Rachel's Folly (2 page)

And then, as soon as it had started, it was over. The entire episode had lasted no longer than ten minutes. Rachel lay sprawled on the couch, half undressed. She heard keys jingle. Then she faintly heard him walk down the foyer and close the door behind him as he left. She tried to sit up, but felt heavy and exhausted, and so she lay back down, closed her eyes and proceeded to pass out.

* * *

She could hear a dog barking in the distance as she moved through her childhood home. She was a little girl again. She could see her small, bare feet beneath her as she walked over the mustard-yellow swirl-patterned carpet. She walked towards the kitchen and stood at the butler door, where she heard voices coming from inside. She hesitated. She stared at the small dry, dust-covered paint drip on the door panel, then gently pushed the door open. Her parents were sitting across from each other at the kitchen table. Her father sat motionless with his bloodshot eyes fixated on a sweating glass of rum and Coke in front of him. His face looked drained, like he had been crying. Her mother’s head was down, her face buried in her hands.
This is when they tell me they’re getting divorced,
Rachel thought. Her mother slowly turned to look at her, streaks of black mascara running down her face. She looked angry and screamed, “What have you done?”

* * *

The barking was getting louder and clearer. Rachel gradually became conscious of the fact that she had been dreaming. She was still lying on the sofa, still in her black party dress. Homer was at the back door barking eagerly for her to let him in. She wondered what time it was—if a whole day had passed—but found that her internal clock was totally off. It was only four-forty-five a.m.

She gradually sat up and adjusted her clothing. Her head was spinning. She could taste bile in the back of her throat. Her hair was saturated with cigarette smoke from the nightclub; she felt like an ashtray. She knew she was going to be sick. She got up, rushed to the powder room, and sat on the floor to hug the toilet. The hard marble floor felt cold on her bare legs. She braced herself and then vomited. When she finished, she flushed the toilet then pulled herself up to rinse her mouth with cold water, without looking at herself in the mirror. The dog was still barking. She made her way to the back door to let him in, and then to the kitchen for a glass of water, using the same glass from just a few hours before. She saw the dog sniffing around the sofa and at a throw pillow on the floor. She walked over, adjusted the pillows, and grabbed her shoes that were lying nearby. She stood still with her shoes in her hand and looked around the dark living room. The house suddenly felt vacant, devoid of any life. She wanted to take a shower and shuffled to her bathroom with Homer in tow. He stood at her feet and then moved around in a tight circle a few times before lying down by her vanity stool. He looked at her with sad eyes as she undressed.

“What?” she asked the dog.

She took off her dress and pulled off her panties. They were damp. She refused to think of precisely what bodily fluids had made them that way and quickly threw them into the waste basket. She turned on the water, and after it had reached a warm temperature, she stepped in and began to wash her entire body vigorously. She felt so dirty. She slouched down and sat with her arms wrapped around her bent legs and buried her head while the water hit her back. After a while, she turned off the water and stepped out, wrapped herself in her towel and sat in front of the vanity. She looked in the mirror. Her face was deathly pale. She felt a deep sense of dread come over her as she realized the severity of what she had done. She knew she could not wash off the night.

Just then, she heard the garage door open. Edward was home. Homer quickly stood at attention and began to growl as they heard Edward come into the house and walk over to the bedroom. Rachel’s heart beat faster and she began to perspire. Her hands started shaking and she quickly applied lotion to her legs to try to appear as normal as possible.

“Hey babe,” he said, opening the bathroom door. He had his sport coat draped over one shoulder. His tie hung loosely around his neck. His normally neatly combed hair was tousled. His soft brown eyes looked tired.

“How did it go?” she asked, trying not to look directly at him, fearing he would see right through her.

Edward groaned. “Chaotic. The mother had gestational diabetes and didn’t speak a lick of English. She had her seven-year-old translating the whole time. Twin B was breech with an irregular heartbeat. I nearly called 911 two different times for an ambulance. I wanted to get her to a real hospital, but they begged me not to. Everything turned out okay, but I don’t know how Elena can put herself out there like that.” He arched his back and stretched. “She’s taking a huge risk delivering babies in that clinic.” He yawned. “We should have been at the hospital.”

Rachel grabbed a hand towel and dabbed the perspiration from her face. She cleared her throat. “She says a lot of people would just try to have the babies by themselves at home if she didn’t help them. They’re too afraid of being deported.”

“I guess,” he said, looking around the bathroom. “You just took a shower?”

“Yeah, I feel horrible. I shouldn’t have drank so much. I’ll go to bed in a minute.”

Edward shrugged. He went into the closet to hang up his coat and then turned around and went back into the bedroom. Rachel tried to gather her composure. She put on her pajamas and went to lay down in her bed next to her husband who was still in his dress shirt and slacks, snoring away in deep slumber.

* * *

Even though she was exhausted, sleep eluded her. After about three hours of lying in bed without any deep sleep, she got up. She felt dazed as she pulled herself out of bed and made her way to the kitchen. She resisted the urge to look at the couch, where she had been with Jack just hours before. The house was dead silent, and even though Edward lay in the next room, she felt alone. In the kitchen, she took two aspirin and chased them down with a glass of water. Her head was pounding. She stood motionless at the kitchen sink for a while before she eventually started filling the coffee carafe with water.

“Morning, Rach,” She heard a distinctive baritone voice behind her. “You sure do look like shit.”

Startled, she looked behind her and nearly broke the glass carafe by hitting it on the inside of the porcelain sink. “Oh my God, Ben, you almost gave me a heart attack.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “How did you get here?”

Homer came running out of her bedroom shaking his tiny tail, whimpering and dancing around Ben’s feet.

Ben stood at the entrance to the kitchen, in the same jeans and dark brown sports coat from the night before. His hair was more disheveled than usual. He was wearing dark sunglasses on top of his head, and held a huge coffee cup in one hand and a paper bag in the other.

“I took a cab. I brought some bagels, but no coffee for you. I know you hate Starbucks. But I’ll make some for you if you haven’t already.” Ben put the bag down on the counter and grabbed Homer, bringing the dog up to his chin so Homer could proceed to assault him with wet dog kisses.

“Thanks. I was just about to make some.” She held the carafe up to prove her point.

Although Rachel and Ben were siblings, there was hardly any resemblance. Rachel had long, dark brown hair with hazel green eyes and a petite athletic build. She pulled herself together quite effortlessly. Ben, on the other hand, was big and burly. He stood over six feet five inches. He had warm, brown eyes, fair skin usually unshaven, and dark, shaggy, blond hair. He was a handsome man with an exaggerated square jaw and a large, kind smile, but no matter how hard he tried to clean up, he often looked as if he had just rolled out of bed.

“How did it go last night with your new friend from the dance club?” Rachel asked. She grabbed the paper bag and went to the cabinet to get a plate for the bagels and then placed them on the breakfast table.

“Oh, it was fine. He’s great to look at and all, but unfortunately, it turns out he’s a mental midget with an IQ of a fencepost,” Ben said, carrying Homer with him to sit down for breakfast.

“You never change.” She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down to join her brother.

“No, I’m serious. When I told him my dog’s name was Homer, he said ‘Wow, you must really be into
The Simpsons.’
” Rachel gave him a weak smile.

Ben put Homer down. “Is it too much to ask for a guy who looks like the Greek god Eros but can also carry on an intelligent conversation about … oh, I don’t know,
anything
?”

“Apparently so,” Rachel said.

Ben took a bagel and grabbed the crumpled paper bag, pouring the complimentary utensils out onto the table. He smeared cream cheese on the bread with a plastic knife and stuffed it into his mouth. Before he finished swallowing, he took a big gulp of coffee and looked up from his cup to survey the house. “Where’s Edward? How did it go last night?”

“He said it was touch-and-go, but the babies were born without any major complications.” She gestured towards her bedroom. “He’s in there right now, passed out. He came in early this morning and fell fast asleep with his clothes on. I took off his shoes and threw a blanket over him. He’s been that way ever since.” She took a napkin from the ceramic napkin holder at the center of the table and handed it to her brother.

“Thanks,” he said and wiped his mouth. “And Jacob?”

“He’s still at his Grandma Richards’. I told her I’d be over around ten to pick him up.”

“Do you mind if I do it?” Ben asked. “I want to take him to the toy store and maybe out for ice cream. I can’t believe he’s already going to be four. I have to spoil him as much as I can while I’m here.”

“Knock yourself out. I’ll call Agnes and let her know. And don’t worry about Jacob not getting spoiled enough. She dotes on him so much, it’s hard to keep him humble.” She glanced at the couch. Her mind flashed back to Jack. The way he picked her up. His mouth on her body.

“You were right about Jack,” Ben said before taking another big bite of his bagel.

Hearing his name, Rachel snapped back into attentiveness and looked directly at her brother. “Huh?”

“About him being an odd choice for Elena.” He paused for a moment to swallow his food. “I never would have put those two together,” he said while scratching his head with his ring finger. “Granted, he’s a good looking guy and fit, so damn fit, but he seems a little wet behind the ears, if you know what I mean. He’s so different from the older, cerebral men she usually dates.” Ben looked at his sister. “How old
is
he?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Early thirties?”

Ben furrowed his brow. “How’d they meet?”

Rachel hesitated. “At a park I think … I’m really not sure.”

“And there’s something about him. I can’t put my finger on it … I don’t know, she’s just too smart for him.” He whistled for Homer. When the dog sat at attention at Ben’s feet, he gave him a small piece of bagel. “I wonder if it’s in his nature to hit the
jack
pot like that.”

Rachel bit her lip and nodded her head, acknowledging her brother’s corny joke. She brought her arms to rest across her chest and stared at the napkin holder, a souvenir from her honeymoon in Cabo San Lucas over a decade ago. She became lost in thought. She
had
thought Jack was an odd choice for Elena. But after last night, she understood how Elena, or any woman, could be attracted to him. It was more than his looks. It was the way he carried himself. His natural confidence. The way he took control. She wondered how he could even be interested in another woman right now. She remembered how Edward was the only thing that consumed her mind when she was about to get married. Maybe Jack just needed one last hoorah before he committed to Elena forever. But what if he tried again? Why did she let it happen in the first place? What if Jack tells Elena? What if they don’t get married after all? What if they still do?

“Hello?” Ben said. He playfully pretended to knock on her head. “Rach? Hellooo?”

She caught his large fist in midair and smiled wearily. “Sorry. I’m just a little out of it. Hung over, plus I didn’t sleep.” She tried to change the subject. “So, are you still lecturing at Bowdoin?”

He leaned back in his chair. “Actually, I only taught one class this semester. I spend most of my time helping students with their master’s and doctoral applications now.”

“Huh. That’s … That sounds … ” She grimaced. “That sounds kind of boring.”

Ben smirked. “Yes, well, it’s not very challenging, but it gives me time to write. So, it works.”

“You should move back to Texas,” she said, with all seriousness.

Ben groaned loudly. “I can handle the cowboys. I can handle the Texas twang. I can even handle the heat, but the one thing about Texas I just can’t take is our dear mother. Trust me, we’re both better off with me being over two thousand miles away.”

“Does she know you’re here?” she asked.

“Good Lord no, and I plan to keep it that way, so don’t let on to my whereabouts if she happens to call you.”

“You know I can’t lie to her, Ben. She drives me crazy too, but I’m not gonna lie.”

“I’m not asking you to lie. I’m just asking you not to answer the phone if she happens to call,” he said. He looked at her with hopeful eyes, cleaning one of his front teeth with the tip of his tongue. “Please,” he pleaded with a mischievous smile.

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I hardly see her, and she only calls me once or twice a month to complete her dutiful grandmother inquiry about how Jacob’s doing.”

“Well, at least she’s not calling to criticize your
chosen
lifestyle and praying for your salvation over the phone. Let’s just keep my visit here between us—the civilized people.” Ben took another gulp of coffee.

“I think she’s getting worse,” Rachel said somberly. She instinctively started clearing the crumbs from the table around where Ben was eating. “She swears the end of the world is upon us and all the sinners are doomed.”

“She’s always thought that.”