Reinventing Rachel

by Alison Strobel

  Concern was replaced with frustration, then fear. There was nothing she could do if Daphne didn’t want to cooperate. And Rachel had no recourse, no way to sneak in the back door of Daphne’s struggle. Without appealing to God—or to whatever nebulous “higher power” might be out there—to move in someone’s life, their only strength came from within themselves. And if they had no desire to change, or they had the desire but didn’t have the strength, then what else could you do?

  Maybe Jack was right. Maybe I just need to leave. If Daphne didn’t want her help, and Rachel was going to keep bearing the brunt of her “junk,” then there wasn’t much point in staying. And yet again, maybe just being there, just being around, was enough help for Daphne. What if that was all she needed but Rachel bailed? Honestly Rachel wasn’t sure she was willing to stick it out either way.

  But where would I go? How would I find a roommate? She longed to hash things out with her mom, or Barbara. What about Ruby Jean?

  For some reason she was reluctant to go to Ruby Jean for more advice. Her wisdom seemed to be based on such shaky ground. No matter how much she tried to get on board with it, her stubborn belief in absolute truth—which she was trying, albeit unsuccessfully, to shake—made that difficult. Rachel didn’t trust it. Though she wasn’t ready to think yet about where that truth was rooted. She had enough on her mind without trying to tackle that.

  Then who can I trust?

  She squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. That was a good question.

  Chapter 16

  Halloween was drippy and cold. Rachel felt bad for the trick-or-treaters already roaming the neighborhood when she left for her afternoon shift. It was the kind of day that made her glad she worked in a coffee shop, the kind of day that begged for hot chocolate and an overstuffed chair from which to watch the costumes that paraded down the sidewalk.

  Ruby Jean had a tradition of throwing a Halloween party for her staff every year. They closed the shop early, and dinner was catered from a local Italian place. She bought soda and wine and an obscene amount of candy and told everyone to invite a friend of two if they wanted. Rachel invited Daphne, but she turned her down in favor of a party one of her friends was throwing. Rachel almost hoped Daphne would invite her along, because she didn’t know if Daphne had told anyone about her hospitalization and feared no one would stop her if she started knocking back drinks. There’s that codependency Jack warned you about.

  But Daphne didn’t invite her, and Rachel spent the evening trying to keep up with the conversations around her while her thoughts were somewhere else. She didn’t feel like being there, either, which made it even more difficult to loosen up and have a good time. She’d been in a perpetual bad mood ever since Daphne’s overdose. She felt like a cartoon character with a black cloud above her head; she couldn’t seem to escape the shadow that hovered behind her all the time. But she knew it would look bad if she didn’t show, so here she was, helping Ruby Jean set up the bar.

  “So why Halloween?” she asked Ruby Jean. “Why not the traditional Christmas party?”

  Ruby Jean opened a stack of plastic cups. “There are already a million Christmas parties,” she said. “Everyone’s already busy and overbooked, and I didn’t want to put one more obligation on my staff, especially since so many of them are students who are crunching for finals or leaving to go home for the holidays. So when else was I going to do it? Thanksgiving? Not much of a party holiday. Same with Easter. But Halloween already has a party vibe. Plus, it’s one of our slowest nights of the year.” She ripped into a bag of mini candy bars and began to fill a row of mismatched candy dishes she’d lined along the counter. “It’s also the Wiccan new year, so why not join the festivities?”

  “Wicca—do you pull any practices from that religion?”

  “One of the few I haven’t, no. I like some of the tenets, though—their respect and reverence for the earth, the idea that there is a balance in the natural world between male and female, for example, the idea that there’s both a god and a goddess. It’s one of the few religions where women tend to rank higher than men, too, which I appreciate.” She popped a chocolate in her mouth and pocketed the wrapper. “I’ve known a few witches, too, and they were sweet women.”

  “So … just like all the other religions we talked about, you think Wicca is just another manifestation of people trying to connect to the divine?”

  Ruby Jean smiled. “Bingo.”

  Rachel though for a minute. “What about the idea of black magic? Do you believe it exists?”

  Ruby Jean shrugged. “Sure. But I don’t think witches practicing black magic is any different than any other religion doing harm in the name of their god. The Inquisition, jihad, bombing abortion clinics—they all think they’re doing what their god wants them to do.”

  Their conversation was cut short when the caterer arrived. Rachel pondered Ruby Jean’s thoughts while she balled up the foil that had covered the pans of lasagna and fettuccine Alfredo and set up the cutlery and paper plates. By the time folks were sitting down to eat, Rachel had come up with more questions. “Okay, so, do you think God exists, R. J.?”

  She thought a moment, then nodded. “I do, yes. I don’t know what form he or she takes, or if it’s more of a force than a sentient being—but yes, I believe there is some kind of higher power.”

  “I guess I’m just wondering how it all works in your opinion. I mean, doesn’t it seem like God, whoever he or she or is, reveals Himself in contradictory ways? To these people over here he says, ‘Love your enemies,’ but to those people over there he says, ‘Wipe out the infidel.’ Or ‘I am the one true God’ versus the Hindu pantheon versus Buddhism that says there’s no God at all. I guess I don’t know how to find peace in affirming the validity of so many different beliefs. And …” she said, emphasizing her point with her plastic knife, “what comes when you die? Which one of those religions has the right idea about the afterlife? How do you know what you’re going to get in the end?”

  Ruby Jean listened to Rachel’s interrogation with patience, then set down her plastic ware and folded her arms on the table. “Well,” she said slowly, eyes focused on the basket of garlic bread in the center of the table, “I’ll be honest with you. I don’t know what I’m going to get in the end. I think that’s one of the reasons I approach it all buffet-style—I figure I’m bound to hit on the right thing now and then, and I guess I’m just banking on God—whoever that is—to recognize that I always tried to do the right thing.” She looked to Rachel and gave her a small smile. “I have doubts too. I think everyone does at some point, regardless of how devoted they are. Sure I wonder if I’m missing something, if there’s something else I should be doing. But I don’t think we can know for sure who is right, and I don’t want to waste my energy worrying about something I have no control over.”

  She twirled fettuccine onto her fork. “Do I have peace? Eh, maybe 85 percent of the time, which is a lot more than some people, so I’m grateful for that.” She took a bite, leaving Rachel to ruminate on her response.

  Rachel felt the dark cloud above her grow heavier. For some reason, it felt like one of the most depressing confessions of faith she had ever heard. To live with no anchor for truth beyond your own thoughts and devices, to have no certainty about what came next—to just strike blindly into every tradition in the hopes of hitting the bull’s-eye …

  But where was Rachel these days? How was her stance any less depressing? At least Ruby Jean was making an effort to find truth. What had Rachel done lately to sort out her beliefs?

  Rachel pushed away her plate of pasta and drained her cup of wine. Suddenly she didn’t have much of an appetite.

  Later in the evening Jack pulled Rachel onto one of the purple-upholstered wing chairs and offered her a Hershey’s kiss. “It sounded like you and Ruby Jean were having quite the discussion at dinner,” he said.

  “Yeah, we were. I’m interested in her views on spirituality.” She munched the chocolate, then said, “Yo
u and I haven’t talked much about religion. Were you raised with any specific beliefs?”

  “No, actually, I wasn’t. My mom was raised Catholic, but didn’t practice. Though we did go to Christmas and Easter Mass most years. My dad was a lapsed something-or-other; I don’t remember what.”

  “I know you don’t have any religious beliefs, but have you given spirituality any thought at all?”

  He rolled the candy foil in his fingers as he spoke. “Eh, dabbled a little bit with the thought of a generic higher power in college, but never really settled on any one idea or belief system. Sometimes I wish I had been raised with something, though—I think it’s a lot easier to work toward goals when you’ve got something driving you. Like, you pursue a particular career because you believe God has destined you to be ‘that,’ whatever ‘that’ is, and because you want to go to paradise, or heaven, or whatever you want to call it, you really devote yourself to pursuing that calling. When your life is comfortable and you don’t have anything egging you on like that, it’s easy to let yourself get lazy.”

  Rachel gave him a sideways glance. “You sound like you’ve thought about this.”

  He flashed a sheepish smile. “Well—I have, actually. Remember when you got the promotion and I told you I was a little jealous?” She nodded. “It made me start thinking more about my own life, my own goals—or lack thereof. I’ve coasted since college. My sights were set on baseball, and when that got taken away, I just started to drift. I never pursued accreditation after getting my sports medicine degree. I’ve been thinking lately that I want to get back to that, start building a career instead of just having a job.”

  Rachel squeezed an arm around his shoulder. “That’s really great. I’m happy for you.”

  Jack ducked his head, looking embarrassed. “Yeah, well … anyway, I started thinking I might start looking into religion, too.”

  Rachel sat up. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “A man reaches a certain age, he starts thinking about what the next life holds.”

  Rachel laughed. “Jack, you’re not even thirty!”

  He grinned. “I’m kidding. Not about the religion part, though—that I’m actually serious about.” She gave him a questioning look. “I know, I know, I don’t look like the churchy type. But still, part of me feels like I might be missing something important.”

  This was too much for Rachel to think about. “I’m going to get another drink. Can I get you something?”

  “Maybe. What are you having?”

  “Wine, probably.” Jack gave her a look she couldn’t decipher. “What?”

  “I don’t know … maybe I’m just imagining it, but it seems like you’re drinking a lot lately.”

  Her defenses rose. “Not ‘a lot.’ Not more than you.”

  “It’s just weird, that’s all I’m saying. It doesn’t seem like something you’d do.”

  She pushed herself from his lap. “If you had two beers it wouldn’t be a big deal at all. I have two glasses of wine and suddenly I’m some lush, is that what you’re saying?”

  Jack ran his hand through his hair, frustration written on his face. “No, that’s not what I’m saying.” He waved her away. “Fine, go, get a drink, forget I ever said anything.”

  She gritted her teeth against the words fighting to be voiced as she poured herself another glass. He obviously had no idea how much it helped her or he wouldn’t have brought it up. She swallowed down half her cup, topped it off, then poured one for Jack. She knew he was just being hypocritical—he was way more of a drinker than she was. Heck, most of the staff were already completely tanked—this was only her second glass. At least she knew when to stop.

  Rachel and Leah were the official clean-up crew. Almost everyone else was gone, having left behind the typical party detritus. “It’s surprising how much trash such a small group of people can generate,” Leah said. She was going from table to table with a garbage bag, cleaning up the plates and empty cups. “There were, what, twenty people here? You’d think it had been three times that.”

  Rachel was moving slowly with the broom, frustrated with her body’s lack of coordination. I really need to get home and into bed. I’m exhausted. “Yeah, yeah, it’s nuts,” she said, trying not to let on that she wasn’t really listening.

  Things with Jack had been tense the rest of the night. He had the morning shift the next day, so he’d left early in the evening, and Rachel had been almost glad to see him go. She wished she could have gone as well; all she really wanted was to sleep. It was all she ever wanted to do these days. And yet she had the hardest time doing so when she finally crawled into bed.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Leah asked.

  Rachel shook her head. “Sorry?”

  “Are you all right? You’re really quiet tonight.”

  “Oh.” Rachel made an effort to stand up straighter and look more awake. “Just had a rough few nights, that’s all.”

  “Ah. Understandable.”

  They cleaned in silence for a while more, until Rachel said, “So I have a deep question for you, if you’re up for it.”

  “Sure.”

  “Who do you think God is?”

  Leah stopped what she was doing and laughed. “That’s out of nowhere.”

  “It’s my question du jour.”

  “Gotcha.” She smiled and resumed her cleaning, then said, “Well, I was raised to think of God as sort of a Big Brother. Not the mentoring kind, the Orwellian kind. But the more I study the less I agree with that view. I don’t think He’s that punitive, or that … I don’t know … that sneaky, trying to always ‘catch’ us, you know?” She gathered a paper tablecloth in her hands and scrunched it to a ball. “I’ve never been happy with my relationship with him, and I think my false view of him is to blame. I mean, on the one hand, I was taught he loves us, but then in the next breath I was told to watch out that I didn’t disobey him, as though that love he had for us was based on what we did. But now I don’t think that. I think he loves us, unconditionally, and we’re sort of like a bunch of toddlers who keep making stupid mistakes. You don’t tell a two-year-old you love them, but they’d better watch out. Right?”

  Rachel shrugged. “Makes sense.”

  “I think my faith has been characterized by a lot of working—working to earn God’s favor, his love, his guidance. Go to church, read the Bible, pray, do this, don’t do that.”

  Rachel frowned as Leah described the life she herself had led for years. “But isn’t that what the Bible tells us to do?”

  Leah looked at Rachel with curiosity. “Us?”

  “You, us, whatever.” Way to blow your cover.

  Leah shrugged and went back to work. “Well, not really, no. It says to love God with all your heart and soul and mind and strength. It doesn’t say, ‘Here’s a checklist; get to work.’ I think those things come because we’re motivated to connect with God and learn more about him. They shouldn’t be conditions that we try to meet in order to earn his favor, and if we skip a Sunday or go to bed without praying, God’s going to withdraw his love until we’re back on the right track.” She shook her head. “A friend of mine reminded me the other day that God loves us, first and foremost, and that in any healthy relationship both parties work toward deeper intimacy. It’s not just up to one of us—like, it’s not just up to me to make our relationship deeper and closer. God’s working at it, too, meeting me halfway—more than halfway, sometimes, when I’m really struggling. It’s a way different view than the one I was raised with, where I thought God was sitting on his throne aiming lightning bolts at my feet and telling me to dance.”

  Rachel had stopped sweeping as Leah’s personal revelation became more and more enlightening. To hear the idea that a relationship with God was a two-way street was eye-opening. Although what does that say about the way he abandoned me? Where was that mutual effort when the crap hit the fan?

  She was about to ask another question when a rap on the door made them both jump. Then Leah le
t out a laugh and ran to unlock it. “Declan, good grief, what are you doing here so late?”

  Declan polished the rain from his John Lennon glasses. “What, the party’s already done then? It’s not even half ten.” His accent—some kind of British that she couldn’t place—drew Rachel’s attention, as did the way his eyes locked with hers. “Oh, hi there.”

  “Hi.”

  “Rachel, this is Declan. I invited him to come tonight—”

  “Which I did.”

  “Well, yes, but four hours past when I told you to!”

  He grinned. “Sorry, I was studying with the boys and lost track of time.” He reached out a hand to Rachel. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too.” She shook his hand—strong and warm, and lingered slightly longer than necessary—then gestured toward his outfit that was beaded with rain. “Still pouring out there, I guess?”

  “Aye, but just a wee sprinkle, really.”

  Ah, Scottish then.

  “I’ll drive you home when we’re done,” Leah said to him, then turned to Rachel. “You, too—you usually walk, don’t you?”

  “After day shifts, yes. But I take the bus at night.”

  “Definitely give her a ride then,” Declan said. “No need for you to be standing at the stop in the rain.”

  “True.” Leah motioned to a chair. “Make yourself comfortable. I was just telling Rachel what you and I were talking about the other day, about a relationship with God being dependent on both parties and not just us.”

  Rachel groaned inside. He’s probably one of her seminary friends. Never mind then.

  The thought took her by surprise. Why would she even think about him that way, given she was going on four months with Jack? What if Declan had been a “possibility”—would she have just dumped Jack like their relationship was nothing? But I’m not serious about Jack, right? He is just a transitional guy, and unless I want to deal with a really messy breakup, I need to start making that clearer—