Reinventing Rachel (9 page)

That made her laugh. “That sounds about right.” Rachel bit her lip, eyes cast out the window as she formulated her next sentence. “Hey, the other night, when I called …”

Daphne frowned. “When did you call?”

“Friday night.”

Daphne shook her head. “I don’t remember you calling.”

“Well, you were sort of … weird on the phone. I was telling you about how I was having a moment of panic, and you—”

“Ohhhh. I remember now.” She grasped Rachel’s knee, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry. When you called, I was hanging out with a friend from work.…” She gave Rachel a sheepish look. “We were smoking. I was a little—” She whistled and flourished her hand around.

“You were high?”

Daphne laughed. “As the stars in the sky. Anyway, sorry
.
I feel terrible that I was not in the right frame of mind to be of more help.”

Rachel wasn’t sure how to respond. “Oh—um, it’s all right. So ... how long until we get to the apartment?”

“Another twenty minutes or so. What’s the plan for tonight?”

Rachel glanced out the window at the freeway view. “Not a mosey around the neighborhood, I’m guessing. Any suggestions for dinner?”

“I bought fixings for fettuccine Alfredo.”

“My favorite,” Rachel said, offering Daphne a knowing smile.

“Yeah, dummy, that was the point.” Daphne slugged her in the arm with a wink. “I have to work tomorrow, so no late night for me. But I can help you unpack or draw up a map of the area or help you look for jobs. There’s a mini-mart around the corner—we can pick up a paper if you want the classifieds.”

They spent the rest of the ride brainstorming the plans for Rachel’s first day. By the time they reached the apartment the rain had stopped, though the sidewalk in front of the Victorian house where Daphne rented was more puddle than asphalt. They split the fare at Rachel’s insistence, then began the trek down the alleyway beside the house and up the rickety wooden steps which led to the second story.

The apartment was unlike anything Rachel had ever seen in stucco-and-tile-crazed Orange County. Though the front room was small, its high ceilings prevented it from feeling cramped. Molding surrounded all the windows and doorframes, and a beautiful brick fireplace with a tiled hearth was centered in the far wall. To the left a bar separated the front room from the galley kitchen, and a short hallway ended in a white tiled bathroom with bedroom doors facing each other on either side. A giant bay window provided a view of the oak-lined street as well as copious amounts of natural light. “This place is amazing!”

Daphne smiled. “I know. I love it. The University of Chicago is just a couple blocks away, so there are tons of students in the area. Really fun neighborhood. Lots of parties.” She continued to talk as she hefted one of the muddy-bottomed suitcases toward the left-hand bedroom. “This is your room. Not super spacious, but quieter because it’s in the back. No furniture, sorry—but there are a couple cool consignment and resale places in the area, so you should be able to pick stuff up for cheap.”

The room was indeed simple, though being in the corner it had two windows and was well lit even with the cloudy weather. They set the bags in front of the closet, then agreed to change out of their wet clothes and start making dinner.

While they ate at the bar Daphne drew a map of the surrounding area and made a list of places for Rachel to check for furniture. She was in the middle of explaining the bus system when the phone rang. “
Pardonnez moi
.” She glanced at the caller ID, then hopped off the barstool and retreated with the cordless phone into her bedroom. The look on her face as she disappeared and the tone of her voice as it wafted under the door made it clear a boy was on the other end.

Rachel pinned her with an expectant stare when she emerged, and her reward was the whole story spilled without any prompting. “His name is Paul, he’s adorable, and I met him at work.”

“Oooh, office romance.”

“Well, dressing-room romance; personal shoppers don’t spend a lot of time in offices.” She grinned and swirled her glass of soda. “Has a psycho ex-wife, poor thing, and is in the middle of the divorce. One of those ‘we married too young’ kinds of things, you know?” She grabbed Rachel’s wrist. “I’m so glad you escaped the same fate! Married at twenty-six—you would have been doomed!” She shook her head and took up her fork. “Anyway, he’s a doll and so much more mature than Marc, and he knows how to treat a woman.” She popped another forkful of pasta in her mouth. “Speaking of which, I need to explain the alert system for when we have guys over.”

Rachel looked at Daphne askance. “The what?”

She waved her fork impatiently. “You know, a way of warning when one of us is up here with a guy, so when you come home you don’t, you know, walk in on anything.” She wagged her eyebrows.

Rachel playfully rolled her eyes. “Okay, I’m with you now. What’s the system?”

She motioned with her fork to the bay window. “See the Coke can on the floor under the window? That’s the Make-Out Can. Stick that on the sill if you’re in the front room ‘with’ a guy, if you know what I mean. And when you’re coming home, always make sure to look for it. If you see it, walk heavy on the stairs, as slowly as you can, to give us time to vamoose to the bedroom. My last roommate came up with this. It worked great.” She flashed a wicked grin. “The walls aren’t exactly sound-proofed, either, so you might want to turn up your stereo or something.”

Make-Out Cans and smoking pot.
Well, you wanted a new life.

“Oh, and if your guy is gonna spend the night, slip a note under my door or something so I know not to walk around in my dainties.” She winked. “Of course I’ll do the same. You’re okay with that, right? With guys spending the night?”

“Oh, um, sure.” Like she’d say no. “How often do you have guys overnight?”

She shrugged and took a sip of her Coke. “Not super-often. Kinda depends. Marc and I were like rabbits the first couple months, so we practically lived at each other’s place. But Paul is a totally different story; it’s a much more adult relationship. Marc was an undergrad at the uni and totally into the party scene. So it was that kind of wild and crazy, sex-on-the-kitchen-floor kind of relationship.” Rachel made a face of surprise and Daphne burst out laughing. “We only did that once. No, twice! But it was very uncomfortable; I don’t recommend it.”

“Don’t think I would have thought of it.”

Daphne laughed. “Of course not. But don’t worry—we’ll get you set up with all the necessary gear if and when you’re ready to take that step.”

“Gear?” Rachel raised her eyebrows. “There’s gear involved in sex? Look, I may not have experience but I know how it works. I don’t remember there being a need for gear.”

Daphne gazed at her with pity. “Oh, you sweet, innocent thing, you. So much to learn.”

o

Rachel stared out the bay window at the clouds that illuminated with lightning. Thunder grumbled in the distance, but the sound was just unfamiliar enough to keep her from sleep—along with the fact that her body was still on California time. Daphne had turned in early to catch up on the sleep she’d missed the night before when Paul had stayed over, so Rachel wandered the tiny apartment alone, looking for something to do.

She reread her list of tasks for the morning but could think of nothing else to add. Not that she needed more to do—shopping for furniture, opening a bank account, and job hunting at the local coffee haunts were more than enough to keep her busy. List abandoned, she perused the small bookshelf next to the hearth. The collection there—which included Harlequins and self-help books that centered around sex and relationships—was the polar opposite of the collection her shelves had held at home. She looked at the stack of magazines on the coffee table only to discover it was nothing but back issues of
Cosmo.

Curiosity got the better of her. She took the top issue off the stack and settled onto the couch to read. She flipped through it, unimpressed with the relatively shallow content. Though she did notice that a few of the outfits Daphne had chosen for her in Las Vegas were apparently very “in” right now, according to the fashion section. She never would have pegged
Cosmo
as Daphne’s job research, but she supposed it made sense. Remembering Daphne’s comment about sex gear, she lingered in the sexual Q & A section for a few minutes before tossing the magazine back onto the pile. Regardless of how her views about God had altered, her views of sex were still the same, and she didn’t anticipate them changing any time soon.

She opened her laptop and saw the icon for her seminary application on the desktop. Anger like she hadn’t felt in a week bubbled to the surface. All the time she’d wasted trying to craft that stupid essay, trying to explain how she’d been a Christian her whole life … when she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt God’s presence or heard his voice. Was it a sham? All of it—her faith, God’s goodness? She felt like she was seeing her faith more clearly, and it seemed almost obvious how ridiculous it all was.

Her pride stung. She was an intelligent woman—how had she been so delusional, so suckered for so long?

Stewing, she sank further into the couch. The boudoir red curtains that hung in the bay window were more decorative than functional, and the pulses of silent lightning gave her something to stare at as she let the night settle in around her. She was struck again by her aloneness, despite Daphne being ten feet away on the other side of the wall. Her thoughts rattled around in her head and gave her no peace for reflection, let alone the possibility for prayer, which seemed laughable anyway. Exhaustion eventually overcame the anger, and she fell asleep fighting thoughts of the contentment she so missed.

o

Yesterday’s storm had blown out in the night, leaving a sparkling summer morning sky and humidity so thick you could practically drink the air. Despite a rough night of sleep on the battered couch, Rachel was full of energy and feeling positive about the move for the first time in days. Having a productive morning helped as well—she’d found all the furniture she needed but the bed at the first thrift store she’d visited, and an extra twenty paid to one of the staff got it delivered. She’d found the bed she wanted at a mattress store that provided free shipping, and they put her on the schedule for the next day. It meant one more night on the uncomfortable couch, but it was a small price to pay.

After lunch at the apartment, Rachel set out again in search of the most important part of her new life: a job. She consulted the list of local coffee shops Daphne had given her, and after the third shop she started to lose confidence. With the university so close by, most were not lacking for staff. She’d hoped to find something nearby so as to avoid the cost and inconvenience of public transportation, but unless one of the last few places on her list was hiring, she’d have to branch out.

She stopped by the fourth shop on the list and ruled it out almost immediately. It was a chain—not one she’d heard of in California, but a chain nonetheless—she could tell from the generic-hip decor and the plethora of commercially-printed materials. It had a “help wanted” sign in the window, and if she couldn’t find anything else, she’d come back, but she wasn’t about to settle for a big company when she still had more options to investigate.

The fifth shop was independent but not hiring. She left it with a heavy heart. Only one left on the list and she’d call it a day. She was exhausted from all the walking and eager to get back to organizing her bedroom. She parked herself on a chair outside the café and consulted the map Daphne had given her. She brightened when she saw how close the final shop was to the apartment.
Please let there be a job for me there, God!

She was back on her feet and moving down the sidewalk before she realized what she’d done. It was the first prayer she’d uttered in weeks, blurted purely from habit. And she knew now that’s all it had been, really—habit. He’d never spoken back that she could tell. And if he really was there, he’d already proven he couldn’t be trusted with big things like keeping her family and relationships together, so what was the likelihood of him caring about her commute?

If he’s even really there.

The idea slowed her steps. She’d allowed herself the occasional thought that God might not exist, but being mad at him and walking away from faith had been a big enough step to deal with. Taking the leap to full-on atheism had been a bit too much to take on. But other than an occasional ache for the comfort of her old life, there hadn’t seemed to be much fallout yet from her inching away from God. If God were really there, wouldn’t he have made it clear to her when she’d started to leave him?

She thought about all the evidence she’d heard over the years, all the philosophical arguments, the books she’d read about Christianity. They were always presented and written by Christians. But what about all the scientists and philosophers and college professors who claimed Christianity wasn’t true? If the evidence were that clear, then wouldn’t they acknowledge that?