Caine
I could get used to that smile greeting me. Rachel waved from the table she was helping when I arrived at O’Leary’s a few minutes early. It had been less than twelve hours since I’d been inside her, and yet I felt my body react to seeing her.
Charlie greeted me at the bar. He shook my hand with a firm grip meant to get my attention. “She’s floatin’ around this place. I take it that’s because of whatever the two of you got going on?”
“If you’re asking if we’re seeing each other, the answer is yes.”
“You ain’t married, are you?” He narrowed his eyes.
“No, I’m not married.”
“You do drugs?”
“No drugs.”
“Got a record?”
I was basically being interrogated by a cop—no reason to share something that happened years ago and no one had access to anymore.
“No record.”
Charlie spread his pointer and middle finger into a V and pointed to his eyes, then to me. “I got my eyes on you.”
Rachel appeared next to me. “Charlie, what are you doing?”
He grabbed a glass from a full crate and started to stack them behind the bar. He’d been in my face, but with Rachel he was kowtowing.
“Just talking with the good professor.”
She squinted. “Just talking, huh? Not interrogating?”
Charlie looked me square in the eye. “We were just talking about the Yankees. Third baseman got injured when he was trying to steal home. Should have stayed at third until he got the all clear from his coach. Right, Professor?”
Rachel rightly looked suspicious.
“Sure, Charlie,” I said.
I wasn’t sure if she believed Charlie’s shit or chose to ignore it. Either way, I was glad she had someone looking out for her.
“Table three is almost ready to close out,” she told Charlie. “I told them to bring their check up to you.” She looked at her watch. “Ava’s not here yet. You want me to wait? Table five ordered appetizers and hasn’t put in their dinner order yet.”
“I got it. You two kids take off.”
“You sure?”
Charlie thumbed toward the door. “Go on. Get outta here. I don’t want people to see your professor friend here and think the place is changing over to yuppies.”
I laughed. “’Night, Charlie.”
Rachel’s sister lived in Queens, and traffic was still heavy from the evening commute home. She was quieter than usual as we inched our way up the parkway.
“Busy at work today?”
“No. It was actually kind of slow.”
More quiet as she stared off out the window.
“Something bothering you?”
She shifted in her seat. “There’s something I should tell you about my sister.”
“Alright.”
“She’s a drug addict. Well, she’s in recovery. But I suppose that still makes her a drug addict, because once an addict, always an addict. It’s the same thing as an alcoholic, right? You still call yourself an alcoholic even if you haven’t had a drink for five years. Is there actually a time when you stop referring to yourself that way? Like maybe those chips they give out—one might signify that you’re sober? Do all of those chips mean different things? I thought they were timeline accomplishments—like one for a month, and another for a year? But maybe—”
She hadn’t taken a breath yet. Run-on sentences were one of her tells when she was nervous. I interrupted, “Rachel?”
“What?”
“You’re babbling. I don’t care if your sister is an addict. I wouldn’t even care if you’re sister wasn’t in recovery. I’m not going to judge her. I’m coming to dinner because you wanted me to come. Do you still want me to join you?”
“Yes.”
I reached over and took her hand, bringing it to cover the gear shifter beneath my own. “Okay then.”
From my peripheral vision, I saw her shoulders relax a bit. She looked out the window, seeming lost in thought, and then turned to me.
“She lost custody of her son because of her addiction.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“She only gets to see him twice a week—supervised visitation. Her ex-husband left her a few years ago and took her son with him.”
“Her son? It’s not her ex-husband’s child.”
“No. It’s a long story. But she had Adam when she was young.”
I squeezed her hand beneath mine. “Shit happens, Rach. Addiction is tough.” God knows I knew that first hand after Liam.
“I know. I just wanted to tell you that.”
“Thank you for sharing with me.”
Even though I meant it when I said I had no judgment of her sister—I had definitely visualized her as something different. I’d expected an addict to open the door for us when we arrived—thin and unkempt, in a small apartment, maybe bad teeth. But the woman who greeted us was nothing like that. She was an older version of Rachel. Healthy and smiling, she welcomed me into her home with a hug.
“It’s so nice to meet you. My sister’s told me absolutely nothing about you.”
Rachel laughed. “Ignore her. She tends to be a wiseass.”
“So you two have a lot in common then, along with your looks.”
Riley shut the door behind us, grinning from ear to ear. “I like him already.”
The apartment’s entrance led into the kitchen, so we stood around talking for a while as Riley checked on the dinner she had in the oven. It had been hot as hell in class today, so I’d guzzled a few extra bottles of water while lecturing and needed to relieve myself.
“Excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”
Riley was stirring a pot at the stove and pointed down the hall. “Sure. Through the living room, down the hall, first door on the left. I basically live in a railroad car, so you can’t miss it.”
I noticed a wall full of frames, similar to what Rachel had in her apartment, but didn’t stop to look before going to the bathroom. On the way back, I noticed most of the pictures were of the same little blond boy at various stages of growing up. Assuming it was Riley’s son, Adam, I didn’t want to stop and call attention to it, in case speaking about him was difficult.
I’d almost made it past the picture-lined hall when a small photo caught my eye. It was of two little girls standing in the grass—the younger girl was probably three or four, and the older was maybe eight or nine, but it was definitely Rachel and her sister.
I stopped and zoomed in on the younger girl. The photo was old and grainy, but something about it set off an alarm inside of me. My posture straightened as I stared.
“She always insisted on making her own ponytail. It was always crooked, but she was adamant that she had to do it herself.” Riley joined me at the wall of photos and handed me a glass. “It’s iced tea.”
I took it without moving my eyes. There was something so familiar about the picture. Of course, it would be familiar to me considering Rachel hadn’t changed all that much—but it was more than that. My eyes darted all over the wall.
“Do you have other pictures of the two of you?”
Rachel joined us. “You asked to see a picture of me when I was little the other day.” She bumped my shoulder playfully. “If Riley is going to show you embarrassing pictures, I better get to see some pictures of you when you were little.”
I think I nodded, but I couldn’t be sure. My mind was still too focused on Rachel’s little face in the picture. After a minute, Riley returned with an album.
“Come on, I’ll show you how chunky my sister was when she was a baby. Our mom used to like to take pictures of her naked while she gave her a bath in the sink. Rachel had dimples, but not on her face.”
The three of us sat down together on the couch, a sister on either side of me, and Riley began to flip through an old photo album. She pointed to a photo, which I assumed was Riley holding a newborn Rachel. “I hated her when Mom brought her home. She stole all my attention.”
Rachel chided, “My mother told her to keep small objects away from me because I could choke, and she used to flick pennies at the bassinet.”
“I did not.” Riley turned to me and winked. “It was quarters. Those were too big for her to really choke on anyway.”
I attempted to seem interested, but something gnawed at me. I knew what it was, but figured it was my imagination running wild. Still, I couldn’t seem to let it go. Riley flipped through most of the album—in almost all of the pictures Rachel was very young.
“There aren’t too many pictures of us after Rachel was about five or six. That’s when our mom got sick.”
“Rachel told me. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Riley nodded. “Thank you. The two years after she died, before we moved in with the Martins, weren’t good times we wanted to capture in photos anyway.”
“I didn’t realize you hadn’t moved in with your aunt and uncle right away after your mother died. Did you live in foster care or something?”
Rachel and Riley looked at each other. There was a silent exchange before Rachel spoke.
“No. We lived with our stepfather after Mom died.”
I looked at Rachel. “I thought you said your mother didn’t remarry.”
Riley looked between the two of us and closed the photo album. “We both like to pretend he never existed.” She stood. “I’m going to check my sauce.”
After Riley was gone, Rachel took my hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie to you. It’s just…my sister’s right. It’s easier to pretend there was no Benny.” She spoke softly. “He wasn’t a nice guy.”
Benny.
Fucking Benny.
The name hit me like a blow to the gut.
I wasn’t sure I was going to make it through dinner. I kept sneaking looks at Rachel, and every time I did, I saw the little girl from the confessional. It was goddamn clear as day now, even though I hadn’t seen it at all before. Suddenly I couldn’t get the one clear look at her I’d stolen across the length of the church all those years ago out of my head. Whenever I looked at her, I was staring right into her sweet little ten-year-old face.
Willing myself to snap out of the fog, I finally noticed Rachel looking at me with concern. Abruptly, I pulled back from the table and stood.
“Excuse me for a moment.”
I went back to the bathroom and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Beads of sweat had formed on my forehead and top lip. I’d never had a panic attack, but I was sure this was exactly what one felt like. My heart ricocheted against the wall of my chest, and the simple act of breathing was an effort. I bent over the sink and focused on inhaling and exhaling for a few minutes before splashing water on my face.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been locked in the bathroom, but when I emerged, Rachel waited for me in the hall.
“Are you okay?” Her hand went to my clammy forehead. “You don’t look so good.”
“Actually, I’m not. I don’t feel so well. It started in class today, and I thought it was the heat, but it must be some sort of a virus.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. What can I do? Do you want some ginger ale or a cool rag? Maybe you should lie down on the couch for a while.”
“I’m okay. But I think I should go.”
“Oh. Okay. I understand. Let me just tell Riley, and I’ll grab my purse.”
“No,” I said, probably a little too quickly.
“No?”
“You should stay. I don’t want to ruin your evening. Is your sister able to drive you home?”
“I guess so…”
“I’m sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow in class, alright?”
“Yes, okay.”
While her words said everything was fine, Rachel’s face conveyed a whole different story. I wasn’t sure she was even buying my sick act, but I needed to get the hell out of here.
After a quick apology and goodbye to Riley, I was out the door. Feeling off-kilter, I questioned whether it was a good idea to get behind the wheel. When I arrived home, I realized it had definitely been a bad idea. I didn’t remember driving from Rachel’s sister’s place to mine.
I poured myself a stiff drink and paced back and forth for a while, remembering the last time I’d seen the little girl from the church—the day I’d followed her home. After everything that happened, my parents had sprung into action to protect me—calling in favors from everyone and anyone, local politicians and police. So much of what went down that day was a blur by now—except one thing. I’d lied to the little girl I now knew as Rachel for months, instead of doing what I could to get her out of that hell as soon as possible.