“That’s true. Not the ‘ordinary’ part, I mean, but the part about voters liking you. Who wouldn’t like you?” Teri said loyally.
Smiling through her tears, Rachel dug in her purse for a second tissue. “I feel terrible, but it’s over now and I doubt I’ll hear from him again.”
Teri let a few seconds go by before she asked, “Have you talked to Bruce?”
“Not yet.” She exhaled slowly. “That conversation won’t be any easier than the one I had with Nate.”
“What makes you say that?”
Rachel frowned, shaking her head. “He’s behaving so oddly.”
“He’s in love with you,” Teri said confidently, “and it scares him.”
“Maybe,” Rachel said slowly. “Maybe…”
“Are you going to see Bruce anytime soon?”
She hesitated. “I don’t know yet.”
“Rachel!” Why were people so stubborn? First James and her sister, and now Rachel and Bruce. Teri felt as if she personally had to take charge, as if she knew what they needed better than they did.
“I will talk to him,” Rachel promised. She sat up straighter. “I tried to tell him on Friday after the…incident, but he didn’t want to hear it. He told me I needed someone, that anyone would do and he just happened to be convenient. But that’s not true,” she said vehemently. “We were supposed to talk the next day and it didn’t happen.”
“You have to tell him,” Teri insisted.
“I will,” she said again. “Can we talk about something else now?”
“Yeah, sure.” Teri wracked her brain. She’d read the Chronicle that morning; surely there’d been some article of interest. The Harbor Street Gallery had been sold and would be staying open, after all. That was the front-page story, so Rachel probably knew about it already. As she was mulling over the local news, the waitress delivered their order.
“Guess what I heard?” Rachel murmured into her soup. She’d chosen the cream of broccoli with cheese, plus a caesar salad. Teri’s meal looked bland by comparison. “The Taco Shack’s being turned into a barbecue place.”
“Say it ain’t so,” Teri groaned.
“I feel the same way.” Rachel sounded equally disappointed.
“You and Bruce used to go there a lot, didn’t you?” If she could’ve taken the words back, she would have. Rachel didn’t need to be reminded of that right now.
“Yeah.” Rachel stared out the window. The trees were bare and a few leaves skipped along the street, carried by the wind.
“How did the doctor’s appointment go?” she asked after a while.
“Fine. He suggested I walk every day.”
“You’re feeling okay?”
“I feel great,” Teri was quick to tell her. “All I need to do is keep my weight down a bit. It’s better for my blood pressure—and the baby.”
Rachel nodded. “I wonder if I’ll ever have children,” she said longingly.
“Of course you will. You should. You’re a natural with kids.” In fact, Teri marveled at her skill with children. Half her clientele seemed to be under the age of twelve. For that matter, it was how Rachel had met Bruce and Jolene, when Bruce had brought his daughter in for a haircut.
Rachel shrugged off the praise.
They paid for their lunch and started to walk along the waterfront, past the library and the marina, heading in the direction of the park.
“Don’t put off talking to Bruce,” Teri warned. “Really, what’s the worst that can happen?”
Hands deep in her pockets, Rachel looked out at the water. “The worst thing is, he might not love me.”
“Don’t kid yourself. I see how Bruce looks at you.”
A hint of a smile brightened Rachel’s face. “He depends on me to help him with Jolene.”
“Jolene loves you.”
“I love her, and Bruce knows that. He doesn’t want me to move to California and I’m afraid the only reason is his daughter.”
“I doubt it, but there’s one way to find out for sure, and that’s to ask him.”
Thirty-Eight
As it happened, Rachel had a visit from Jolene that same day. The girl phoned her after school to ask if she could come over. Rachel picked her up, and Jolene told her about a fight she’d had with her friend Michelle. Afterward, they painted their toenails and discussed the cute boys in her class. Rachel consoled Jolene about the apparent loss of her friendship with Michelle, then took her to the PancakePalace for an early supper. Jolene had, of course, called to obtain her father’s permission. At around seven o’clock, Rachel drove her home.
“Thanks, Rach, I had fun,” the twelve-year-old said as she opened the car door in front of her house.
Rachel shut off the engine. “I thought I’d come in and talk to your dad for a while.”
Jolene looked surprised and then pleased. “That would be great.”
Rachel drew on all her resolve, swallowed hard and walked to the house with Jolene.
“Dad!” the girl shouted as she stepped inside. “Rachel’s here.” When there was no response, she shouted again, louder this time. “Dad!” She peeked in the kitchen, then turned to Rachel. “He might be down in the basement.” Leaving her standing in the hallway, Jolene opened a door and disappeared.
Soon afterward, Bruce came upstairs with Jolene at his heels. He wore a blue plaid flannel shirt and had a liberal coating of sawdust in his hair and on his shoulders.
“Should I come back later?” Rachel asked.
“You can stay,” Jolene said airily. “Dad does stuff with wood. He’s always working on something.”
Funny Rachel never knew that about him. She had the feeling there was a lot she didn’t know.
“Bruce?” She looked at him, frowning. “Is that okay?”
He shrugged. “I was ready to take a break. By the way,” he told his daughter, “Michelle phoned.”
“She did?” Jolene’s eyes widened and she grinned at Rachel, who smiled encouragingly.
“I said you’d call her back as soon as you got home,” Bruce added.
“Should I?” the girl asked Rachel excitedly.
“Definitely. Call her back right now,” she suggested. “I was hoping to talk to your dad, anyway.”
Jolene gave her a thumbs-up and scampered off to make the call.
“How about if we have a cup of coffee?” she said to Bruce. That would give her something to hold, something to do. He might not need a prop, but she did.
Bruce nodded, brushing the sawdust from his hands, and accompanied Rachel into the kitchen. He pulled out a chair at the table for her.
The room was a mess. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink and a box of crackers had toppled and spilled on the countertop. There was a saucepan on the stove with the remains of some canned stew he’d heated up. The empty can stood nearby, beside a carton of milk.
“I wasn’t expecting company,” Bruce said. He put the milk in the refrigerator and turned to face her, hands tucked inside the back pockets of his jeans. “I’ll make coffee.”
“Don’t bother if it’s any trouble,” Rachel said.
“No trouble.” He reached for the glass pot, filled it with water and then emptied out the grounds from that morning.
“I wanted to thank you again for coming to the sheriff’s office the other night,” she began.
“Rachel, listen, I was just happy you weren’t hurt. It wasn’t any heroic deed to drive you home, so you can stop thanking me. Why don’t you get to the point?”
His abruptness took her aback.
She’d planned her little speech so carefully, but he was making this difficult. He stood as far away from her as his kitchen would allow, his hip pressed against the counter. “Actually,” she said, dragging in a deep breath, “there are several things I want to say….”
“Such as?” He continued with the coffee, pouring water into the machine and adding fresh grounds. When he’d finished, he straddled the chair across from her.
This was better. At least they were eye to eye. “Nate and I—” She didn’t get a chance to complete her sentence.
“So you’ve decided to marry him?” There was a distant look on his face, as if he’d already shut her out.
“No!”
“No?” he repeated.
“I won’t be marrying Nate.” If she was hoping for a reaction, Bruce seemed determined not to give her one. “In fact, I probably won’t see him again.”
The coffeemaker made a gurgling sound. Bruce leaped up and collected clean mugs from the dishwasher. “How do you take your coffee?”
Rachel was stunned he’d ask. After six years, he knew the answer to that as well as she did.
When she didn’t respond, he answered his own question. “Black, right?”
She found his show of indifference more than insulting; she found it hurtful. They’d had coffee together countless times!
All at once she was on her feet. “This was a bad idea.” Bruce didn’t need to say another word for Rachel to know his feelings. He had what he wanted, all he wanted, and that was a surrogate mother for his daughter.
“What do you mean?” he demanded.
“Coming here was a mistake.” She blamed Teri for this. Teri was the one who’d encouraged her to talk to Bruce. A lot of good that had done.
His eyes challenged her. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“Nothing’s going on, so don’t worry about it.” She grabbed her handbag. “I’m sorry to have bothered you, Bruce. It won’t happen again.” Not waiting for a reply, she headed out the door. At least now she knew, Rachel thought bitterly. He didn’t want her to marry Nate, but he didn’t want her himself. What an idiot she’d been.
“Rachel! Rachel!” It was Jolene who stood in the front door, calling after her.
Not Bruce.
Rachel waved but didn’t stop. Back home, she felt restless and irritated and angry and hurt. Nothing held her attention for long. Mostly she was furious, then she was weepy and then furious all over again.
She tried to read, but her thoughts wandered. Getting online, she answered a couple of e-mails but wasn’t in the mood for that, either. And she sure didn’t feel like calling any of her so-called friends.
Finally, she popped in her favorite DVD, The Princess Bride, and made microwave popcorn. Although she wasn’t hungry, she ate it anyway. Afterward she felt bloated and even more annoyed with herself.
At ten, she took a bath, put on her flannel nightgown and her extra-thick housecoat and flopped back down in front of the television to finish watching her movie.
She was startled when the doorbell rang at almost eleven. Checking the peephole, she staggered away from the door.
Bruce.
Heaving in a huge breath, she unfastened the lock and partially opened the door. “Yes?”
Bruce held a cardboard tray with two paper cups. “I brought coffee,” he said.