Reinventing Rachel (28 page)

Jack picked her up when she was discharged. She’d been reluctant to accept the offer, but he’d read her mind and assured her she had no reason to feel weird. Nevertheless, embarrassment burned in her cheeks when she walked out of the psych ward with her duffel into the circle drive where he waited in his truck.

“Come here often?” she quipped when she got in, hoping to break the ice.

“A lot more than you’d think.” He grinned, then leaned over and gave her a friendly hug. “How are you feeling?”

“Not a hundred percent, but not too terrible. Mostly I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.”

“That’s the understatement of the year.”

The closer they got to the apartment, the worse Rachel’s anxiety got. She mentally checked off the tools on her list—visualization, calming breaths, positive self-talk—and a block before home admitted, “I’m a little freaked out about going home knowing that Daphne is … you know.”

Jack squeezed her hand briefly. “Want me to stay for a bit? I can if you want.”

“Maybe just for a little bit. If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” He gave her a smile and changed the subject to idle gossip about his roommates, and Rachel was grateful for the distraction. When they pulled up to the curb in front of the house, he helped her from the cab and gave her hand a squeeze. “You can close your eyes, and I’ll lead you up if you’d rather not look.”

This made her laugh. “Thanks. I think I’ll make it. But keep an eye on me just in case.”

Once in the house she thought she’d feel better, but after a few minutes she realized it would take a lot longer than that to feel comfortable.

“We could go out, get something to eat,” Jack offered when she admitted her discomfort.

“No, running away won’t solve anything.” She gave him a self-deprecating grin. “Therapy 101. My insurance dollars at work.”

He smiled, but spoke seriously. “Listen, I know this—” he waved a hand between them, “might be awkward, given we’re not together anymore. But I want to help you, if there’s anything I can do.”

“Thank you, Jack.”

“And don’t feel like you have to put on a brave face for me, either. You’ve had a horrible week. Don’t try to be Little Miss Sunshine, okay?”

She nodded. “I know. I think I’m a little afraid to be honest with myself about how I feel. I’m afraid I’m going to fall off the wagon. Being here alone …” She shook her head. “It’s just eerie. But—” she held up a hand, “I don’t want you to even think about offering to stay over. I know you would because you’re such a gentleman. But I don’t want things to get … confusing.”

He gave her a brief hug. “I understand.”

They separated and took seats opposite each other in the living room. “So, by the way,” he said, “Leah told me to tell you that she wants to come over tonight and bring you dinner.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. She said for one of us to let her know if that would be okay. She’s off at three, so we can still catch her at the café.”

The thought of talking to Leah comforted her. Rachel pulled her cell from her pocket and dialed, then asked for Leah. “Hey, it’s Rachel.”

“Rachel, hi! Are you home now?”

“Yeah—and Jack said something about you wanting to bring dinner over.”

“Only if you’re up to it. And I understand if you aren’t.”

Rachel shrugged. “I don’t mind, as long as you’re not expecting engaging conversation.”

Leah chuckled. “There’s no pressure on you, believe me. I won’t stay long, either, though I do want to run something by you. Anything in particular I can bring you?”

“After five days of hospital food, everything sounds like gourmet.”

“Ha, I’ll bet. I’ll bring pizza.”

Jack stayed while Rachel unpacked, and later, as he was preparing to leave, he suddenly blurted, “I feel awful, Rachel, for everything, but especially this.”

“For ‘this’? What do you mean?”

“The whole … psych-ward thing.”

She almost laughed. “Jack, that is not your fault.”

“Are you sure? I thought maybe it was because I, you know, broke up with you—”

“No, no, this is not because you broke up with me.” She took a deep breath and sighed. “Honestly, I was actually glad you did. I really didn’t want to move in together, but I didn’t think I had any other choice. That
was
feeding into my anxiety and depression. But it still wasn’t your fault. It was just one of many things that I couldn’t figure out how to handle, and they all built up until Daphne’s death put me over.”

His relief was clear on his face. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ve been feeling pretty guilty.”

She gave him a hug. “Hey, thanks for staying.”

“Of course.” He stepped back, his look intent. “Listen, Rachel … I meant what I said that night, about giving it another shot when you’re feeling better. I know it might be a while, but I don’t mind waiting.”

The admission was an arrow in her heart. “That’s … that’s really sweet, Jack. I’m flattered, and grateful. But …” She scrunched up her face, gathering courage to be truthful. “But I don’t think we’re meant to be together. I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong, and I’ll change so much from this experience that we’ll work better together, but … there was something missing for me, or maybe
in
me, I don’t know. And without it—whatever it is—I don’t think we’d last for much longer than we did the first time. I’m really, really sorry. You don’t know how much I wish we
did
work better together. You’re—it sounds cliché, I know—but you’re a great guy, and I’m sure it’s not you, it’s totally me. Please don’t hate me.”

He laughed, though his eyes belied his disappointment. “I don’t hate you, Rachel. And I understand what you’re saying. I’m bummed, but I understand.”

“Will we be cool at work?”

“Completely professional, I promise. When do you think you’ll come back?”

“I don’t know—I have to talk to R. J. and see what she says. I don’t know if I even have a job anymore, honestly.”

“Oh, you know R. J.—she’s all mush inside. I’m sure she’ll let you stay on.” He gave her one more hug. “I should be going.”

“Okay. Thanks again for everything.”

“Of course.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, then let himself out.

Rachel surveyed the room as though Daphne’s ghost might suddenly materialize. “What to do, what to do?” she said aloud, then turned on the television to keep her company. Soap operas dominated the lineup, however, and the last thing she wanted was more drama.

My journal
. She found the notebook in her bedroom and brought it out to the bar, then set herself up with a glass of water. She flipped through the pages until she found her most recent entry and reread what she’d written to get back into the line of thinking she’d been following. It was yet another musing about what she’d been trying to run from when she’d lost those three days after Daphne’s death. She still barely remembered anything, and that scared her.

She set her pen to the paper and let it scratch out a word.

God.

She wrote the word in capitals and stared at it. Yes, that was it. She’d wanted to run away from God. She’d known it for a while now but hadn’t been ready to analyze it yet. But now, alone and away from prying nurses and creepy fellow patients, her pen began to fly across the page.
But didn’t I already do that? Isn’t that what moving to Chicago was? And giving up on church, and not reading my Bible or journaling anymore, and dating someone who wasn’t a Christian? How much more running do I need to do to feel like I’ve finally gotten away?

Running myself to death, apparently.

Maybe the therapists at the hospital weren’t the people she’d needed to talk to after all. Maybe she needed to talk to someone who understood where she was coming from, spiritually speaking. Like a pastor. Not that she wanted to hash out her troubles to yet another stranger.
I wish there was someone who knew me already, knew what I’d been going through, but also understood the way I was raised—in the church, believing in God, having such a specifically formed worldview.

Her pen stopped. She
did
know someone like that. Two someones, actually. But she knew only one would be wise for her to talk to right now.

She shut the notebook and began writing out a shopping list for her empty kitchen, biding her time until Leah arrived.

o

Rachel took a bite of her slice of deep-dish and smiled. “I can’t tell you how good this tastes. Thanks again.”

“Of course! I had hospital food once, and it was horrible. I can’t imagine five days of it. Gross.”

“Yes, exactly.” They ate in silence for a few minutes until Rachel found the courage to talk about what was really on her mind. “So, I had a few insights while I was in the hospital, and I realized today that I needed to talk to … well, to a Christian, actually. Think I could sort of vent to you for a bit? You don’t even have to have any answers—I think I’m just looking for someone who can relate to where I’m coming from.”

Leah smiled. “I’m all ears.”

Rachel sipped her cherry Coke and mulled over where to begin. “Well,” she finally said, “once upon a time, when I lived in California …”

As Rachel told her story, Leah was sympathetic and angry for her in all the right places, and when Rachel was done she spread her hands in surrender. “So there you go. That’s me in a nutshell, up until I walked into All Together Now. Everything that’s happened since then—my off-kilter relationship with Jack, the alcohol, the never-ending bad mood—has all been rooted, I think, in what happened back in California. And today when I was journaling, I realized that all my issues since moving here have to do with the fact that I’m trying to run away from God. I
want
to run away from God, but at the same time I don’t know where else to go. But I don’t want to go back to him, that’s for sure. So I’m stuck. And I don’t want to slip back into how I was, so I’m trying to figure out what to do.” She gave Leah a small grin. “Any insights or advice would be welcomed, but I don’t expect you to be able to fix everything—or any of it, really. So if you don’t have anything to say, that’s okay.”

Leah smiled, head nodding. “No, I definitely want to respond. Just give me a minute to mull, okay?”

“Take all the time you want.” Rachel finished her pizza, now nearly cold, and helped herself to another slice while basking in how good it felt to share her story to someone who knew where she was coming from. Despite what she’d said, she really did hope Leah had some kind of advice. Something had to change, she just didn’t know what it was.

Leah finished her own pizza, then sat back with her drink. “Okay, so, here’s what I’m thinking. First of all, I understand why you might feel betrayed by God and are so angry with him.” She thought for another long moment while Rachel waited, feeling awkward. “But I’m wondering ...” Leah flourished her soda can in a thoughtful way. “What if the God you’re angry at doesn’t really exist?”

Rachel sighed. “Yeah, I’ve tried that—the whole ‘God is a myth’ thing, but I—”

“No, no, that’s not what I mean. I mean, what if God as you designed him in your head does not exist? What if the character you thought God possessed was actually the result of confused theology? What if your view of him was so skewed that, in reality, you were trying to have a relationship with someone who wasn’t there at all?”

Rachel’s thoughts began to skitter in her head. “Um … concrete example, please.”

“Okay. For example, you thought God required this checklist of activities—pray at meals, read your Bible, go to church every Sunday—and that fulfilling that checklist was the way to his heart, the way into a relationship with him.”

“That’s what Christianity is … yeah.”

Leah smiled wide. “See … I don’t think so.”

“But … that’s how you get close to God.”

“Well … okay, kind of. But I think the problem comes when you view those things as part of some sort of bargain, like you put in X amount of time and you receive Y amount of whatever from God. Thinking of disciplines like that turns them into homework, required tasks—it robs them of their meaning. It’s a world of difference in terms of motivation and mind-set.”