Mine (4 page)

Courtney blinked at Rachel and raised her eyebrows in surprised realization. “Oh, my God, I hadn’t even thought of that. If I sell this house, I’ll need to move, won’t I?”

Rachel gave a genuine grin, its appearance causing Courtney to nearly do a double take. “That’s generally how it works.”

“Wow. Okay. Let’s see.” Courtney stood up with her wineglass and paced in front of the coffee table as she tried to organize her thoughts, feeling Rachel watching her movements. “Smaller,” Courtney said, waving one arm to encompass the large room. “Definitely smaller. This is a bit too much for me.” She looked at Rachel, who was scribbling notes. “And closer to the city. I feel a little far away. Disconnected. I’d like to be a little closer to the heart of things. You know what I mean?”

Rachel looked up and caught Courtney’s eye. After a second, she nodded.

“I don’t really have a particular neighborhood preference. Just keep me out of the scary parts, okay?”

“Okay.”

Courtney drained her wineglass. She suddenly felt a little jittery and wasn’t sure if it was the fact that she was actually going through with selling her and Theresa’s house or if it was the brittle distance of the woman sitting on her couch. “That’s not really much, is it? Does it help? At all?”

“Absolutely. We’ll get more specific about what you like and what you don’t after I find some places to show you.”

They went over more particulars about the sale of the house, the listing date, the asking price, open house or no open house, and so on. By the time Rachel packed up her briefcase and stood to go, more than an hour had passed and Courtney felt a weird sensation of impending loss, which made no sense because Rachel Hart was about as warm and comforting as a coat hanger.

They walked to the door together. Rachel turned and stuck out her hand. “Ms. McAllister, it’s going to be a pleasure working with you.”

Putting her hand in Rachel’s, Courtney was surprised to feel warmth, having expected a coolness to match her aura. “Please. It’s Courtney. Thank you so much for your help. And for giving me a second chance.”

“I’ll be in touch.” With that, Rachel pulled her hand away suddenly and was out the door.

Courtney stood in the doorway, watching the BMW back down the driveway and trying to get a handle on the weird sense of…something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Chapter Three

Courtney hit the bottom of the stairs and was heading for the door to the attached garage when the phone rang. She set the box down and wiped her dusty hands on her shorts before grabbing the handset.

“Hello?” She was a tad out of breath.

“Been jogging?” Peter Manning’s tone was deep and cheerful, laced with a comfort and friendliness that never seemed to go away. Courtney’s breath whooshed from her in a quiet sigh of relief.

“Never,” she answered good-naturedly. “Jogging is for crazy people.”

“How have you been, Courtney?” There was an underlying seriousness to the question. “I got your message.”

The simple sound of Peter’s voice seemed to center Courtney and she inhaled deeply. He’d been her therapist for nearly two years after Theresa’s death and he’d helped her through the most difficult and painful part of her life. She’d missed him terribly when he’d finally pushed her out of his nest and told her she was ready to face the rest of her life on her own, and she asked if she could reserve the right to come back for a mental tune-up every so often. He’d agreed with a grin. She called him periodically just to check in and let him know she was still surviving.

“I’m doing okay,” she said honestly. “I’m selling the house. Finally.”

“That’s great. That’s a big step.”

She could see his smile in her mind just as clearly as if she’d been sitting across from him. “It is. I almost chickened out, but I pulled myself together. It’s just too big for me here. And I feel…stuck. I feel stuck here, Peter.” She lowered her voice. “She’s been gone for two and a half years, and some mornings, I feel like it was yesterday and that I’ve made no progress at all moving forward with my life.”

“And the other mornings?”

The smile came when she knew her answer was totally honest. “The other mornings are great. I feel good. I feel like I have a life of my own.”

“Perfect. That’s what I hoped to hear. You know this stuff is all perfectly normal, right?”

Courtney nodded into the phone. “Yeah. I do. I really do. It doesn’t keep the weird feelings away, though.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

There was a beat of silence. She’d always had trouble with those in her sessions with Peter. He liked to leave the conversation open, knowing she’d fill the silence eventually. An old therapist’s trick, she was sure, designed to get the patient talking, but there were times when it made her want to scream. This time, though, she took the opening, surprising herself. “I was thinking…didn’t you tell me a while back that there was a group for people whose spouses have been gone for a while? That they meet a couple times a month?”

“I did.”

“Does that group still exist? And are they open to new members?”

“I can find out for you, but I’m sure they are. I thought you didn’t like the idea of a group meeting.”

She knew he was leading her, wanting to make sure she was up to this. He’d suggested she sit in on a bereavement group a few months after Theresa’s death. He thought it would help her to see that she wasn’t alone in her situation, that others were going through the same thing and helping one another cope. She’d agreed reluctantly, had attended the meeting in the basement of a church, wary and uncertain. And she’d left less than halfway through, feeling beaten and bombarded, taken off guard by so much raw grief. She couldn’t stand it, all that pain floating around the room like a big, black cloud of anguish. She ran out of the church and promptly threw up into a nearby shrub. She’d never gone back.

“I think I’m better able to handle such a thing now,” she said with confidence. “I just need to know that what I’m going through is common and that it’ll pass. I’d like to be able to talk to somebody else who’s in the same situation. I think I’m ready for that.”

“I think you are, too,” Peter agreed, and she could sense his pride in her progress. “I’m happy to hear all this, Courtney.”

She had wandered into the living room as she talked and now plopped down onto the couch. The entertainment center seemed a little bare without the pictures, but she didn’t let herself dwell on it. “I miss her, Peter. I miss her every single day. But I don’t want to be stuck in the same place for the rest of my life, you know? I don’t think she’d want that for me.”

“I don’t think she would either,” Peter agreed.

“I’d like to date. I mean, I’ve dated. A little. Here and there.” If she could even call them dates. “But I’d like to date the same person more than once or twice.” She laughed softly at that, as did Peter. “I’d like to have sex again, for God’s sake. Sex that means something. I’m only thirty-five years old. I want to fall in love again. I’m too young to be a widow forever.”

“These are all very healthy, very normal feelings you’re having, Courtney. They’re good signs. You’re making progress.”

Courtney crossed her legs at the ankle on the coffee table. “Yeah? Well, it certainly doesn’t feel like it sometimes.”

“I know. But trust me. You’re doing great. Let me get the information for you on the group and I’ll get back to you, okay?”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“You’re doing great,” he stressed again. “You really are.”

“Thanks, Peter.”

She hit the Off button on the phone. Fatigue suddenly settled on her like a lead blanket. She knew there were three more boxes upstairs that needed to go out to the garage, but she couldn’t seem to command her body off the couch. She’d been working nonstop all weekend and now it was Monday morning. Already. And she was exhausted. All the things Rachel asked her to pack away or neaten or hide or change had been taken care of. Boxes of Theresa’s stuff were labeled with black marker and piled neatly in the garage, something she didn’t want to dwell on. There was a part of her that felt like she’d just relegated Theresa to cold storage, and that made her heart ache.

In addition, the For Sale sign was going up today. She wondered if she was ready for that. Not that it mattered at this point.

“Too late to turn back now,” she said with a sigh, hauling herself up off the couch, determined to take care of the last three boxes before her limbs protested completely.

*

“Holy cow, you’re a big guy, aren’t you?”

Rachel scanned the chart on the clipboard that hung from the chain link gate. The dog was a mix of German shepherd and Lab and he was huge. He was almost five years old and his owner had passed away suddenly. No family members could take him and he’d ended up here at Happy Acres. His fur was falling out in clumps, which Rachel knew was due to his nervousness, and she immediately felt sympathy for him. She opened the gate slowly, murmuring reassurances to him. He watched her warily, his big brown eyes taking her in. She didn’t approach, though. She squatted in the doorway, leash in one hand, treat in the other.

“Come here, buddy. Want to go for a walk? Get a little air? It’s kind of stuffy in here.” She held the treat out so he could get a good whiff. “You can have this if you want. Come on, Rex.”

He looked from her face to the treat and back again, then scooched toward her one small inch at a time, watching carefully.

Rachel made no sudden moves, knowing how scared Rex must be, how confused.
First, he loses his master. Then he loses his home.
Rachel’s heart broke for him. At his age and size, it would be next to impossible to find someone to adopt him. But if there was one thing Rachel Hart loved, it was a challenge. She also loved Happy Acres because it was an animal shelter that gave dogs like Rex a chance. There was a strict no-kill policy. He could stay here as long as necessary and Rachel would pay for it herself, if need be.

His nose got closer to the treat. Rachel didn’t move it. He sniffed, glancing up at her every couple of seconds as he stretched his body as far as he could, ready to spring back to the corner at the slightest provocation.

“It’s okay, Rex. You can have it. Go ahead.”

He was close enough now. He nibbled at the treat, but Rachel held on, forcing him to stay close. He was surprisingly gentle and she smiled at him, reassuring him with soft words until she was able to scratch under his chin. He didn’t pull away, but let her touch him as he chewed, still watching her closely.

She spent close to fifteen minutes stroking him and talking to him before she clipped the leash to his green Happy Acres collar and stood. “What do you say, buddy? Want to feel the sun? It’s damn hot, I’ll tell you that. You probably won’t want to be out there long.”

He fell into step at her left in a perfect heel. She did a double take at him, surprised by his obedience. Rex’s owner had obviously spent time with him. That just made his situation seem even sadder to her.

She took him out the back door and into the blazing early morning sunshine. This was how Rachel Hart started her day. She woke up early, had her coffee and ate breakfast as she read the newspaper. She went through her list of the day’s appointments, which generally didn’t begin until mid- to late-afternoon. Then she dressed in comfortable clothes and drove out to Happy Acres where she walked dogs for two or three hours, rain or shine. It was the best way she’d found to clear her head, organize her thoughts, plan sales strategies. The other volunteers there said she had a way with the animals, that she was somehow able to reassure them and earn their trust. She shrugged those comments off regularly, saying she was just nice to them, that was all, it was no big deal. They just shook their heads and smiled knowingly.

The grass was barely dewy at all this morning. The temperature had only dropped to the low seventies last night, and people were starting to get cranky. The heat didn’t bother Rachel much, but she knew the forecast end to the heat wave would bring welcome relief to western New York. There were people who’d never left this area their entire life who would still complain about the weather. Rachel’s mother was one of them.

She willed the thoughts from her head. It was too early in the morning to deal with thoughts of the woman who’d brought her into the world. Instead she focused on Rex as he sniffed at a nearby clump of grass. Thinking of him and his situation of loss logically brought her mind to her newest client.

Rachel wasn’t impressed easily, but Courtney McAllister had impressed her. Not that Rachel had let on that she thought so. Frankly, she was still annoyed that she’d been made to feel like such a moron, but she’d get past it. She did feel, however, that it had taken some balls for Courtney to call and apologize and ask her for a second chance. Rachel had a hard time imagining what it must be like to lose a partner. It was difficult to look at somebody like Courtney—young, vibrant, very attractive—and think of her as a widow, but that’s exactly what she was. What Rachel had suggested she do in order to better sell her house must have cut through her skin like a razor. She shook her head in disgust, annoyed at herself for not being better prepared, for not having that vital piece of information.

The thing that surprised her the most, though, was the seeming lack of bitterness Courtney showed. Her smile seemed genuine. She was friendly. Granted, Rachel knew nothing at all about her relationship with her late partner—for all she knew, they might have been miserable together. But here Courtney was, no older than her mid-thirties, and she was now forced to start life all over again. Most people at that age were looking forward toward the future, toward a second home or a yearly vacation or newer, bigger investments. Courtney McAllister had no choice but to go back to square one and start from the beginning. Again.

I’d be furious
, Rachel thought, inexplicably angry for this woman she barely knew. Life could be so unfair.
I’d be mad at the entire world and I’d let everybody know it
.