Authors: Virginia Duke
She was still an attractive woman, but the soft wrinkles
she'd noticed around her thirtieth birthday were deepening now that she'd hit
thirty-four. She couldn't remember the last time she'd put on any moisturizer
or sunscreen, and the dark circles didn't do much for her either. Rachel spent
her whole life hating her body, and it pissed her off that it started to look
old as soon as she’d started to develop an appreciation for it.
She looked like crap, and if Jake started asking too many
questions, she might break down. She snatched a melted concealer stick from the
enormous pile of crap on the seat and tried to make herself fit for an audience
with the biggest fashion whore in Texas.
The wooden door made its familiar creaking sound as she
entered the historic building just off the tiny town square. An old storage
annex for a general merchandise store built in the late 1880's, and one of the
first brick and mortar structures erected in Harrison Township, it survived the
fire a hundred years before that burned down most of the town. The building sat
empty for forty years before they signed the lease, and it had taken more than
three months to clean up. Jake hated it, he'd argued about the updates they'd
have to make to accommodate the equipment needed to run their website.
But Rachel had fallen in love with it straight away.
Exposed brick interiors, wood pier and beam ceilings, its rustic charm was
classic Texas. The rooms were raw and unpredictable, so much different than the
polished, controlled atmosphere she'd grown up in. During the cleanup she'd
found a newspaper article outlining the details of a Wild West style shoot-out
that took place around the turn of the century. Jake complained she was fixated
on tragedy, but she had it framed anyway and it hung surrounded by the dozens
of heavy oil paintings she'd painted over the years.
Lauren settled into the corner with the toys and
television, whatever Disney movie she was obsessed with that week played on the
screen. Her fever had passed, but Rachel decided to bring her into the office
instead of risking getting the other kids at her preschool sick. Lauren wanted
to go to the stables to see Sugar Babe, but Rachel promised to make it up to
her later, she had too many other things to do.
She paused on the way to her office and thanked the
universe for the last cold can of diet soda she found in the mini-fridge.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Jake yelled down the
hall from her office, "Rachel Daniels, this is unacceptable." He
threw his hands around, repulsed by the state of her desk. It was a disaster,
piles of useless manuals and Guides to the Perfect Grant Proposal she swore
she’d get around to reading one day. Chocolate bar wrappers overflowed from the
empty Loetz flower vase her mother had pawned off on her, burnt orange and
tacky as hell.
"Back off, you cow. It's been a rough day," she
said taking her seat behind the desk and resting her cowgirl boots on the
clutter.
"Rachel, it's 8:30 in the morning. The day just
started." He'd already organized the contents of her inbox and shoved a
couple of documents her way, "Here, you were supposed to proofread these
days ago."
"Sorry, love. I was distracted."
"You’re always distracted. Proof it so I can get it
over by noon, they publish Saturday."
The Houston Courier had offered to do a piece on their
small non-profit, ReachingOut, and their work throughout the state. Traffic to
the website was growing, more people were coming to them for help leaving
abusive relationships. The cover of the LifeStyle section was a huge score. The
press was sure to get the word out on their annual fundraising gala and, if
they were lucky, bring in new donors.
"I'm on it, boss."
He wasn't her boss, but he took it upon himself to help
keep her on task. Jake had been around since they were both kids, but he'd been
outgoing and popular with tons of friends and she'd been the reclusive horse
riding art nerd who never hung out with anybody but her boyfriend. They met
again years later after she'd moved back from Dallas with Kenneth. He'd taken the
seat next to hers in a grant writing seminar and yelled in her ear, “Hey! You
went to school with me!”
Jake was a techie genius, so when Rachel told him she
wanted to start a website to help battered women network safely online, he'd
jumped at the chance to help her build it and quickly become her dearest
friend. ReachingOut was as much his baby as it was hers.
"Tell me about Hunter, what did his teacher say?"
he asked. She could always count on Jake to show an overbearing interest in her
kids, which only made it more painful when she couldn't get Kenneth to answer
the phone after parent/teacher meeting.
"Same ole. He won't stop talking to his friends, he
fidgets too much, he never raises his hand to be called on, if I were a loving
parent I’d march his little ass down to the pediatrician and get him some Act
Right pills so the overworked and underpaid teachers of Adams Elementary don't
have to be burdened with the antics of my eight year old."
"Shut up, they didn't say that. Did you tell them to
eat a salad and just do their job?" Jake was always complaining that
people would be happier if they would just eat well. A healthy diet meant a
happy life, or something like that.
"I said I understood their frustration, that Kenneth
and I would take their concerns to his pediatrician
again,
but that she
hadn't felt he needed any medication when she saw him three months ago."
"Did you tell them about all those kids on drugs for
hyperactivity, how their hair falls out and it stunts their growth?" he
asked excitedly.
"I just said that if Hunter were having any problems
academically we'd be happy to consider how medication might help, but until he
exhibits some problems in that area, or starts stabbing kids in the face with
pencils, we’ll just talk to him about chair safety and talking out of
turn."
He frowned, clearly disappointed, and she laughed her
apology, "Sorry, Jake, I'll make sure to impart your Google, MD wisdom
next time."
"So what did Kenneth say?"
"Kenneth checked out. He didn't want to go. Besides,
they’re busy hosting some advanced training for a group of paramedic students
down at the station this morning."
She pulled open her drawer full of junk food and dug around
for a Hershey Bar, bracing for her friend's disapproval.
"Honey, you've got to put down the chocolate. Your
skin looks like shit, are you sleeping?" He planted himself on the sofa
across the room and crossed one knee over the other, settling in. This meant
they were in for a lengthy conversation. He loved to talk about how she was
sleeping, whether she was taking her vitamins, if she'd eaten a healthy
breakfast, why she wasn't having sex. She needed a way to get him out of her office.
"Let me proof these numbers. We’ll talk about it over
lunch." She threw the opened but untouched chocolate bar back in the
drawer to show him she was serious.
Creeeaak
.
The metal hardware on the front door needed to be greased,
but it wasn't on the top of her to-do list, and the noise it made signaling
visitors comforted her. Without it she’d have visions of some psycho sneaking
in and taking off with Lauren, slitting her throat, or some other equally
horrific thing.
Mark called out, "Hey y'all, I brought donuts!"
Jake's boyfriend loved to ruffle his feathers, always threatening to show up
somewhere with junk food or cheap shoes. Jake rolled his eyes, but his smile
said he secretly loved it.
"Hey Mark," Rachel called back.
"Hey Rach, where's our boy?"
"I'm just about to kick him out of my office."
Jake stood to leave, hands on hips, bared his large set of
freshly whitened teeth, and purposefully exaggerated his deep Texas drawl,
"Now listen here, Honey Pie, don't you dare go pulling that chocolate bar
back out as soon as I leave the room, ya hear?"
He snatched her diet soda and threw it in the garbage as he
pranced out of her office.
Asshole.
She flipped him her middle finger with one hand and reached
back into the chocolate drawer with the other, careful to watch until he was
out of sight before pulling it out. The chocolate was terrible, but the sugar
would give her a jumpstart and that's all she was after. She hadn't slept, she
was running on caffeine and chocolate, she was tired. Like her husband, sleep
was an angry mistress no longer sharing her bed.
She reluctantly to hit the play button on her voicemail
while her laptop warmed up.
Sarah's never-had-a-bad-day-in-her-life voice boomed from
the machine, "Hey girl! Is your cell phone dead? We're having fajitas and
margaritas before the game tomorrow night, you and Kenneth promised to come
over! Call me when you get this!"
She didn't feel like putting on a happy face for her
friends, but Sarah never took no for an answer, and they needed an excuse to
get out of the house. She turned her phone back on and sent Kenneth a text.
Promised dinner and drinks at Sarah’s tomorrow after the
game.
Maybe they’d drink enough tequila to flirt their way into
bed together for the first time in eight months. She’d been dying to have sex,
the weekly date nights with her detachable showerhead were no longer fitting
the bill. But the last time she tried to come on to Kenneth, he told her he had
a headache. She'd laughed, thinking he was teasing. But he'd shaken his head
wearily and gone to bed - in the guest room downstairs.
When he first started ignoring her after he came home from
work, she was hurt and angry, but enough time had passed now to accept he'd
probably just grown bored with keeping up pretenses, and she figured even great
marriages had down times. She'd been busy herself, worrying about Hunter
getting on his teacher's nerves, listening to Lauren ask over and over again
how babies are made, finding money for another woman whose husband was
threatening to take off with the kids, or listening to a volunteer debrief
after hearing a particularly cruel story from a victim they were supporting.
She understood maybe he was preoccupied or tired, but if Rachel could drag
herself out of bed to beg people for money to keep her organization afloat then
it wouldn’t have killed him to throw her some pity sex every now and then, or
just sit by her on the couch. Or say hello when he walked in the door.
She’d been dragging herself out of bed too many mornings
lately, and this morning was no different. She was beyond exhausted and had
zero interest in doing any real work. But then the front door creaked open
again, and Mark yelled, "Holy Mother of Christ!"
She flew to the front room, her adrenaline pumping and her
hands shaking, "What's the matter?"
Lana took a seat on the guest sofa and tilted her head
back, she’d shoved a handful of Kleenex up her nose to stop the blood. Lauren
stood near her toys with her hands on her hips and watched with interest while
Jake and Mark flapped around the bleeding woman like vultures fighting over
roadkill.
"Move Mark! I've got it" Jake said, annoyed.
"You couldn't handle the sunburn I got a few weeks
ago," Mark argued, "You moaned and complained about how gross it was
and begged me to keep my shirt on, I'm the doctor here, you ass, now get out of
the way and let me see!"
"Gentleman," Lana snorted, her nose and throat
full of blood, "Take your catfight to the litter box, I'm fine. Just get
me a cold wet rag."
She wiped a bloody hand on her enormous Grandma Does It
Better t-shirt and went back to shoving tissue in her nose.
"Did you cut yourself?" Lauren asked, coming
closer to inspect the damage.
"Crap kid, I'm sorry," Mark said when he realized
Lauren was listening, "I forgot you were here," and looking to
Rachel, "I'm sorry, Rachel, I didn't mean to blaspheme in front of your
little girl."
"She's heard worse, I assure you," Jake said as
he escorted Lauren from the scene, "Hey sweet pea, Lana's alright, let's
get you set up on the computer in your mom's office while they get her a
band-aid."
"I want to see the blood," Lauren protested, but
thought better of it after she realized he’d offered to let her play a computer
game, "Hey, can I play Hunter’s pirate game?"
"Absolutely, let's do it," Jake said, leading her
to Rachel's office.
Mark sat next to Lana and surveyed her face, “Don’t lean
your head back, Lana, just look straight forward.”
Rachel handed her a stack of wet paper towels, "Lana,
what happened? Are you okay?”
"Sure, I'll live," Lana snorted, "But I'm
not sure how long Russell Whitaker will."
"Laaaana," Rachel moaned, taking the seat
opposite Mark on the other side of the sofa, "What did you do?"
"I was havin' coffee with Megan over at Brewster's and
he came in with his crew, she thought he was on a job in Ellis, so we thought
it’d be safe to meet," Lana began, bringing a pudgy finger up to push her
short gray hair from her eyes while Mark pressed against her nose.
"Oh my Lord," Mark gasped, "You mean he
punched you? I thought maybe you ran into something!"
Rachel took a deep breath and leaned into the sofa,
prepping for another one of Lana's tales about how she couldn't stay out of it
and just had to interfere. Lana was her favorite volunteer, a feisty round
little thing in her late fifties, she'd been volunteering with them since she
left her abusive husband eight years prior. She was one of their first real
success stories, and she was devoted to helping women like herself. But
sometimes she forgot the cardinal rule of domestic violence advocacy, “Safety
First,” and she let her mouth get her into trouble.
"No Sugar, I stopped runnin’ into stuff when I
divorced my husband," Lana laughed while Mark dabbed at her busted lip
with a clean paper towel, "Old Russell came over and pinched Megan's arm,
then he told her to get up and go home. He didn't like what I had to say about
it."