Reinventing Rachel (7 page)

Rachel wandered the store while Daphne changed, feigning interest in cruise wear and overpriced accessories while she mulled over Daphne’s selection. It was unique, it was gorgeous—and it was shockingly expensive. She might be good at her job, but that didn’t mean she was rich. How could she afford to shop the way she did?

Daphne’s conversation with Marc came back to her. What had he witnessed to make him think Daphne had a problem—and what kind of problem did he think she had?

Her ruminations were cut short when Daphne swept back the curtain and stepped out into the room like she owned the place. And rightfully so—she
was
gorgeous. The black slacks were slightly flared and rested snugly on her hips, though Rachel didn’t even notice them until she’d stared at Daphne’s chest for five solid seconds. Rachel had expected her to look like a showgirl on her way to the theater, but she didn’t. She looked glamorous, self-possessed, and unabashedly sexy. Rachel could just picture the commotion she would cause when they went out that night—and was embarrassed to realize she was ever-so-slightly jealous.

o

Before Rachel was willing to shop any more, she insisted on coffee. They stopped at a small café, where a barista took their order, then returned minutes later with a blended latte for Rachel and an Americano for Daphne. For the first time since she began drinking coffee, Rachel found herself wishing she had something else in her hand—like another one of those yellow submarines. Or maybe another Baileys, which Daphne had gotten her in the casino late last night.
But this is definitely better than nothing.
Rachel took a long pull at the frosty drink, then sank back in her seat and sighed. “That hits the spot.”

“You’re such an addict.”

Rachel grinned, though for the first time the label rubbed her the wrong way.

They sipped their drinks in silence for a few minutes until Daphne sat up straight and pointed across the way. “I think I’ve found your dress.”

Cups drained, they went into the boutique, where Daphne hunted down the dress in Rachel’s size. She held the midnight blue sheath against Rachel and smiled.
“Sacré bleu,
it’s perfect!”

Rachel flicked the price tag around.
“Sacré bleu
is right. That’s one month’s rent right there. Forget it.”

Daphne sighed and returned it to the rack. “You’ve got to let that go.”

“What, frugality? That’s not an exclusively religious trait. Besides, I can’t afford to let it go, given what I make. You do want me to pay my share of the utilities, right?”

She smiled. “Yeah, I suppose so.” She slid hangers along the rack, then pulled out a halter dress. “Ah, we have a contender!” The thin black material was accented with three interweaving lines of crystals that swept down on a wavy diagonal from the neck to the hem. “That is slinky, sexy, and sparkly—the fashion trifecta. Can’t go wrong with that.” She found the price tag and let out an unsophisticated whoop. “Bingo!”

Rachel conceded with a nod. “And surprisingly, not too over the top—I could actually wear that again. Okay, I’ll try it on.”

Rachel entered the changing room while Daphne leaned against the wall outside. “Tell me it’s okay for me to wear something like this,” Rachel called out to Daphne after pulling on the dress.

Daphne chuckled. “It’s totally okay for you to wear that.”

“I mean, tell me guys aren’t going to think I’m begging for … something.”

“Well, they might.”

Rachel froze. “What?”

“But it doesn’t matter what they think. You dress for you, not for other people. You dress for how your clothes make you feel.”

Rachel zipped up the back and examined herself in the mirror. She certainly liked how it made her feel—and look. Not that it meant it was okay, regardless of what Daphne said. She opened the door and Daphne let out a hoot. “Hold your horses, cowgirl,” Rachel said. “I don’t want to get myself in any trouble.”

“What do you mean?”

“You just said guys might think this is some kind of invitation.”

Daphne waved a hand. “Well, maybe, but your attitude will go a long way in sending that invitation too—or not. Act like a tramp, you’ll get treated like a tramp. Act like a lady, you’ll get treated like a lady. Most of the time, anyway. And I can’t imagine you ever acting any way
but
ladylike, so I wouldn’t worry. Plus, you know I’ll totally have your back.”

“You’d better.”

“You know I will.” Daphne smiled. “Have I ever steered you wrong?” Rachel admitted she hadn’t.
Though there’s a first time for everything.

o

The evening air as they walked toward the Mirage felt only slightly cooler than it had earlier that afternoon. Despite the time of night, the sidewalk was still bustling and the traffic still bumper to bumper. “This really ought to be labeled the city that never sleeps.”

Daphne laughed. “Seriously. What could New York possibly have over Vegas?”

Rachel shied away from yet another person shoving advertisements for escort services in her face. “Class, perhaps.”

Catcalls and wolf whistles followed them to the casino, and while each one made Rachel flush again with embarrassment, Daphne seemed to neither care nor even notice. Rachel made a mental note to ask her later how she managed to cultivate such cool confidence. She could use some of that.

They reached the entrance to the JET Nightclub, and Daphne handed over her two VIP tickets. They were directed to the velvet rope and ushered past the long line of those waiting to get in. Rachel followed close behind Daphne as they entered the first of JET’s three dance rooms. “Let’s stay here,” Daphne said over the thumping bass. “Good dance music, and I hear it’s a lot more crowded in the main room.”

Rachel kept an eye on her, trying to mimic her careless posture and easy confidence. They skirted the dance floor and headed to the bar, where Daphne ordered drinks.

“Cosmopolitans,” Daphne explained as Rachel sipped the fruity cocktail. “I’ll get some waters later on too—don’t want to get dehydrated, and alcohol just makes that worse.”

They scoped out the room for a place to park themselves, then Daphne hooked her arm through Rachel’s and led her to a place against a far wall. Even after spending a few minutes studying how others were dancing, Rachel still found herself doubting her ability to not stick out like a sore thumb. “Here we go,” Daphne said close to her ear, a minute later. “Are you ready to dance?”

“Why don’t you start, and I’ll jump in when I’m ready.”

Daphne swigged the remainder of her drink and set it on a bar table, then headed to the floor. As she undulated in her bra-like top and skinny pants, eyes closed and limbs moving like ribbon in water, Rachel was overcome with a sense of internal chaos. She was so far from her comfort zone she couldn’t even spot it with binoculars. She looked down at her dress and smoothed her hair. This was so not her—at least, not the old her. Perhaps she would find this environment inviting after she’d had more time to adjust her thinking. She took a gulp of her cosmo, hoping it would speed up the process.

The music changed, and Rachel found herself drawn to the dance floor.
Might as well give it a shot.
She set her empty glass down and moved toward Daphne, letting her body sway and glide with the beat. She found herself enjoying the experience, despite not knowing what she was doing. She just hoped she didn’t look stupid.

Her eyes were half-closed in an attempt to shut out the looks she caught from other people, but when she opened them to check her surroundings, she found she was being closely watched. A man leaned against the wall, hands in the pockets of his khakis, his white T-shirt glowing under the black lights, and the weight of his stare was like a hand pushing gently on her chest.

She looked around for Daphne, but she was in her own little world, oblivious to the people around her. Rachel steeled her nerves and forced herself to meet his gaze. A shaky smile curved her lips, and when he smiled in return, she had to look away to keep from laughing.

The music slowed, but not so much as to drive all the singletons off the floor. Daphne adjusted her moves to the music, and Rachel did the same. She closed her eyes, swaying while fighting the urge to check on the blonde boy, but then she sensed someone in her personal space and opened her eyes. She wasn’t surprised when she saw him, though she was surprised when he leaned in, his hand braced on her hip, and said into her ear, “You’re gorgeous.”

Not even Patrick had ever called her gorgeous.

She flitted her gaze up and away and back again as she flashed a bashful smile and mouthed “thank you.” But she couldn’t just keep staring back because she felt like an embarrassed idiot, so she closed her eyes again.

She was frantically debating what to do when the city’s well-known slogan popped into her head.
What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.…

Would it kill her to loosen up a little, just this once?

She stood a little straighter and moved herself in a slow circle as she danced. She put a little more sway in her hips, making the skirt of her dress swish around her knees. Her heart was pounding now, not just from exertion or the music, but from a new sense of daring. She hoped, though she wasn’t sure, that this was flirting. She’d never really done it before—at least not in a sensual way. But knowing she had a captive audience gave her a boost. She conjured every image she’d ever seen of sexy, powerful women and tried to channel their energy.

Suddenly the stranger kissed her, and she nearly fell over from the electricity. She was acutely aware of his hands, one of which now rested on the small of her back, and of his scent, which was a mix of alcohol and sweet cologne, and of course of his lips, which were soft but strong and were kissing her in a way she’d never been kissed in her life. She beat back memories of all the old “good girls don’t” youth-group sermons that flooded her mind because she didn’t want it to end.

Then she was aware of all the ways in which her body was not only welcoming this advance but responding to it. She had a whole new appreciation for how easy it was for a girl to get herself “in trouble.” With this realization, Rachel’s engrained sense of propriety and self-preservation took over, and she gently brought her hands up to his chest and eased herself away.

He didn’t take this as a hint to leave, however, and then she didn’t know what to say. She scrambled for an excuse and finally blurted, “I’m engaged.”

“I’m not surprised.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry. I—I should, um … go.”
Lame
. “But … thanks for the kiss. Made my night.”

He didn’t appear wounded that she was giving him the brush-off. “My pleasure.” He didn’t move, though, and she realized she’d have to be the one who left. She removed her hands from his chest, muscular under the T-shirt, and with some kind of extra gravity that made pulling away much harder than it should have been, walked slowly toward the bar, mentally begging Daphne to meet her there.

The mental link developed over twenty years of friendship did its job, and she was beside Rachel in a heartbeat, handing money to the bartender in exchange for two waters. Rachel drained half of hers in one go, steadying herself against the bar, then finally met Daphne’s eyes. One look at her and Rachel knew Daphne had seen it all. Daphne put a hand on her arm. “Wow.”

Rachel laughed, but her hands were starting to shake and her legs felt like rubber bands. As the heat from the rendezvous slipped away, her veins filled with ice, and a ball of adrenaline sat in her stomach like lead shot. The intimacy of that kiss was more than she’d experienced in fourteen months with Patrick, but for once she didn’t see this as yet another shortcoming of that relationship. Instead, she was sickened by what she’d just done.

She took another drink of her water, then caught the man looking at her again from a table where a group of guys stood talking. A little shiver ran up her spine and she turned away, pleased and embarrassed. It was almost a shame that what happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas—she wouldn’t mind another one of those kisses.

Chapter 8

The plane touched down at LAX, and Rachel’s breath was suddenly hard to find. It was so much easier in Las Vegas—easier to relax, easier to forget what had happened back in LA. But the last time she’d landed there she’d been coming back from a missions trip in Brazil, and those memories bobbed to the surface like apples in a barrel: shiny, inviting, promising sweetness and satisfaction if only she bit into one and allowed herself to re-embrace the innocence and faith she’d had back then. What was it about apples and temptation? She smothered the memories with the newer ones of Trisha and Patrick, effectively squelching any desire that might have been stirring for her to go back to the life she’d had before.

She wheeled her carry-on through the terminal, her steps slowing as she reached the exit to ground transportation. There was no one to meet her this time, no one to welcome her back and sling her luggage into the trunk and listen to her stories of the weekend. Instead, she had her choice of a cab or a SuperShuttle, both of which would provide her with a silent trip back to the apartment she used to call home. She and Daphne had settled on early June for Rachel’s relocation, and now she didn’t know how she’d stand to live in California for one more day, let alone two more weeks.

By the time the shuttle reached her apartment complex, Rachel’s stomach was a clenched fist of nerves. Neither Trisha’s nor Patrick’s car could be seen, so she ran up the stairs to make sure she was safe in her bedroom before they showed up. With the door locked behind her she was able to relax, and after a few minutes of rest she got to work preparing for her move. The sooner she was packed, the sooner she could leave this depressing life behind.

She was in the process of culling her closet when the front door opened and shut. She froze, listening for footsteps. Only one set could be heard—Trisha must be home. She wasn’t ready to talk to her—or Patrick—yet. Still, she went over the list of things she needed to say to both of them that Daphne had helped her compose over breakfast that morning. She needed to be prepared for when she finally had to face them both again. Without a script she knew she’d fall apart.

Rachel tried to keep busy until Trisha left again, but as the evening wore on it seemed like she must be in for the night. Rachel’s stomach could only wait so long for its next meal, so after bagging up the clothes she’d chosen to donate to Goodwill, she took a deep breath, steeled her courage, and opened the bedroom door.

Trisha’s bedroom door was closed, and Rachel let out a sigh of relief as she skittered to the kitchen to throw together a meal. She was just about to celebrate having eluded her roommate when Trisha’s door opened and she appeared, empty plate in hand.

The two women froze face-to-face in the living room. Trisha flushed and her eyes darted down after an initial stare of shock. Rachel was about to slip past her and leave the confrontation for another day when a knock at the front door made them both jump. The door opened to Patrick carrying a stack of flattened moving boxes. His mouth opened and shut, wordless, and his arms gripped the boxes harder as though they could shield him from Rachel’s narrow-eyed stare.

They each stood still, tension triangulated. No one wanted to make the first move. Then Rachel recognized her unique position in this situation—she was the one with the power. She could absolve them, guilt them, tear into them—she set the tone. This gave her the confidence she needed to make the opening gambit. “Well, this is ridiculous. Just come in.” Patrick pushed the door open and shut it behind him with a light kick. She pointed to the boxes he set down in the living room. “What are those for?”

Trisha licked her lips. “I was, um, going to move out for a bit.”

Rachel waved a hand. “Don’t bother. I’m moving out.”

“You are?” Relief was visible on both their faces. It made her want to scream.

“Yes. To Chicago, actually. The sooner the better. But I’m not going to waste my time trying to find a roommate for you.”

“Oh, yeah. Okay. That’s fine,” Trisha said quickly, nodding like a bobblehead.

Rachel turned her stare to Patrick, and for a brief moment she was overwhelmed with sadness. Those eyes that had gazed so often into hers with what she thought was love, that mouth that had once tenderly kissed hers—how would she ever erase those memories and move on?

She took a deep breath and let the air out slowly, concentrating on not crying. “Do me a favor and don’t come here anymore until I move out, all right? It’s like being stabbed in the heart again, seeing you here, and I can’t bear to have it keep happening over and over.” He nodded, gaze cast to the floor, silent. “I don’t know what the protocol is supposed to be, but I’m going to keep the engagement ring. Not because I want it, but because I might need the money.”

She had nothing else to say, and neither did they, apparently. The silence was deafening. With a sigh, Rachel picked up the boxes and went to her room.

When she went in for her shift the next day, she made it a point to talk privately with Julia, the multipierced, combat-boot wearing agnostic whom she’d been hounding to join her at Bible studies. She found herself identifying a lot more with Julia today. And feeling the need to apologize to her.

“Cute top,” Julia said when Rachel emerged from the office to fix herself a drink.

“Thanks—got it in Vegas this weekend.”

Julie’s eyes bugged. “Rachel went to Vegas?”

“She did.”

“What for—some kind of Bible convention or something?”

Rachel laughed. “No—vacation, actually. My life lately has been a nightmare. I needed it.”

“Oh no. What happened?”

Rachel tamped a shot of espresso and secured the portafilter to the machine, then launched into an abbreviated version of recent events. After recounting all the sordid details, she put a hand on the barista’s arm and said, “And Julia, I am so sorry for … you know, pushing all the church and Bible study stuff on you since you started working here.” Rachel shook her head, avoiding Julia’s surprised eyes. “I’m so embarrassed now. I was so incredibly misguided; I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Julia gave her a small smile. “Well, thanks for the apology. But it was sweet that you cared so much. No one had ever shown so much concern for my mortal soul.”

Rachel could see now that concern for Julia’s soul hadn’t been the driving motivation like she thought it had been. In reality, she had craved the praise of her parents, of Barbara and her other Christian friends, when she’d be able to tell them Julia had converted. The realization added to the anger that seemed to sit just below the surface these days.

“So now what?” Julia asked as she mopped up a splash of milk from the counter. “You’re not going to keep living with Trisha, are you?”

“Good grief, no. But I’m not just moving—I’m relocating. To Chicago.”

Julia giggled and let out an expletive. “No way! You’re such a California girl, how will you survive the winters?”

Rachel laughed. “I’m not
that
bad. Besides, there are these great inventions called winter coats. They’re apparently quite toasty.”

Julia chuckled. “Well, anyway, I’m really excited for you. I can imagine how hard it would be to stay here.”

As if on cue, the shop door opened and admitted a knot of women from Beach Cities Church.

Rachel’s stomach seized. Undecided on whether to face them or flee, she lost her opportunity to leave and was caught in their sights. “Oh, look—Rachel’s working today,” said Melanie, director of the women’s retreat and summer Bible study. “Good to see you, Rachel. I looked for you Sunday but Patrick said you were out of town. I wanted to see if …”

Hearing Patrick had gone to church Sunday caught her off-guard, and her mind didn’t catch the rest of what Melanie said. “I, um … I’m sorry, did you say you saw Patrick on Sunday?”

Melanie nodded. “Yeah. Where did you go? Somewhere fun, I hope.”

“Vegas. What else did Patrick say, or was that it? Just that I was out of town?”

All six of them froze, eyes locked on Rachel. She knew well how honed their radars were for juicy news, aka “prayer requests.” Melanie chuckled, a look of confusion on her face. “Well … yes, that’s all. I mean, I didn’t stop him for a big conversation, just asked if you were around. Why?”

Rachel shook her head, stymied. He hadn’t said anything the night before about seeking forgiveness, trying to get right with God—was he just moving on, hoping she wouldn’t say anything to anyone? How long did he think he could live in that dream world before everyone saw him for the sham he was?

“He’s been cheating on me with my roommate. I broke off the engagement.”

Six jaws dropped in unison and let out various squeaks of disbelief. Liz, a woman Rachel got along well with but had neglected in favor of Patrick, reached out to grab her hand. “Rachel, that’s horrible. I’m so sorry. What can we do for you?”

She snorted. “Honestly? Call him out next time you see him. I can’t believe he hasn’t come clean.”

Apparently it wasn’t the kind of request Liz had been expecting.

“I—um, well, I meant, can we take you out to lunch sometime, let you talk through how you’re handling things? Or maybe help you find a new place to live—”

“I have a friend with a two-bedroom condo,” said Denise, a fellow high school ministry leader. “I could ask her if she’d consider renting out—”

“Thanks, thanks,” Rachel said, “but I’m handling it my own way.”

“Your own way?” said Liz.

“You’re not going to leave for another church, are you?” said Denise.

“No, I’m not going to another church. I’m moving to Chicago.”

Six gasps. “By yourself?” said Liz.

“I have a friend who lives there. She’s going to let me live with her.”

“Oh, well, she’ll help you get hooked up at a good church then.”

Here we go.
“Actually, she’s not a Christian.”

“Oh.” Wary looks ratcheted Rachel’s irritation up another notch. Liz continued. “Well, she can still support you, that’s great. And I’ll bet you could find a bunch of churches on the Internet to try out once you get there. We’ll pray that she goes with you.”

That they would push church like it was all-important got under Rachel’s skin. That they would shy away from confronting Patrick when he was obviously trying to get away with his abominable behavior, and instead try to make things right for Rachel by just offering to take her to lunch made her simmering anger boil over. “Actually, I don’t think I’ll be going to church when I get out there.”

Silence.

“I just need a break,” Rachel continued. She knew any explanation she gave would be pointless, but she wanted to give them, the unwitting representatives of the life she was leaving behind, a piece of her mind. “I’m really angry at God right now. My parents are divorcing too—has word of that gotten around yet? And the whole mess with Barb Livingston, too—” She let out a mirthless chuckle. “The last couple weeks have been pure hell. And I’m having trouble just sweeping it all away and pretending like my life isn’t completely shattered. I need to take some time away and maybe start my faith over from scratch.”

None of the women had a response to that. Rachel shrugged. “So, what can I get you to drink?”

Teas, coffees, and waters dispensed, Rachel flashed one last weary smile before turning her back to them and pulling in a massive breath. Julia squeezed her arm in passing, and Rachel’s ears caught snatches of denunciation as the women slinked out the door to spread the word.

o

At the end of the week, Rachel had a moment of panic.

Half her bedroom was already in boxes, a sizable chunk of her possessions had found a temporary home at Goodwill, and through a serendipitous conversation with a customer, she had a buyer for her car. She’d given her two-week notice to Roy and secured the promise of a glowing reference for whatever jobs she applied for in Chicago. She had a nonrefundable one-way ticket to Chicago and two quotes from relocation companies on the cost of shipping her things. In short, she was almost ready to go.

She’d been walking home from her Friday morning shift when it hit her. This city, this culture, her family, this life—they were all she’d ever known. And she planned to turn her back on it all. Was she out of her mind?

She’d never made such a big decision without spending time in prayer and seeking counsel from her parents, friends, and mentor. And here she was, making the biggest decision she’d ever faced, and doing it entirely alone.