Damage Done (7 page)

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 say 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.

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.

She hit the delete button before her mother finished
talking, then scratched out a note, "Call Mother," underscored with
the stick figure in a hangman's noose she'd begun doodling moments before.

She was starving, she couldn’t wait for lunch. She locked
the door to the office and began the short walk to Crane's Pharmacy a block away.

Growing up, Rachel's father had sometimes taken her to
Crane's for milkshakes, or a diet soda once she'd hit puberty and Savannah
started hounding her about her weight. It was one of the only buildings that
weathered the Main Street renovation without losing its 1950’s appeal. Walking
inside and hearing the tiny bell ring above the door took her back to a time
before she was plagued with anxiety, before she'd always asked herself,
"What is the worst possible thing that could happen right now?" She
felt the tension in her shoulders ease just a bit, took a deep breath and made
her way to the back.

"Hey Rachel, where have you been?" Richard Crane
asked politely when he saw her.

He and Rachel went to school together, he’d taken over the
store when his dad died, refusing to sell out to some big conglomerate. He was
big into show jumping when they were younger, he'd lived out at Miller's
Stables, but these days it was more likely to find him shouting at Town Hall
meetings about supporting small business. His wife waved from the pharmacy
counter.

"You know, Richard, just busy with the kids and work.
Trying to keep the old house from falling down. How are y'all?"

"We're pretty good, just bought a new horse. She's
being delivered later today. How's Sugar Babe? You been riding much
lately?"

"No time,” she shook her head, “I've had her stabled
out at Miller's since last year."

Guilt filled her at the thought of the beautiful mare she'd
abandoned when work and kids and life had made it impossible for her to ride anymore.

"That's too bad, you need to make time. I can't
remember a time when you weren't riding, it'll keep you young," he paused
briefly, Rachel knew what was coming, "So how's Kenneth?"

"He's managing, thanks for asking. It's never easy
when you're dealing with sick or injured kids, you know?"

The tiny bell on the front door rang and Richard's wife
called to the new customer, "Hey, how are y’all?" 

"I heard that boy's momma was looking to sue y'all,
I'm sorry about that," Richard continued.

"I heard. Yeah. I don't know what will happen, but I'm
sorry for her, I'm sure she's in a lot of pain right now."

She reached into her purse and pretended to look for
something, an excuse to keep moving.