Reflection (29 page)

The small front room was still empty, and Rachel noticed a phone on one of the end tables. She found the receptionist again and asked for permission to make a call, and she chewed her lower lip as she dialed the number for the church. She wasn't certain Michael would want to hear from her. She hadn't spoken to him since Friday night, when he'd called to tell her about his so-called support group—and that he didn't think they should see each other over the weekend. He'd planned to take Jason camping.

But surely he would want to know about this.

“You're
where
?” he said when she'd reached him.

“At the nursing home. They seemed pleased Marielle had a visitor. It was extremely easy to get in to see her.”

“And she actually talked to you?”

“If you can call it that. She really seemed lost.”

Michael sighed. “I'm sure her nephews are behind the whole thing. They're the ones who will benefit the most.”

“Have you talked to them?”

Michael groaned. “Dozens of times. She has every right to develop her land, they say, and it will ultimately be good for the town. A lot of people honestly believe that. And I suppose there are some factions for whom that's the truth.”

“She gave me what I think is the key to her house.”

He was quiet for a minute. “The key to her house?” he repeated.

Rachel described the odd exchange, including Marielle's mention of the “land thingy” in the Bible. “She gave the key to me of her free will. I think we should go check out her cottage.”

Michael laughed. “Oh, right. I always wanted to see the oven she shoved little kids into.”

“Well, she's not shoving anyone in there these days.” Rachel sounded brave, although the thought of making her way through those deep woods filled with horror stories from her childhood was not enticing.

“What would be the point?' Michael asked. “What would we be looking for?”

“I don't know,” Rachel said. “Maybe she's marked a passage in her Bible that would help us understand why she's taking this stance. Then we could use it to dissuade her. Maybe.”

“Seems far-fetched.”

“I guess you're right.”

Silence filled the line for a moment, and Rachel ran her fingers over the keypad of the telephone. She wasn't ready to let him go yet. “How was the camping trip?” she asked.

“It was fun.” He sounded tired.

“And have you recovered from your support group yet?”

“They meant well,” he said. “And I know they're right. I'm denying it backwards and forwards, but the truth is I have a problem. It might not be quite as juicy as some of them think, but it's a problem nonetheless.”

“What can I do, Michael?” she asked. “What can I do that would be the most help to you?”

“Besides going back to San Antonio?”

She said nothing, hurt.

“I'm sorry, Rache. You know that's not what I want. I'm just frustrated, in a lot of ways. I have to think things through, and you cloud my head.”

She wondered if she could still think of herself as a good, honorable person. She wanted Michael. She would do nothing to encourage it, nothing to harm his marriage or his career, but she wanted him all the same.

“Do you still want to go to Washington with Gram and me on Friday?”

“Are you kidding? That's the only thought that's keeping me sane right now. Knowing I'll be with you on Friday night and away from here. If only I didn't have to bring my conscience along with me, I'd have a great time.”

“What about Jace?” she asked.

“He'll stay at the Pelmans'. He's going with them to some computer show in Lancaster on Saturday.”

The receptionist poked her head in the door. “Your car vindows up yet?” she asked. “Going to make dawn any minute.”

“They're up,” Rachel said, stifling a giggle.

“What's that?” Michael asked.

“The receptionist said it's going to ‘make dawn' soon.” She looked out the window at the darkening sky and thought of her grandmother. “I'd better go, Michael. I want to get back to Gram before the storm hits. It's not raining there yet, is it?”

“Uh-uh. But it's looking ugly out.”

“Okay. I've got to run.”

“Rache,” he said. “It's good to hear your voice. Are you doing all right?”

“Pretend I'm in San Antonio, Michael.” She smiled, feeling just for an instant stronger than he was. She hung up before she could say she missed him.

HELEN HAD BEEN LOOKING
forward to this time all day long. Rachel had been with her throughout the morning, and much as she loved her granddaughter's company, today she wanted her out of the house. Her wrist was fine—well, almost—and the piano was calling her. She'd played several times in secret over the past few days, and now she couldn't wait to sit down at the instrument again.

She wasn't shy about playing for others. That wasn't it. She simply needed the time alone with the piano, the way lovers who've suffered a long separation need their privacy. So as soon as Rachel pulled out of the driveway, Helen took her seat at the keys and lost herself in the music.

This was when she most appreciated Peter's insistence on wall-to-wall windows in the house. She felt as if she were playing in the forest, Swallowed up in green. The sunlight, filtered through the trees, formed a delicate ash-colored filigree of light across the open piano lid.

She felt close to Hans, sitting here. She could almost picture him at the other piano, a lock of dark hair slipping over his forehead as he stormed across the keys, dueling with her piano as they played. His face would be glistening when they'd finished, and she would be breathless. For a long time she'd thought that was as close as they would ever come to making love.

Friday night she would see him from her seat in the concert hall at the Kennedy Center. Should she have made some excuse to stay home? She still could. She could feign illness. But how could she stay away from a concert filled with Huber works? She would simply have to endure watching Hans play. She had endured tougher things in her life.

She finished one piece and immediately began another, this one slow and sweet. Her pleasure in playing was back in full force. Over the past year or so she had lost her excitement, not only for the piano but for everything else in her life as well. She recalled her willingness to die after being struck by lightning. Now, though, everything seemed touched with golden light. She owed Rachel for this fresh start, she knew. Rachel and her attention and caring and silly games. She should never have allowed the distance to exist between herself and her granddaughter for so long. They had missed out on too many years together.

She couldn't shake the feeling, though, that her pleasure and Rachel's were conversely related. Rachel had been so happy at finding Michael again, but her love for him had nowhere to go. The girl didn't complain, but Helen saw the sadness in her eyes, the tightness in her cheeks that told her the smile she wore was wider than the smile she felt inside. Ah, yes. Piano or no piano, Helen had a new reason for living. Her dear granddaughter needed her comfort and counsel in a way no one had needed her for a very long time.

RACHEL PULLED THE CAR
into the driveway as the first few drops of rain were beginning to dot her windshield. She turned off the ignition and slipped her keys into her pants pocket. She heard them clink against Marielle Hostetter's key, and she shook her head with a laugh. Probably the key to her room at the nursing home.

Stepping out of the car, she heard the far-off rumble of thunder and something else—the sound of a piano coming from the house. She cocked her head to listen. Was it a recording? It had to be. The music was so clear and lively and loud. But she knew all of Gram's CD's by heart now, and this piece was not familiar.

Something told her not to go inside. She walked slowly around the side of the house until she could see in the rear windows, and what she saw made her gasp, hand to her throat. Gram was at the piano, her arms and shoulders pumping feverishly. Rachel's gentle, octogenarian grandmother was attacking the piano, with extraordinary results. Not missing a note, as far as Rachel could tell.

Gram came to the end of that piece and quickly started another, this one teasing in its pace: slow, then fast, then slow again. Rachel leaned against the wall of the house, listening, the rain light on her face. The theme quickly developed, and by the second time it wafted through the open windows, Rachel felt its warmth and longed to hear it repeated over and over again.

The rain was more insistent now, the thunder closer. Through the trees, she saw a pulse of light. She walked around the house again and climbed quietly onto the porch. She was about to reach for the knob of the screen door when a violent clap of thunder shook the floor of the porch. She heard her grandmother make a sound, like a moan, and the music abruptly ceased.

Rachel pushed open the door to meet Gram's frantic eyes. The hands that had only seconds before played the piano with strength and confidence now trembled as they pressed against her cheeks, and Rachel wordlessly pulled her grandmother into her arms.

BECKY'S CAR WAS PARKED
in front of the Lutheran church.
Hooray
. Becky had missed aerobics class both Friday and Monday, and Rachel wasn't sure she could face this group of women one more time without her friend's presence.

All was not well in the class, and she knew she was the cause. She'd been alone among strangers during the past two sessions, and without Becky there, she could more clearly see the lines of battle. A few women—two actually—had been kind to her; others had gone out of their way to avoid her. They'd talked about one woman named Ellie who had dropped out of the class, and although no one said it in so many words, Rachel felt certain that she was being held responsible for the loss. After both classes, she'd made excuses—offered only to herself, since no one asked her—to avoid changing in the ladies' room. She hadn't known if she could bear the silence, or the forced kindness, or the whispers behind her back.

She was beginning to be seen in almost supernatural terms, she thought—a demonic temptress come back to seduce the man who wanted to save Reflection. She'd come back to bring harm to the town once again. She wanted to have a T-shirt made up that read I'M WILLING TO TALK ABOUT IT. If someone would confront her directly, she thought she could handle it. The subtlety of people's dislike put a lock on her tongue. Where she'd once talked to anyone on the street or in the shops, she now avoided meeting the eyes of strangers and didn't speak until spoken to. Despite the conciliatory bag of tomatoes, the words of the man at the farmers' market were the last thing she heard each night before she fell asleep.

The class was already in its casual formation when she walked into the gym. Becky glanced at her but didn't acknowledge her wave, and Rachel felt an immediate sense of dread.
She's merely preoccupied
, she told herself.
Don't panic
.

In the ladies' room after class, she positioned herself close to her friend. “Missed you the past week,” she said.”How've you been?”

“All right.” Becky's attention was focused on buttoning her blouse.

“Any chance you have time to get something to eat?”

“Not tonight.”

Becky was clearly angry. There was a taut line to her jaw, a sharpness to her movements, and when she left the ladies' room, it was with a general “bye” to everyone in the room.

Rachel quickly stuffed her workout shoes into her gym bag and ran after her, catching up with her on the stairs.

“Wait a minute, Becky. Please.”

Near the top of the stairs, Becky turned to face her, and Rachel recoiled from the look of hostility on her face.

“What's going on?” Rachel asked.

Becky waited until a few of their classmates had passed between them on the stairs. When they were alone again, she dropped her gym bag on the floor and folded her arms. “What's going on is that I'm pissed off, that's what.”

“At me?”

“Yes, at you. I feel as though you used me. You played on my sympathy.”

“I don't understand.”

“Look, Rachel. I'm sorry for what happened with you and Luke. And I still don't blame you for it, like some people do. I was feeling bad at first about the way some people were treating you. But I'm a friend of Katy's, and I was quite honestly disgusted when I found out you were going after Michael.”

So that was it. “I'm not going after anyone,” Rachel said. “Come on, Becky. You know Michael and I go back forever. We're friends. That's it. Doesn't it make sense that I'd be spending time with him this summer?”

“I've heard you're much more than friends, and it infuriates me. Katy's going to hear about it from someone, and she's going to be hurt by it. She's living in some dump in Russia, and Michael's here entertaining his testosterone. I thought he was above that.” She shook her head in exasperation. “He and Katy had the best marriage in this whole damn town. I don't know what's gotten into him. Except you. You seem to have no respect whatsoever for the fact that he's married.”

“You're—”

“Look, I admit I'm supersensitive to infidelity. My husband cheated on me, and it just about killed me when I found out, but—”

“Becky, listen to me! No one's cheating on anyone. We are not romantically involved. If anyone tells Katy that we are, then
they're
the person responsible for hurting her. Not Michael. Not me.”

Becky looked away from her, toward the foyer.

“Why are you so set on believing the worst?” Rachel asked.

“Because it's your word against the word of people I've known for a long time. And the truth is, I don't know you at all. I knew you once, but you could be a…a
sociopath
now, for all I know. Besides, Michael's walking around with guilt all over his face.” She picked up her bag again and walked into the foyer of the church.