Protecting Rayne

by Emily Bishop

  Guests? Randall didn’t inform me about any guests.

  I stop, waiting for the people to come into view.

  There are three women, all looking elegant and sophisticated. One of them is in her sixties, wearing a feathered hat and a peach-colored dress with long sleeves and a string of pearls around her neck. She reminds me of one of those women who I see on TV attending royal weddings or funerals. The other looks like she’s in her forties – or is it thirties? – wearing oversized sunglasses and a navy-blue jumpsuit with a plunging neckline, diamonds hanging from her neck and ears. The third is the youngest, her blonde hair in a single braid flowing down her white blouse, which is paired with gray slacks. No jewelry except for her gold watch but she does have two expensive-looking handbags hanging from her arm, a bottle of Evian in one hand.

  At first glance, she looks just as sophisticated as the other two but a second look tells me she’s not quite on the same footing, especially since she’s behind them and isn’t talking, her head bowed slightly. I bet one of those handbags isn’t hers. Maybe both. Maybe not even the bottle.

  An assistant? A secretary? Something tells me she isn’t important. It’s the two other women I should pay attention to.

  Who are they?

  The woman in the jumpsuit notices me first, moving her sunglasses to the top of her head.

  “Well, what do we have here?” She looks at me from my head to my toes and back to my head again.

  I suddenly wish I had showered first and put on better clothes. I feel underdressed.

  “A maid in workout clothes? A trainer in training?” She sniffs me. “A dog handler? Though it looks like the dog handled you instead.”

  I frown. Who does this woman think she is?

  “My name is Sabrina Ja– Brewster,” I introduce myself, removing the towel from around my neck and straightening my shoulders.

  I still am not used to my new name.

  “Brewster?” The woman in front of me raises her trimmed and penciled eyebrows, her eyes wide. “You’re Sabrina Brewster?”

  “Yes.”

  She laughs then turns to the older woman. “Mother, look. It seems we’ve found Randall’s wife.”

  “What?” The older woman steps forward to look at me from head to toe just like her daughter. She pouts. “What the devil has gotten into him? Is he really trying to ruin us all?”

  “I think he’s just cursed with bad taste in women,” the younger says, studying me again. “My poor brother.”

  Brother? Which means…

  “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? I’m Helena Brewster-Vasilievko. I’m Randall’s sister.” The younger one looks at my hand and frowns. “I’d shake your hand but um, it doesn’t look fit to shake.”

  “You are Randall’s older sister?”

  I think Randall mentioned it once.

  “How dare you emphasize my age? Don’t you know how rude that is?”

  “S-sorry,” I mumble. I was only asking a question!

  She puts her arm in that of the older woman. “This is our mother, Jacqueline. Jackie Brewster.”

  I bow my head. Now, I’m really embarrassed about how I look.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Brewster.”

  Mrs. Brewster? Is that what I should call her?

  Randall’s mother snorts. “I’m definitely not happy to see you.”

  I look at her in surprise.

  “I’m old. Unlike my daughter, I can’t waste time playing around or beating around the bush. When I see bullshit, I call it. When I see a piece of trash, I call it. I don’t know who you are or what you did to my son but you do not deserve him.”

  The words set me back, a lump forming in my throat.

  “Now, now, Mother. Mind your blood pressure,” Helena says. “I’m sure Randall has a good reason.” She looks at me. “Are you pregnant?”

  My eyebrows crease. “No.”

  I don’t think so.

  “Really? That’s weird.”

  I’m starting to be annoyed by her rudeness. I know she’s older than me and richer but I still deserve some respect.

  “And where did he pick you up, huh?” Helena touches her chin.

  I don’t answer, still thinking of how to say it.

  “What? Is it a secret? Or is it too embarrassing?”

  “I don’t care how they met,” Mrs. Brewster, the original Mrs. Brewster, says as she looks at me. “Have you any idea how mortified I was when I found out about my son’s marriage in the newspaper?”

  Newspaper?

  “At least, the last time, he invited me. Now, he doesn’t say anything and I just find out like everyone else?”

  “Mother almost had a heart attack,” Helena says.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her, knowing I have no excuse for that.

  I was wondering about that, actually. I thought Randall’s family should be at his wedding but I didn’t bring it up because I thought our wedding wasn’t real anyway.

  But after last night, is it still not real?

  “Apologies,” she scoffs. “I hate apologies just as much as I hate excuses. Emily, bring me back inside. I came out for fresh air but the air feels stale here.”

  Ouch.

  The woman in white obeys, taking the older woman’s arm and leading her back inside after casting an apologetic glance in my direction.

  “Now, I don’t know what you’re thinking.” Helena steps forward, one hand on her hip and the other holding her sunglasses, biting one of the tips. “But my mother is right. You don’t deserve Randall. Frankly, I don’t know what he sees in you.”

  Frankly, I don’t see how she can be Randall’s sister, either. It’s almost like they’re from different planets. Maybe Randall’s adopted?

  “Well, it doesn’t matter,” she continues. “The last one conveniently got rid of herself before we could but we’ll get rid of you. We Brewsters always get our way.”

  “You’re forgetting I’m a Brewster now, too.”

  She laughs. “My, my, you are delusional. Pretty but delusional. You think you can hang on to Randall, can’t you? Think he’s your ticket to paradise?”

  I’d like to tell her that I’m not after Randall’s money, but I can’t since that’s partly why I did marry him.

  “Dream on, little girl. You may look strong but I can see your weakness, your fear. You don’t stand a chance against us. We’ll find your flaws. We’ll expose all your dirty secrets.”

  I tense.

  Helena gives a mischievous grin. “Do you really want us to do that?”

  I don’t answer, still shocked by her words. She wouldn’t hand me over to Vince, would she?

  Just then, Zombie barks and the next thing I know, he’s jumping on Helena. Helena takes a few steps back, dropping her sunglasses, which Zombie steps on.

  “Why, you–” She looks at her sunglasses and her outfit in horror then stares at me. “Randall will hear of this. And you haven’t seen the last of me yet.”

  With that, she hurries back into the house, and I manage to keep myself from laughing until she’s gone.

  “Great work, Zombie.” I pet his still-damp fur. “It seems like you’re better at sniffing bullshit.”

  He licks my face, and I continue laughing. Helena may have tried to scare me but for this round, I have the last laugh.

  I wonder what Randall will think.

  Meddlers

  Randall

  What the fuck are they thinking? That they can just drop by unannounced and scold me like I’m a five-year-old boy? That they can run my life like they used to?

  I frown as I look across the desk at my father, William Brewster, and my older brother, Lloyd.

  They weren’t happy when I married the first time. They didn’t even come to the wedding. Now, they’re still unhappy. What? They still want me to marry some CEO’s sister or some Senator’s daughter?

  “I regret that you were not informed of my decision.” I sit up in my chair. “But I stand by my decision.�
�

  “And we will not respect it.” Lloyd gets off his chair and rubs his temples. “Have you no decency, Randall? Have you no concern for us? No respect for us?”

  “On the contrary, I feel like it is the other way around.”

  “You married a nanny, Randall,” Lloyd points out. “Just when the world has finally forgotten that you married a chambermaid, just when you’ve finally made something of yourself, you go and marry your son’s nanny.”

  I pick up my pen. “Well, she cares about David and that’s what matters most.”

  “Randall.” My father beats his fist on the table.

  “You know, I don’t understand. I’ve always been a disappointment to you so why put up a fuss about it now?”

  “You think this is funny?” my father asks. “Is this all a game to you?”

  “Actually, you–” I point to him and my brother– “are the ones who treat this as a game. You’re the ones who pull the strings, who move your pawns across the chessboard. You’re the ones who think marriage is some business agreement, just another step in your grand plans.”

  “We’ve worked hard to establish the family name,” my father reminds me. “And you? What have you done?”

  “Haven’t you read my feature in Time magazine, the one with my picture on the cover? I finally have one.”

  “Don’t mock me, boy.” He points a finger at me. “You wouldn’t be where you are now if not for my money or my name.”

  “Maybe, but now it’s my money and my name and my troubles are my own.”

  “Do you really think we want to worry about your problems?” Lloyd asks, approaching the desk. “Do you think we want our business partners to bring up your failures?”

  “I’m sure it makes for interesting conversations,” I say, unfazed.

  I’m bored, actually. I can’t remember how many times we’ve had this conversation.

  “You will divorce that woman, and we will say that the newspaper made a mistake,” my father says, his expression stern.

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry, but no.”

  “She’s a nobody!”

  “So why is everyone worried so much about her?” I place my hands on my desk. “What can she do to you, huh? What has she ever done to you?”

  “She can ruin you and all of us,” my father points out. “What if she runs away with all your money? Haven’t you thought of that?”

  “Thank you for your concern but she won’t,” I assure him.

  “Please tell me you had her sign a pre-nup,” Lloyd says, one hand on his hip.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” my father says. “She’s not fit to be a Brewster!”

  “Then we’re both alike.”

  My father just shakes his head. Lloyd looks like he wants to say something but suddenly, the door opens and my mother and sister enter.

  Great. More family.

  “Look what that bitch’s dog did to me.” Helena gestures to the muddy paw prints on the front of her jumpsuit.

  I try not to laugh. “Well, first of all, that bitch is my wife. Second, the dog isn’t hers. It’s David’s.”

  “David should come with me,” my mother says. “That woman is not fit to be his mother.”

  I sigh. “Mother, please calm down. David isn’t going anywhere. He’s my son and Sabrina – that’s her name, please call her that – isn’t going anywhere, either. She’s my wife now. She’s indispensable.”

  Helena narrows her eyes. “But she said she’s not pregnant. Is she really that good in bed?”

  I stand up, going to her. “You may be married now and you may have kids now but you haven’t changed. You’re still as spiteful as ever.”

  “And you’re a fool.”

  “Fine. I’ll answer. She is amazing in bed. Now, can you say the same for yourself?”

  She snarls. “Fuck you.”

  “Stop it,” my father says, getting up with the help of his cane. “We’re leaving. We shouldn’t have come.”

  “Why did you?” I ask, putting my hands in my pockets.

  “How dare you not invite us to your wedding?” my mother says.

  “But the last time I invited you, you didn’t come. So, I thought, why bother?”

  “We came because we wanted to see with our own eyes if you’ve really made a fool of yourself again,” Lloyd says as he helps my mother. “We hoped it was not the case. We hoped to save you but now, we see it’s hopeless.”

  “You don’t have to save me, older brother,” I tell him. “I’m not in trouble. I just married a wonderful woman. I think our marriage may last even longer than your first one did.”

  His jaw clenches.

  “Why, oh why, did I have a son like you?” my father says as he leaves the room. “I told you, Jackie, we should have just stuck with two children.”

  “Well, it wasn’t my fault you insisted on fucking me when I said it was risky,” she says.

  I slap my forehead. Really?

  “Come on,” I tell them. “Every family needs a black sheep, right?”

  They don’t answer, leaving. As soon as they’re gone, I go back to my chair, swiveling it to face the window and sitting back, sighing.

  What a morning and what a family. I’m glad I don’t live with them anymore. I’m glad I have David and Sabrina now.

  Sabrina.

  I stand up. Maybe I should go and talk to her.

  ***

  I find her in one of the guest bedrooms, reading a book.

  “Are they gone?” she asks when she sees me.

  I chuckle, handing her one of the mugs of coffee in my hand. “Is that what you’re doing here? Hiding?”

  “I’m not hiding,” she argues, putting her book down so she can take the mug with both hands. “I just didn’t want to see them. There’s a difference.”

  “I see.”

  “Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude or anything. They are your family. It’s just…”

  “Hey.” I put my hand over one of hers as I sit on the bed beside her. “You don’t have to explain a thing. I know how they are. Each time I think I’ve forgotten, they remind me.”

  “Have they always been like that?” she asks.

  “Mean? Thinking that they are the only ones who are perfect? Yes.” I nod. “They’ve always looked down on me.”

  “Well, if they look down on you, then what’s the hope for the rest of us?”

  I chuckle, squeezing her hand. “Don’t mind them. Anyway, they’re not the ones you married. I am.”

  “I feel guilty, though. I did marry you for your…”

  I press a finger to her lips. “We both thought it was best for us to marry and so we did. Let that be the end of it.”

  “But…”

  “Do you want to kiss me again? Because I want to kiss you.”

  She smiles. “You’re right. I shouldn’t pay attention to them. I just told myself I’m not going to let fear run my life.”

  “That’s good.”

  “But you can still kiss me if you want.”

  I do that, placing my hand on the back of her neck and pressing my lips to hers, slipping my tongue in between to taste her. As I do, I feel a jolt of heat go through my body.

  Damn. I want to fuck her again. Right now.

  But I can’t stay long or Tess will kill me.

  Sabrina pulls away, smiling before she takes a sip of her coffee. “Did Helena tell you what Zombie did?”

  “She showed me.”

  She chuckles.

  “I thought it was funny, too.”

  “At first, I felt bad that I smelled like a dog since I just finished bathing Zombie but it wouldn’t have made a difference, would it?”

  I shake my head. “You could smell like Chanel no.5 and Helena would still have turned her plastic nose up at you.”

  “Plastic?”

  “Honestly, I can’t remember how many surgeries she’s had done to her face. For sure, she wasn’t always that pretty. Why, she
had so much acne when she was a teenager and she had crooked teeth, too.”

  Sabrina laughs.

  I sip my coffee and as I do, I glance at the book she’s reading. What catches my attention, though, is the pen and paper beneath it.

  “Are you writing something?” I ask her.

  “A song,” she confesses. “Lately, I’ve been feeling so many different emotions and experiencing new things that I think make good lyrics for a song.”

  “Wow.”

  “It’s just lyrics, though. I can’t write a song without a guitar.”

  “Then I’ll buy you one. Just look for one online and use my card.”

  “What?” She gives me a look of disbelief.

  I nod. “Consider it a wedding present.”

  Sabrina gives a radiant smile. “Thank you. I’d love to play the guitar again.”

  “And I’d love to hear you play. Maybe you can teach David, too, if he likes.”

  She nods, taking another sip of her coffee. “I plan to talk to him when he comes home later. Wish me luck?”

  I hold her hand. “I know everything will be all right.”

  Music

  Sabrina

  “So, is everything all right at school?” I ask David, sitting on his bed as I watch him bang on his drums.

  “Mm-hmm.” He nods, though I’m not sure if he’s nodding at me or to the music.

  He’s finally allowed me inside his bedroom and he’s talking to me now – mostly mumbling and nodding. He doesn’t look into my eyes. But at least he’s no longer pushing me away. Maybe the time Randall spent with him yesterday did some good, after all.

  “So, how’s Josh?”

  “The usual.”

  I pick up the leaflet for his school recital from the bedside table. It’s on Thursday. No wonder he’s practicing so much.

  “Do you think it’s okay for me to go to your recital?” I ask him.

  He just shrugs.

  Okay.

  “Is this the song you’ve decided to do?”

  It’s “Two Steps Behind” by Def Leppard.

  He nods.

  “I know this song. It’s one of my favorites.”

  No answer. I’m beginning to think I’m having a monologue.

  “Who taught you this song?”