she didn't look a day over forty. Her blond coiffure, always styled precisely the way she'd wanted, make-up suited for a movie set. She'd never had any plastic surgery, but they all knew the day would come when Savannah no longer felt young or attractive and she'd sneak into some medical spa in Arizona, swearing to her friends that she'd only gone to get some rest.
Rachel understood, she'd stopped judging her for it years before. Savannah may not have been an educated woman, but she was a smart one. Her looks had been what saved her from the poverty stricken dirt road she grew up on. Her looks, and a lonely old man.
Frank Beauchamp had driven into Bomeade, Texas looking for a place to rest on his way to Lubbock. Some oil tycoon was charged with killing his partner and he'd paid Frank a fortune to come in and defend him. Savannah, barely eighteen, sat perched on a bar stool at the local diner, tiny, dusty slippers on her feet and a yellow dress that had seen its last mending. A thin blue ribbon held her hair back from her face, she was reading a 16 Magazine, celebrity news and gossip, lost in the lives of people she'd wanted to be.
"Let me tell you something," Rachel’s father said, "Your mother was the most elegant thing I'd ever seen, like she stepped right out off big screen. I loved her the moment I saw her."
Rachel never asked what an eighteen year old beauty had seen in an almost fifty year old man, even as a child she'd understood.
At she and Kenneth’s wedding, Frank had too much scotch and pulled Rachel aside, and pointing in Savannah's direction with his half empty highball, he'd slurred, "She stepped out of that raggedy town still stuck in the 1930’s and stepped into my brand new 1976 Lincoln Continental. She never even told her parents she was leaving, you know, just left. Fucked my brains out on that vinyl bench seat and asked me to take her to Lubbock."
She’d smiled at him sadly when he paused to drain his glass, then he'd winked at her, "You know, that vinyl bench seat cost me a fortune. You're the only thing in my life I ever did right, Rachel. And you're beautiful today. I'm sorry I never told you that before. And this boy," he'd said, aiming the empty glass at Kenneth, "That boy is a keeper. He might not be a lawyer or a doctor, but he's got a good heart. He'll take care of you. If he doesn't, I'm sure your mother will have his balls cut off."
Then he'd staggered away, laughing. The alcohol took him from her not long after that.
***
She picked at her sandwich and stirred her tomato basil, listening to Savannah go on about her ideas for the gala. Maybe Rachel would ask her to help take over some of the planning this year, she'd been so distracted she could use the help. She waited for Savannah to take a breath and jumped in.
"Mother, I want to tell you something, and I need you to stay calm. It doesn't have to be a big deal."
Savannah's hand rose to her throat dramatically, "What? What is it? Are the children well? Are you depressed again?" She half-whispered, half-spit the last words, she'd always despised what she called Rachel's weakness of spirit.
"No, Mother, everyone is fine. But listen, the boy who was injured at the football game a few weeks ago? The one Kenneth ran down to help?"
"Yes? What about him? Is it his mother? Did she file the lawsuit?" she asked, and reaching for her purse, she went on, "I have to call Jameson. He knows somebody who- "
"No, Mother, listen. She hasn't filed a lawsuit," Rachel interrupted, "I'm not sure if she will or not. We have no idea what's going to happen. I assure you, if she does, you and Jameson will be the first people we call."
"Well, don't scare me like that. What in the world is it then?"
"It’s his father," she hesitated, knowing her mother would panic.
She'd never forgiven Dylan. What mother would? Rachel would kill any man who dared hurt Lauren in the same way. She’d never understood Savannah’s hatred for him until she’d had a daughter of her own, and knowing how angry she’d be made it that much more difficult to tell her.
But she’d have to tell her, or risk some dramatic scene the night of the event. Rachel pictured her mother, dressed in a couture gown, her blond hair done up in a fanciful style on top of her head. Savannah would recognize Dylan, rage spreading across her face, and then she'd collect herself, aware of the eyes on her, and whisper in Rachel's ear, "How dare that filthy redbone bastard come here. You poor thing, I'll talk to security, they'll have him removed."
“What about his father, Rachel?” Savannah asked impatiently.
"Dylan Easton is the boy's father."
Rachel shoved an enormous bite of chicken salad into her mouth so she'd have plenty of time to consider what to say after she'd seen Savannah's response. It was much more emotional than she expected. Savannah gasped audibly, both hands reaching for the table, gripping the sides. The color drained from her face, her delicate chin hung slack, and violence took over her features. It took her a good thirty seconds to compose herself, a record for a woman who'd mastered the art of self-control in public places.
"Rachel. Have you seen him?" she asked, a frog in her throat, hands reaching shakily for the glass of ice water.
"Yes, I have. And I'm okay. Really, Mother. It was surprising, but I survived. There's something else, don't panic."
"I won't panic."
"His law firm donated fifty thousand dollars to ReachingOut, t
hey’re sponsoring the gala."
"That's impossible, Jameson and I know every firm with that kind of money in this town,” she said, absently raising a single finger to signal for the waitress.
“No, I assure you it is possible,” Rachel argued, “I already deposited the check.”
“What does he do there, is he a secretary?" Savannah snickered.
The waitress approached, but Savannah's eyes studied her daughter while she ordered, "A vodka martini, please. No olives."
"No, Mother, he's an attorney. Not that it matters. I needed to tell you so you wouldn't be surprised if he made an appearance. I understand your concern, but truly, I’m fine."
“Well, I won't have that boy coming back into your life and trying to manipulate you with money or his brain dead child or any other thing he thinks he can use to hurt you. You'll have to return that money. I'll write you a check for the gala.”
"Listen, I can't give him the money back. I met with his partners, and they were incredibly supportive, what would it look like in the community if we returned a check like that? They would be insulted. And then people might start asking questions, I don’t want gossip bringing those skeletons out of the closet."
She'd managed to escape any of the rumors that probably flooded through the town when she'd lost the baby, and the incident had been kept out of the paper, a benefit of having friends in high places, or low places, Rachel wasn't sure. But she didn't go this long without it coming up just to stoke the fire herself.
Savannah reached for the martini the moment the waitress set it down, her eyes never leaving Rachel's face as she waited for her to finish.
“Mother, I'm developing a strategy to push ReachingOut into the community at large, to offer shelter and temporary housing to women leaving their abusers. I'm not equipped to manage an organization of that size by myself, I need the exposure and I need the gala to be a hit, and I can’t alienate donors by letting it get out that I returned a donation because I’m still bitter over an ex-boyfriend."
"I'm sorry, dumplin', he just makes me so angry. He has no business bullying his way into your life like that, you know that’s why he gave you that money, so he could hurt you."
"I understand, Mother, I do.”
Savannah tried to persuade her, tried to guilt her, begged her, and finally agreed to let it go as long as Rachel swore she'd never let Dylan get close to her or her children.
She was three martinis in and Rachel was worried they'd be shopping all day while they waited for the alcohol to wear off. Her mother's alcoholism had taken flight soon after Frank died, she'd already started to repeat herself.
"That family should have just stayed gone," she said a second time, "There was nothing left for them here, and that boy never deserved you, Rachel."
"I agree, Mother. Please don't let it upset you."
Somehow these conversations always turned into Rachel trying to comfort her.
"There are a million places where that boy could have sent his son to school," she went on, "It's strange to me that he would choose a place so near, but when you needed him the most, he couldn't get far enough away. That's all I'm trying to say. I just want to know that you're going to be okay, that this won't send you back to a dark place."
"I'm really not worried, Mother. I’m fine. But I've already talked to Dr. Valentine, I'm staying proactive. I promise. Let's go look for gowns, okay? And I want to talk to you about helping with the gala."
She wasn’t fine, she couldn’t stop remembering how he tasted when he kissed her in her office the week before. She’d gone home and relived his hands on her a hundred times before she took a sleeping pill and passed out.
And she hated herself for it. Anything was better than remembering how his voice vibrated against her skin, or the ache it stirred inside her when he’d held her against the wall and kissed her. She imagined his fingers inside of her and how his dick would feel in her mouth.
Anything, even Savannah complaining that Rachel would never find a gown because she was too tall or too flat chested or too pale, anything was better than punishing herself for not having the sense to be disgusted by the thought of him touching her.
Did she have any self-respect?
***
Savannah's vodka wore off and they made their separate ways back to Harrison Township, Rachel's strapless green Oscar de la Renta draped carefully over her backseat. She'd have to have it altered, but it was stunning, and well worth the hefty pricetag- an afternoon of shopping with her mother. It would make her green eyes greener, and the contoured bodice was incredibly flattering to her enormous ass and otherwise flat figure. She promised Savannah she'd make a trip to the stylist in the next few weeks, that she wouldn't humiliate her mother by showing up with the mousy brown hair she’d kept in a ponytail for the last three years.
She hit the interstate and her cell rang, it was Sarah.
"Rachel, hey, oh my God, you're never going to believe what just happened, where are you?" she huffed, excited or terrified, Rachel couldn't tell.
"I'm driving, what happened?"
"Okay, okay - I'm trying to catch my breath, but I had to call you," she panted into the phone, "I just ran to the car to get my phone and call you."
"Are you okay?"
"Yes, yes. Okay, so Nathan and I just went up to the school, the team was having a session with the grief counselor, which was weird, we thought they were only going to do that just those few times, but anyway- " she paused, finally catching her breath, "Anyway, the coach asked the parents to come in today and so we just left. The counselor brought in Michael's parents to talk to the boys, to let them know they didn’t think they were responsible, you know? That they weren't upset with them for what happened. You are never going to believe this. Michael's father? It’s Dylan Easton!"
Rachel had hoped their connection would get lost in the drama of what happened to Michael. She'd spent so long fading into the wallpaper of their community, there were only a handful of people who remembered that Dylan was her long time boyfriend, or that she'd wound up in a mental hospital after he'd left her. She’d wanted to keep it that way. But she saw now that was foolish, of course their relationship would only add to the excitement of the gossip, no way it would stay buried.
"Rachel? Did you hear me? Your old boyfriend from when we were kids, Dylan? He's Michael's father!"
"No, I heard you, I'm sorry," she said, "I did know, I heard some ladies talking about it at the nail salon last week."
What if somebody had seen him at her office yesterday?
"You already knew? And you didn't tell me on Saturday?" Sarah yelled, "You whore!"
"I'm sorry, I didn't know for sure, and I've been too busy with work, and- I didn't even think enough of it to call you, I thought maybe they were wrong because you'd told me his last name was something else."
And she knew if it came up that Sarah would ask what happened between them.
“Whatever, you should have told me! When did y’all break up? He had to have had him in high school, did he cheat on you?"
"I have no idea, I haven’t thought about him in years,” she lied, “How did the session go? What did they say?"
Changing the subject was safest.
"Well, it was terrible," Sarah said, her tone softening, "His poor mother, Rachel, she was so upset and she looked horrible. She sat there, and her husband had his arm around her and they sat with Dylan at the front of the room. They were so nice and compassionate, and the mother cried. But she pulled it together and told the boys that she could never blame them, that it wasn't their fault. It was all just so heartbreaking. Everyone was crying. It was just awful."
Rachel was sick with the thought of any parent being in so much pain. She wondered if she would have the grace to comfort other children as she waited for her own to finish his slow decline into the grave. She wasn't sure she could be that woman.
"Did they tell y'all what's happening with Michael?" she asked.
"The doctor
s told them last week that he isn’t going to make it, they already met with the kids on his team at Ellis. It was all so unexpected, the coaches didn’t know until the last minute that they wanted to talk to the team, I think we just didn't even know what kinds of questions to ask, or if we should ask at all, you know?"
"No, I understand, I can't imagine how they must be feeling right now."
"I want to talk, but Nathan is walking up and he'll give me a hard time for racing to call you," Sarah said, "I'll call you later."
Rachel tried not to vomit. Maybe Dylan had cheated on her, too. Why would that have been so hard to believe? She’d refused to have sex with him, he must have been fucking other girls. She reached into her purse for the Valium, it was already half-empty. She'd have to call and ask Dr. Valentine for a refill. And then he'd want to schedule an appointment.
Goddammit.
Ordinarily she'd be annoyed with the group of skinny bitches with the platinum hair who congregated at the front door of Steps Beyond Childcare Center at the end of their long days filled with facials, tennis lessons and sushi luncheons, and she'd think things like, "Hurry the fuck up, nothing important happened in your life today, get your spawn, get in your car and go home."
But today she felt more pity than annoyance, and hoped they all knew just how precious every moment with their children was. She walked towards the group as quickly as she could with a smile and a wave of acknowledgment, praying they'd think she was in a hurry and wouldn't slow her down with interrogations about Kenneth and the kid from the football game.
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