Reinventing Rachel (19 page)

The nurse huffed a deep sigh, then finally caved. “Okay, fine. Bottom line is, she’ll live. She’ll be here for a day or two, probably, then she can recover at home. When she’s out of sedation we’ll ask her if she wants you to come, and if she does, we’ll call you. Okay?”

It wasn’t okay—Rachel wanted details, wanted to know what was happening to Daphne right now. But Rachel could tell the nurse had given her all she was willing to. “Okay. Thank you.”

She gave Rachel a sympathetic smile. “You’re welcome.”

Jack wrapped an arm around her shoulder and walked her out to the car. They drove home in silence, Rachel’s eyes barely open when they reached the apartment. “What do you want me to do?” Jack asked gently as she stared unmoving out the window. “I can come up, I can leave, I can stay … it’s up to you.”

Rachel felt small and scared. The thought of being in the apartment alone freaked her out. “You’d stay?”

“Of course.”

It was all she could do not to cry again. He held her hand as they trudged up the stairs, then headed straight for the kitchen once they were inside. “Go get ready for bed,” he said. “I’ll make us a couple of nightcaps.”

When she finally had her hands on the tumbler, it was all Rachel could do to keep from chugging it. She paced herself so as not to concern Jack, then snuck two more tumblers’ worth while he was in the bathroom with the toothbrush Rachel had given him from Daphne’s “overnight guest supplies” stash in the tiny linen closet.

Jack tucked her in and kissed her forehead. “I’m right on the couch if you need me.”

She stared at the ceiling, exhausted but unable to sleep as her thoughts skittered like frightened mice through her head. In light of Daphne’s recent behavior, Rachel had a hard time thinking this had been a temporary slip in judgment. Obviously her finances were in bad shape—but
that
bad? Why not ask Rachel for help, or get a second job? There had to be something else going on. But what?

She watched the moonlight shift across her room, thoughts chasing each other, until sleep finally won out.

o

Rachel awoke to sunlight streaming onto the bed. For a brief second she was free of the memory of the night before, but then it all came back and hit her like a truck. Her stomach roiled, though from hunger or stress she couldn’t tell—either way, she needed to get up and get moving before the weight of reality pushed her back under the covers.

She was about to leave the bedroom when she remembered Jack had spent the night on the couch. She ran a brush through her hair before venturing out to the living room, but found it empty once she got there. A note sat on the bar, written in hasty block script.

MORNING SHIFT FOR ME. I’LL LET R. J. KNOW WHAT HAPPENED. HOPEFULLY YOU CAN SLEEP IN AND SHE WON’T CARE IF YOU’RE A LITTLE LATE. SEE YOU WHEN YOU GET THERE.

A little smiley face closed the note, which brought a smile to her own face. She poured some cereal and a strong cup of espresso-strength roast, and after breakfast she showered and dressed in slow motion. It was almost noon by the time she left the apartment.
Just in time to help with the lunch rush
. The thought of the mad scramble behind the counter that accompanied the noon hour overwhelmed her. Her brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders.

She strolled to the café, but ducked into the sandwich shop next door instead of going in to work. The cereal had barely made a dent in her hunger, and there was no way she’d survive without some more food. She ordered a sandwich and took a seat at a corner table, away from the window in case any fellow employees happened by.

Three thoughts tumbled through her mind as she ate: why Daphne had drunk all the vodka, the future of their friendship, and the steps she ought to take, if any, to separate herself from Daphne and move out.

The first thought was scary. Daphne was a champion drinker. She knew her own limit. She knew how to pace herself. So to think that she’d accidentally finished off half a bottle of vodka was highly unlikely. Which meant she’d done it on purpose. Which meant she’d been trying to harm herself, or even, God forbid, kill herself.

Yet another uncharacteristic move for the woman Rachel had known for twenty years.

Daphne was changing, and Rachel had no reason to assume she’d suddenly go back to how she used to be. How long could she, or should she, put up with it?

The last few weeks of tension and arguments had been bad enough, especially for someone like Rachel who avoided confrontation at all costs. What if that was the blueprint for the rest of their friendship? It would be one thing if she was living somewhere else and only saw Daphne now and then. Their friendship had been like that for the last five years and had survived just fine. Maybe that was the better way to go. Sharing living space wasn’t shaping up to be the most comfortable arrangement, and if things continued in this vein, Rachel knew she would have no choice but to move out.

To where?

One obvious possibility stared her in the face, but she pushed the thought away as she finished her soda and brought her tray to the trash. She wasn’t going to go there. Not yet.

It was a quarter to one, and Rachel knew she had to get in to work. She was two hours late already, and even if she wasn’t up to the bustle of the café, it was better than sitting alone mulling over the depressing reality of a friendship that was evolving into something she didn’t want.

She had one more stop before she went to work, however.

Rachel jogged across the street, then walked down a block to a small liquor store she’d noticed a week ago. She went in and purchased a small bottle of vodka and a chilled Coke, along with a water bottle and a box of Altoids. Her mouth watered as she walked with an ever-quickening pace back to the café. Standing at the back entrance, she emptied the water bottle and some of the Coke onto the pavement, capped the bottle and returned it to the paper bag, then took a deep breath and let herself in.

“There you are.” Ruby Jean was just coming out of her office. “I’m so sorry to hear what happened, Rachel. How are you?”

“I’m doing okay, thanks. Tired, though.”

“I’ll bet. I was just headed to the bank, I’ll be back in a bit. I’ve got inventory all set up and ready to go, so if you could tackle that first, that would be great.”

“Sure thing.”

Ruby Jean left, and Rachel headed for the office. With the door shut and locked, she sat down and quickly opened the empty water bottle and the vodka. She took one quick sip from the vodka before dumping the rest of its contents into the water bottle and Coke can. Then she popped a breath mint, set the water bottle on the desk, and threw out the bag with the vodka bottle in it before unlocking the office door and sitting down to start work.

The alcohol swam through her veins and calmed the anxiety that had been building all morning. She felt like she could finally think.

After the inventory was finished, she ventured out into the café to check on operations and get some coffee. Jack gave her a warm smile when she appeared. “Hey, how did you sleep?”

“All right, actually. Thanks for staying.”

“Of course.”

“Was it a miserable night for you? I know how awful that couch is.”

He chuckled as he mixed a Sgt. Pepper Mint Hot Chocolate. “Now I know why you were so desperate to get that bed. But I was pretty wiped out; I would have had a half-decent night anywhere. I was just glad I could be there for you.”

She gave him a brief, platonic-looking hug. “Thanks.”

She left him to work and poured herself the largest cup of coffee they had. “Jack told me what happened,” Leah said as she came by to make a sandwich for a customer. “I’m so sorry. What a nightmare.”

Thanks a lot, Jack.
“Yeah, it is.”

“I’ve been there and done that, so if you need someone to talk to let me know. I’d be happy to commiserate.”

This took Rachel by surprise. “Your roommate nearly drank herself to death?”

“Well, not exactly. It was my brother.”

Her cynicism toward Leah instantly decreased. “Oh wow. I’m sorry.”

“It was a couple years ago, and he’s fine now—well, he’s not dead, anyway—so I’m over it.” She layered lettuce and tomato over turkey and slathered mayo on the bread as she spoke. “But it can be hard to process, as can the circumstances that caused the person to do it in the first place. So, point being, feel free to let me know if you wanted to talk or vent or whatever.” She took the sandwich to the counter, leaving Rachel to process the completely unexpected sliver of Leah’s story.

As the afternoon passed, Rachel found it harder and harder to concentrate. She kept alternately checking her cell phone to see if she’d missed a call from the hospital and taking sips from her inconspicuous bottle. Her thoughts kept going to what she’d say to Daphne when she finally saw her, to what life would be like at their apartment now and into the future. Jack’s shift ended and he went home, promising to come back for Rachel when hers was over so he could drive her home, or to the hospital, or to his place if she preferred. Rachel wished she could leave, too, since she wasn’t being very productive. But with two hours left of her shift, she had plenty that needed doing, regardless of whether or not she felt like doing it.

“I’m off—but not exactly,” Leah told Rachel when her shift ended. “I’m going to hang here and work on some stuff for school.”

“Oh—okay.” Rachel bit her lip, debating whether or not to satisfy her curiosity, then checked the clock to figure her break time.
Close enough.
“Would you mind if we talked for a few minutes first?”

“Of course not.” Rachel followed her to a table in the corner where Leah dumped her well-worn backpack.

“I don’t think I’ve ever asked you—what’s your major?”

Leah unzipped the bag and pulled out a binder and textbook. “Biblical studies.”

Rachel’s eyebrows arched as her defenses began to creep back up. “Oh, I thought you were a U of Chicago student.”

“Nope—Lakeshore Seminary.” She dropped the backpack to the floor and settled back in her seat. “So do you know when your roommate is being released?”

Rachel shook her head. “They won’t tell me anything because I’m not family, which is stupid because I’m the closest thing she has to family. She’s an only child, and her parents checked out on her years ago, back when we were kids. She spent more time at my house growing up than she did her own.”

“That’s awful. Talk about baggage.”

“You’ve got that right.” Rachel searched for a suitable segue but could think of nothing that wasn’t blunt. “So,” she finally said, “what happened with your brother?”

Leah sighed. “The short version is that he drank two cases of beer pretty much on his own.”

Rachel wrinkled her nose. “I can’t imagine drinking that much beer. It’s so nasty.”

“Yeah, I agree.” Leah chuckled. “But he wasn’t trying to kill himself—at least he says he wasn’t. And it makes sense, since other drinks would have done the job a lot faster if it had been a premeditated decision. He had some friends over, they were drinking in the basement, and he just … kept going. His friends left after a couple of hours and he stayed down there alone, watching movies and polishing off bottle after bottle. I couldn’t sleep, so I went to the kitchen for a snack and heard the TV on, so I went downstairs to see if Aaron had insomnia too. He was passed out on the couch, and I couldn’t wake him.”

A shudder passed through Rachel at the description that hit so close to home. “Then what happened?”

“Called 911, got my parents, went to the hospital with them. He was in for just a day before he came home.”

“So …” Rachel didn’t know how to phrase her next question without coming off as completely nosy. “I’m guessing there was more to it than he just got carried away and didn’t realize how much he was drinking, right?”

Leah nodded, the look in her eyes telling Rachel she knew what she was getting at. “This is the thing,” she said, resting her arms on the table, “my dad is … forceful, you might say, about the paths he wants his children to take in life. He’s a strong leader, has a very strong personality—everything about him is powerful and dominating.”

“You must take after your mother, then.”

Leah laughed. “I do; you’re right. But my brother takes after my dad. So they’ve been butting heads since Aaron was about two.” She sobered a bit. “The other thing is that my dad is sort of well-known in Chicago. He’s the pastor of one of the biggest churches in the city, and when we were growing up, there was a lot of pressure to put on a good face, be a good reflection of the ministry, that sort of thing.” She began to roll the corner of a sheet of notebook paper, a nervous habit Rachel could identify with. “Aaron always fought against it, but I, being the responsible firstborn, toed the line and did whatever was expected of me.” A half-smile quirked one corner of her mouth. “Although lately I’ve been pulling away from all that, so for once Aaron and I have been on the same page.”