Reflection (21 page)

She laughed at something the cashier said, then glanced over her shoulder at Michael and waved. No, she wasn't pretty. She was beautiful. And he was in deep trouble.

She walked over to him and pulled the T-shirt from the bag to show him the design. He barely noticed the shirt. He wanted to touch her. He wanted the dark room in Laugh Land. So he put his hands in his pockets and began walking again.

“How's your stomach?” she asked, pointing toward the old roller coaster. “We forgot to ride the Comet.”

He groaned at the sight of the huge wooden network of twists and turns. “Haven't been on it since I was a kid.”

“Come on.” She took his hand, and against his better judgment he allowed himself to be led over to the ride.

They settled into the first car. This was probably the only time they'd ever sat together on this ride, he thought. The cars were two-seaters; she would always have ridden with Luke.

They climbed up the track slowly, and then the turns and drops began without letup. The speed and force of the ride pressed their bodies together, and as far as Michael was concerned, the ride was over far too quickly.

He put his arm around her as the car slowed to a stop, and she let her head fall back on his shoulder. Her hair was sweet-smelling and soft against his cheek, and he suddenly knew he had to get away from her.

“That was great,” Rachel said as she reluctantly climbed out of the car. She reached for his hand to help pull him out.

“Michael!”

He turned to see Sean Howe, one of the boys from the youth group, waving at him. Oh great, he thought. Sean was walking with his mother, Mary, whose husband was a member of Michael's Friday night support group.

“Hey, Sean! Mary!” He let go of Rachel's hand and waved back, smiling but shaken, the memory of Rachel's body pressed against his own instantly exorcised. He was relieved when Sean and his mother made no move to stop and talk.

How was he going to handle being in that support group Friday night? He would probably sit there in silence. He couldn't possibly divulge to his fellow Mennonites what he was feeling these days, what he was struggling with. That had to remain between him and God—and right now he wasn't letting God in on much of it, either.

The wind stolen from his sails, he was glad it was not too early to suggest leaving. They walked out to the parking lot. He felt a little sick and knew the queasiness was caused by more than the rides. He was quiet in the car, relieved that Rachel seemed content to listen to the radio, her head against the back of the seat, eyes closed. They didn't speak at all during the drive to Helen's, but he could feel the lure of her next to him increasing with each passing mile.

He pulled into Helen's driveway and around to the rear of the house.

“Want to sit on the porch for a while?” she asked.

He looked at the porch, seductive in the moonlight, and shook his head. “I want to call Jace before he goes to bed.” He couldn't look at her directly.

“Well, we'll see you and Jace tomorrow night?”

He nodded, wishing he had not already accepted the invitation to join Rachel and Helen for dinner on Jason's first night home.

He got out of the car and walked her up to the door.

“It was fun, Rache.” He leaned over and pecked her lightly on the cheek.

She looked at him quizzically. He tried to smile, batting her chin teasingly with his fist.

“See you tomorrow,” he said.

He knew she was watching him as he walked back to his car, and he could still see her face as he drove home through town, his entire body flooded with longing.

HE WAS DREAMING ABOUT
Rachel and the dark room when the phone rang. Rachel had been sitting on the floor of the room, her face barely visible in the darkness, and she'd been reaching for him, touching his leg, his thigh. He fumbled, half asleep, for the receiver.

“Michael?”

It was Katy. He raised himself to one elbow. “Hi,” he said.

“I'm sorry. I know it's the middle of the night there. I've just been feeling…oh, a little low, I guess, and I felt like talking to you.”

It was not like Katy to admit to feeling “a little low,” much less to want to talk about it. He sat up against the headboard, trying to push the dream from his head. “What's going on?” he asked. Was she crying? He couldn't tell. The sound was muffled by distance.

“Oh, not much. I just wanted to hear how you're doing.”

“I'm all right.” He realized guiltily that he didn't want to tell her what he had done tonight.
No good, Michael. No damn good
.

“I've been thinking about what you said.” Katy's voice was definitely thick. Weepy. “You know, how we need to find a way to start fresh? I guess the only choice we have is with a marriage counselor. I hate the idea, but I don't know any other solution.”

Michael saw Rachel as she'd appeared in his dream, reaching out to touch him. He shook his head to clear it.

“Michael? Are you still willing to do that when I get back?” Katy asked.

She was hurting. She wasn't saying it—she didn't have the skill to say it—but he had no doubt at all that it was pain he heard in her voice.

“Of course I'm willing,” he said, although his heart no longer craved the resolution of their problems.

“Maybe I'm just homesick,” she said. “Maybe I'll feel different about this tomorrow. This trip is way too long. I miss Jace.”

“He misses you, too. We'll call you when he gets home tomorrow.” He noticed she didn't say that she missed him. Or that she loved him. He wasn't surprised. Sometimes she could write those words in a card or a letter, but she had never once said them to him out loud.

“Tell him I can't wait to talk to him, all right?”

“All right.” They said good-bye, and he hung up the phone. He stared at the ceiling, the dark room trying to creep back into his head.
No
. He had a wife, and he had a son who needed them both and who needed them together. He had a reputation to protect, a congregation that had faith in him, a town that depended on him.

And so he could have Rachel only in his dreams.

THE PHONE RANG AS
Rachel was finishing her English muffin.

“Stay there.” Gram stood up and reached for the wall phone. “I'm already done.”

Gram was doing well, Rachel thought. In the last couple of days she was hobbling less, refusing to use the cane, and she seemed antsy, anxious to be up and active. She was doing her ankle exercises every spare minute, it seemed.

“Hello, Michael,” Gram said into the phone, and Rachel was surprised at the relief she felt. She wasn't sure why Michael had become so distant toward the end of their time together the night before, but it had left an icy feeling in her bones. She'd felt so close to him last night and she'd had a good time, at least after the initial hour of difficult conversation on the bench by the Mill Chute. She'd truly had fun, for the first time in too long.

She touched her napkin to her lips and rose from the table.

“Take it in the library,” Gram said. “I can clean up here.”

In the library, Rachel sat down on one of the big faux-leather wing chairs facing the window and drew the phone onto her knees. “Hi,” she said, and she heard the click as her grandmother hung up in the kitchen.

“Hi. How're you doing this morning?”

“Good. I really enjoyed last night.”

He was quiet a moment, still distant, and she bit her lip.

“I need to talk with you,” he said finally.

“We can carve out some time when you and Jason come over tonight,” she suggested. “Or would you rather stop by now?”

“No. Let's just talk on the phone. And part of the reason I'm calling is to tell you we can't come to dinner tonight. I'm really sorry. I hope that doesn't mess up your plans.”

“Did something come up?”

“No. Nothing came up.” He sighed. She could picture him running his hand through his hair. “Oh, Rache,” he said. “I wish things were different.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that last night was a mistake. I can't do that again. Go out with you. Be that close to you. The temptation's too strong. It's too risky. I think you and I are both dangerously needy right now.”

She squeezed her eyes closed, knowing she hadn't helped matters any by holding his hand or putting her head on his shoulder. But that closeness had felt so good. “I think I understand,” she said.

“And I want to spend some time with Jace, just the two of us. He's been gone so long.”

“Of course.”

“And one other thing,” he continued. “I got a call from Katy in the middle of the night. If she'd asked me what I'd done last night, I probably would have lied to her. I don't lie. That's not me. I can't live that way. And I felt guilty when I saw that mother and son from my church.”

“You don't have anything to feel guilty about. We haven't done a thing except share a friendship.”

“I've done more than that in my mind,” he said.

That made her smile. She only wished those thoughts didn't cause him pain. “But doesn't it make you an even better person if you can have that sort of thought and not act on it?”

He laughed. At least she thought he did.

“No, I don't think that makes me a better person, Rache,” he said. “Anyhow, Katy has been thinking about our marriage, apparently. I mean, really thinking about it for a change. She said she wanted to work on it, that she's willing to go to a counselor with me when she gets back.” He sighed. “Deja vu, huh? You and I have to be as saintly as we were in Rwanda, okay?”

“Okay.” She spoke softly.

“The danger was there last night, wasn't it?” he asked.

“The danger was there,” she admitted.

“I won't have an affair.”

“No. I don't want that either.”

“I know you're not intentionally trying to tempt me, but you can't help it. Your existence is a temptation. Having your body pressed against me on the Comet was a mega temptation. Sometimes just talking to you is a temptation.”

She understood completely, although she didn't want to. She wanted to deny that being with him set up a yearning in her. But when he'd start a sentence with the words “Do you remember…” he might as well be touching her. There was an intimacy in those memories, in reaching back through time to something they'd both shared and treasured.

“I know what you're saying,” she said. “And I know that all you can offer me is friendship, and that's absolutely wonderful in and of itself. We've operated on these terms before, remember? We can do it again.” She didn't dare remind him how difficult those terms had proven to be for both of them. “But…is that why you're not coming over? I mean, do you feel as if you need to avoid me?”

“Frankly, yeah.” He laughed. He had to be glad this conversation was behind him. “Let's put a little time between last night and the next time we see each other, all right? I need it, Rachel. I know I said I'd teach you how to develop the pictures this week, but can it wait awhile?”

“Of course” She hesitated a moment. “Michael, is this the kind of thing you would pray about? Pray for guidance or whatever?”

“You'd better believe it.”

She tried to imagine the comfort that would bring, turning her problems over to someone, something stronger than herself.

“I might try it myself,” she said with a smile. “Wanna come over and teach me how?”

He laughed again. “The devil incarnate, Rachel,” he said. “That's what you are.”

HELEN LOADED THE DISHWASHER
and, on a whim, swept the floor. She was doing splendidly. It had been days since she'd needed a pain pill. Her ankle was stronger, the dizziness rare, and her wrist was healing nicely. Soon she might be able to play the piano again. Each time she walked through the living room, the keys seemed to grin at her. Taunting. Waiting.

She walked into the living room to turn on the stereo, and soft piano music filled the air. She could hear Rachel talking on the phone in the library as she walked into her bedroom. There she picked up the book she'd been reading for the past couple of days and took a seat on the upholstered chair near the window overlooking the garden.

She'd read seven books since the accident, and she was going to need a new supply soon. A few she'd be able to get at the library; the rest she'd already ordered from the bookstore.

She turned at a knock on her open bedroom door.

“Can I come in?” Rachel asked.

“Of course.”

Rachel sat down on her bed, and Helen shifted in the chair to face her.

“Thanks for cleaning up,” Rachel said. “You really shouldn't, though. Doesn't it bother your wrist?”

Helen set the book down on her knee. “Not at all.” She thought of telling Rachel that she barely needed her help any longer, but the last thing she wanted was to see her granddaughter leave. And the truth was, each time it stormed outside, she needed Rachel's nearness as much as she'd ever needed anything in her life—even with the herbs in the house, which she was coming to rely on to a ridiculous degree. She'd put some cuttings from them in her purse so she would have them with her always.

Rachel looked out the window, and Helen suddenly realized that her granddaughter wanted to talk. To
really
talk.

“What is it, Rachel?” she asked.

“Michael and Jason aren't coming for dinner tonight.”

“Oh?” Michael
had
sounded rather serious when she'd answered the phone.

Rachel looked at her directly. “Michael's uncomfortable spending time with me.”

Helen nodded. Of course he was. “Why is that?” she asked, all innocence.

Rachel looked down at her hands as if trying to decide how much to say. “When we were in the Peace Corps together, we became very close.”