Reinventing Rachel (23 page)

“Aye, I follow you.”

She kept talking, spilling her fears about Daphne, her trepidation about her relationship with Jack, her disappointment with her parents. She even told him about how God seemed to disappear when she needed him most. It wasn’t until the door opened and a stream of customers entered that she realized how long she’d rambled on—yet again. Mortified, she dragged a napkin down her cheeks to dry them and dashed back behind the counter. When the crowd dissipated, she debated hiding in the back room until Declan left, but had a feeling he wouldn’t until they’d spoken again. Humiliated by her self-absorbed tirade, she slunk back to the table to apologize.

“Nonsense,” he said, giving her the warm smile that made her tingle. But the smile faded quickly. “I’m sorry to hear you’re so distressed. I’d like to pray for you, if I could.”

“You did hear me say that I’m not really sure I believe in God right now, right?”

He grinned with a twinkle in his eye. “I did. But
I
still believe in him. May I?”

She shrugged, both uncomfortable with the idea and secretly thrilled that he cared enough to want to. “I guess so. Knock yourself out.”

He closed his eyes. “Father God—”

“Wait a minute—you’re going to pray aloud, right now?”

He opened his eyes. “Did I not just say that?”

“I thought you were going to do it in your head. You know, another time.” Rachel had prayed aloud for countless of her youth group students, but she felt awkward being on the receiving end.

He tipped his head, considering. “I suppose I could. Might not do you as much good.”

She frowned. “What—you think God grants prayers better when they’re prayed out loud?”

He chuckled. “No, of course not. But hearing what someone prays for you can be a powerful thing. Sometimes just knowing what someone is praying for you can be an encouragement, even if God doesn’t choose to answer the prayer the way you’d hoped.”

She glanced around. Brian was engaged in cleaning the sandwich station. The shop wasn’t very full; the nearest customer was at least ten feet away. “Well … okay, fine. Just keep it down.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He smirked as he closed his eyes. She kept hers open, on the lookout. She listened as Declan prayed, asking God for peace and comfort, wisdom and grace, an end to the depression she was suffering from and healing in her relationships. The words weren’t fancy, the prayer was mercifully brief, and she had no confidence at all that God would hear and even care. But she grudgingly admitted in her heart that Declan had been right—hearing him pray on her behalf softened her mood a little. Not much, but enough to let hope get the smallest of toeholds.

He finished with “amen,” then opened his eyes and smiled. “Did you survive?”

She chuckled. “Yes, thank you.”

“Pleasure. I’m honored you felt comfortable enough with me to tell me all that you did. And you needn’t worry; I may not be a pastor, but I still won’t go blabbing your personal struggles to anyone.”

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. It was a text from Jack, which reminded her again that she’d spent too much time talking with Declan and needed to start working on her end-of-the-day duties. “I need to get going. Thanks again, Declan. I really do appreciate you letting me just talk.”

“You’re welcome, Rachel. Anytime—and I mean that.”

She knew he did, and she knew it wasn’t a good sign that she was so pleased to hear it.

She went back to the office and read the text from Jack.
Go out 2nite? Can pick u up from work.
She tapped out an answer, feeling guilty as she did.
Bad day. Just want 2 sleep. Thx tho. CU 2moro. XOX.
She knew that if tonight was anything like her nights had been for the last month, she wouldn’t actually do a lot of sleeping. But still, she looked forward to crawling into bed because for once she was just going to let herself do what she’d wanted to do for a while now: daydream about Declan. She was too tired to fight it, and if it brought her some comfort, then it would be worth it. She wouldn’t even let herself feel guilty about it.

At least, she hoped she wouldn’t.

o

When Declan walked into the café the next afternoon, Rachel had to work to convince herself he wasn’t there to see her.
He likes the coffee. It’s a great place to study. Who knows, maybe he’s just a really big Beatles fan
.

She wasn’t working the counter when he came in, just restocking the to-go selections in the deli case. She knew Jack would be coming in any minute for his shift, and she didn’t want him to see her talking with Declan because she knew he would take it the wrong way and get jealous. Though technically he would be taking it the right way. Rachel knew that, in truth, he did have a reason to be jealous.

She tried to look preoccupied in her work, but there was only so much brain power necessary to stock sandwiches and yogurt. Declan took a seat at the table closest to her. “Feeling any better this morning?”

“I did sleep a little better,” she said. “Thanks.” She smiled and found it didn’t feel as forced as it usually did these days.

“Glad to hear that,” he said. He sounded genuine, and she almost wished he’d stop being so caring. “I’m still praying for you, just so you know. Not out loud,” he said, eyes twinkling, “but praying nonetheless.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” She saw Jack emerge from the back and picked up her work pace, trying to offer subtle hints to Declan that she wasn’t available to talk. “Good luck studying today.”

He chuckled. “Thanks. I need all the help I can get.” He gently grabbed her wrist as she began to walk away. “And hey, I wanted to say something about this last night, but I didn’t.”

Her breath caught in her throat, anticipating the confession of attraction that would complicate her life even more but would make her so happy.

“I guess I just wanted to say that depression isn’t something to just grin and bear through. Regardless of whether or not God chooses to heal you, maybe you could find a therapist, or at least talk to a doctor. I’ve seen depression get pretty rough for people—it’ll steal your life away before you know it.”

Just as she was about to respond, Jack was right there and she knew he had heard what Declan had said. To Rachel’s further embarrassment, he looked plainly annoyed that she and Declan had been talking. “Hey, babe,” he said slowly. He looked to Declan. “It’s Declan, right?”

“Aye, nice to see you again—Jack, right?”

“Right.” He looked to Rachel. “Just wanted to come say hi,” he said quietly. “But I’ll leave you two to talk.”

“Oh, we were done,” she said quickly. “Enjoy your coffee, Declan.” She allowed herself a brief smile in his direction before retreating to the back room. Jack was needed at the counter, so she was safe in the office. She popped the sports top on her water bottle and took a few sips, then at an Altoid. She then ate an Altoid as she settled in to get some work done. Ruby Jean wanted to revamp the All Together Now website and had asked Rachel to take a stab at the content. She’d been tackling it on and off all day since coming in for her shift, and she still had only one paragraph to show for her time. She typed a sentence, deleted it, typed another one, then stared unseeing at the computer screen for untold minutes as she mentally flogged herself for thinking Declan might like her. When a knock sounded on the door she nearly jumped out of her chair. “Come in.”

The door opened and Jack leaned in. “Got a minute?”

“Yeah, of course.”

He closed the door and sat on the other office chair. “You’re depressed?”

Embarrassment burned in her cheeks. “I … I don’t know. I think maybe Declan overreacted to what I told him—”

“What did you tell him?”

She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye. Her gaze settled on Ruby Jean’s small Asian tapestry that hung behind him on the wall. “I don’t remember, exactly,” she said, which was mostly true. Jack’s sigh told her everything she had been afraid he’d think. “Look, it’s not what you’re thinking,” she said, forcing herself to meet his stare so he wouldn’t think she was lying. “Nothing is going on with him. He’s just a nice guy who likes to chat, that’s it. There’s no reason to be jealous.”

Jack slowly shook his head. “He may just be some nice guy, but it’s clear you’ve been more open with him than you have been with me. So don’t tell me I have no reason to be jealous.”

“Look, Jack—”

“I don’t want to get into this here—it’s not right, we’re both on the clock.” He stood and went to the door. “Tell me one thing, though,” he said as he opened it. “You’ve never said a thing to me about being sad, much less depressed. Why? Why did you tell some guy you barely know and not your boyfriend?”

She had an answer, but there was no way she could give it, not at work when she had no time to try to soften the blow. “I don’t know,” she said. The words sounded as hollow as her heart felt. She hoped he didn’t hear them that way.

His shoulders dropped, along with his eyes. “I think you do.” He shut the door behind him.

Chapter 17

It had been a long four days. Rachel and Jack danced around each other at work, interacting when necessary but never getting personal beyond the polite, “How are you today?” When she wasn’t at the café she was in her room trying (usually unsuccessfully) to get lost in a book, or watching mindless TV to try to drown out the noise in her head. She avoided Daphne as much as possible, and Daphne was apparently doing the same. She was going through the motions of work, sleep, and eat, while slowly sinking deeper into an inescapable pit of despair.

She came home Thursday night with a headache, wanting nothing more than to make the fastest, easiest dinner possible and then go to bed. As she headed up the stairs, she noticed the motion-activated porch light wasn’t working. She waved her hand in front of it to no avail, then let herself into the apartment.

All the lights were out. She flicked the switch next to the door, waiting for the ceiling light to come on, but nothing happened. She looked around the living room and kitchen for signs that the power was on but found none. The digital clock on the microwave was out, as was the little red light on the DVD player. She switched on the lamp beside the sofa. No luck.

“What on earth?” she said aloud, moving into her bedroom. Her clock glowed, but there was a backup battery in it. She turned on her computer to check the battery, then took a peek in Daphne’s room, which yielded nothing different.

She sat in front of her computer as it booted up, then realized she couldn’t get online—the modem had no power. Groaning, she called the electric company’s outage line, which provided troubleshooting tips after stating there was no known outage in her area. “Blown fuse” was the only possibility that made sense.

She went back to the kitchen and rummaged through the junk drawer until she found a flashlight, then set about finding the fuse box. She finally located it in the closet with the water heater, but when she opened it up, nothing looked amiss. Tossing the flashlight on the couch, she steeled herself for her first visit to the marijuana-dealing neighbors downstairs.

She was halfway down when she caught a glimpse in the neighbors’ window—and saw a lit lamp. She frowned, descended a few more steps to get a better look. Yes, the bottom floor was well lit, as was every other house around them. Their flat was the only one that was dark.

She ascended the stairs again, frustration growing. There was only one reason this would be happening. The bill hadn’t been paid.

Where is Daphne!?

She opened the fridge and moved as many items into the freezer as possible to help keep things cold, then made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and tried to call Daphne’s cell. It went straight to voice-mail. Her frustration morphed to anger as she ate, then did her dishes, then fixed a drink, and then another. By ten-thirty she was exhausted, irate, and ready to make good on her threat to move out.

She heard Daphne’s feet on the stairs at nearly eleven. She barely let her get the door closed before she started in on her. “When did you pay the power bill?”

“Why are you sitting in the dark?” Daphne flipped the switch, then flipped it again.

“Take a wild guess.”

“I don’t know why—” Daphne’s indignation was just a second too slow in coming.

“I checked my checkbook,” Rachel said. “I wrote out my half of the bill two weeks ago. Why didn’t you pay it?”

“I did pay it.”

“Then why did they shut off our power?”

“It must be something else. Like the circuit breaker.”

“Checked it already.”

“Maybe the folks downstairs—”

“They’re just fine, Daphne, and you know it.”

“I’m sure it’s just a mistake.”

Rachel laughed. “A mistake? Like, someone accidentally elbowed the switch that keeps us on? Tripped on the plug, ripped it out of the generator? Right, Daphne, it’s just a big mistake.” Rachel slammed her glass on the counter. “Get me our account number. I’ll take care of it.”

“What?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“No—I’ll do it.”

“Forget it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t trust you anymore.”

Daphne fell silent, then finally spoke after a long glare at Rachel. “Fine.”

Rachel called the payment line and keyed in their account number. The account history listed payments of half the amount owed being deposited late for the last four months. The outstanding balance was nearly three hundred dollars. She groaned as she entered her credit card number.
How long until our power is back on?

She went to Daphne’s bedroom and opened the door without knocking, then threw the bill inside. “Three hundred bucks, Daphne.” She slammed the door and retreated to her bedroom, where she locked her own door and went straight to bed.

o

It was like a warped sense of déjà-vu. Rachel stood in the shower, waiting for the hot water to start running. No matter how far she turned the lever, nothing but cold water came out.

Do I have “sucker” written on my forehead? Or has Daphne seriously lost her mind?

She put on her robe and rapped twice on Daphne’s door to announce herself, then entered uninvited. “Really, Daphne? The gas, too?” Daphne rolled over and clamped a pillow to her head. “Unbelievable, Daph. What is going on with you?” Rachel began rummaging through the clutter on Daphne’s desk.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Daphne rolled off the bed and moved to the desk.

“I’m looking for the gas bill. One of us has to pay for it.”

Daphne hip-checked Rachel out of the way then yanked open a drawer of files. Rachel was surprised to see an oasis of organization in the drawer, but she was too angry at Daphne to pay her a compliment. She saw the file marked with the name of the gas company and pulled it out, then went to her room to call and see how much this bill was going to cost her. Her savings account had been diminished by more than half when she’d paid off the electric bill. Hopefully that check from her mother would arrive soon.

This time not even Rachel’s payments had been received. The bill was just under a hundred dollars.

After Rachel paid the bill, she steeled herself for conflict and headed back to Daphne’s room to try and get to the bottom of what was going on with her. Where had all her money gone, and why was she acting so irresponsibly? But when Rachel opened the door, Daphne was gone.

o

During a rare moment when they were alone together at work, Jack asked Rachel if she’d go out with him after their shift. “Maybe we can get some dinner or something,” he said, eyes cast down like he was nervous to talk to her. She hated that he felt that way. She was sure her lack of enthusiasm was becoming more apparent to him. Given the fact that she’d turned down all his invitations over the last two weeks, he had a good reason to be nervous.

“Yeah, that would be great.” The surprise on his face made her hate herself.

She spent the rest of the day dreading the evening and even briefly considered just breaking up with him when they went out. They weren’t much of a couple these days anyway, and she wasn’t planning on staying with him forever, so why keep dragging it out? But she changed her mind when she realized it would mean losing yet another person in her life. At this point he was the only one she trusted at all.

They drove in relative silence to a Chinese place they’d gone to once over the summer, and after their food was ordered, Jack seemed to draw himself up taller and square his shoulders. Rachel had a bad feeling. What was he gearing up for?

“So, I wanted to talk to you.”
Oh boy.
“Rachel, I’m really worried about you.”

Huh?
“Worried? Why?”

“Two reasons. First, the fact that you’re obviously struggling emotionally and haven’t said anything. I’m your boyfriend. Why wouldn’t you share that?”

She squirmed in her seat.
Tell him the truth or keep band-aiding until I can figure out how to get out?
“I’m sorry, Jack. I guess … I don’t know … I didn’t want to burden anyone. I don’t think I’m really depressed, just … struggling. Like you said. And I guess I was hoping it would just go away if I didn’t pay it too much attention.”

He shook his head. “It’s not a burden, Rach. I’m the person who’s supposed to help you with stuff like that. Man, your fiancé must have been one heck of an idiot for you to have such a warped idea of how to have a healthy relationship.”

His words gave Rachel something to think about. “I never thought of that.”

“Well, the idea must have come from somewhere.” He picked up a pair of chopsticks and began to click them together. “The fact that you’ve been
struggling
helps me understand some other things, though.”

“Like what?”

“Like your drinking.”

“What do you mean?”

He rolled his eyes. “Drop the act, Rachel. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve smelled alcohol on your breath—even at work. For someone who was so excited about that promotion you sure have been taking chances with it. And don’t give me that whole ‘it’s just a couple drinks—it’s like you having two beers’ crap, because I won’t buy it.”

Indignation burned in her cheeks and her chest. “Why is alcohol any different from drinking a Coke, or an energy drink? I like the taste, it helps me relax—you make it sound like I’m gulping down gallons every day, and I’m just not. Daphne’s the one who got alcohol poisoning, not me. And if I was that bad, don’t you think I’d have come into work totally drunk by now? Just because you smell it on my breath doesn’t mean you know how many I’ve had, and who are you to say how many is too many for me?”

Jack stared at her, silent, for far longer than Rachel was comfortable with. Finally she returned it with an exaggerated stare of her own. “Why aren’t you talking?”

“Because I’m trying to figure out if I trust you or not.”

“I lied about feeling a little depressed so I must be lying now, is that what you’re thinking?” She shrugged. “Fine, think whatever you want.” She slouched back in her seat, sullen, silently daring him to push the issue.

He sighed and sat back, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t want this to turn into a fight, all right? I’m not out to get you. You’re my girlfriend and I’m worried about you. That’s all.”

The disappointment in his voice tugged on her conscience. “I’m sorry,” she finally offered. “I appreciate your concern. Just … don’t be concerned, okay?”

She could tell he wasn’t convinced, but he dropped it anyway—not that the next topic was any better.

“And I know you said this Declan guy is just a friend—”

“Yes. Barely even that. He was in the right place at the right time, that’s about it. I happened to be on the verge of a mental meltdown, and he happened to be there and ask just the right question to get me going.” Again doubt was evident in his eyes. “Look—he’s a Christian, and a serious one at that. Not only would I not want to get involved with a Christian, a Christian wouldn’t want to get involved with me. I left the faith when I moved out here. I don’t trust it anymore, I don’t know if I believe in God anymore, and someone who
did
wouldn’t want to get involved with someone who didn’t.” She spread her hands, surrendering. “End of story.”

“So … I don’t have to worry about getting some Dear John letter and then finding out you two have run off together?”

She rolled her eyes, hoping to look convincing. “No.”

His eyes narrowed for a moment, then he nodded. “All right then.” He reached across the table, his expression softening. “Truce?”

She took his hands and squeezed. “Truce.”

“No more awkwardness?”

“No more awkwardness.”

He nodded again, then leaned across the table to kiss her. She indulged the gesture, but all she really wanted to do was leave.

o

She could hear music thumping in the apartment the moment she stepped out of Jack’s car. Rachel looked up to the windows and saw only the accents of mood lighting, though no Make-Out Can sat in the window. Not that Daphne would hear Rachel coming up, anyway. She waved to Jack and ascended the steps, bracing herself for Daphne’s attitude. She wasn’t likely to take it well when Rachel asked her to turn it down so she could try to sleep.