Reinventing Rachel (18 page)

“Yeah, just a little.”

Shaundra chuckled as she shaved Rachel’s wrist smooth, then rubbed a deodorant stick over the area. “This will make the transfer darker so I can see it better.” She carefully laid the transfer paper against her skin and pressed it down, then peeled it away. “How does that look?”

“Hm, nice—maybe we can just leave it at that.”

She laughed. “Having second thoughts?”

Rachel took another deep breath. “No, it’s all good. Go for it.”

Shaundra began to prep her instruments. “This is a small one; it really should take less than twenty minutes. Trust me, you’ll be fine.”

Her tone wasn’t mocking or patronizing, and Rachel appreciated her understanding. “Thanks.”

She shuffled various implements on the little table beside the chair, then said, “Okay, last piece of prep before we start. This is just petroleum jelly; I’m going to smear a little on the design so the needle moves more smoothly.”

Rachel tried not to shudder from the cold of the jelly—or from the thought of the needle—as Shaundra’s fingers gently applied the ointment. She closed her eyes and began to breathe slowly and deeply.
You can do this. You can so do this. Women give birth without pain meds all the time; you can withstand twenty minutes of a needle. Just keep breathing.

“Okay, gonna start in a second here. It’ll feel sort of like scratching on your skin, but a bit hot. Something like that, anyway. Just keep breathing. Holding your breath will just make it worse.” The needle whirred to life, and Rachel clenched her teeth. “Okay, here we go.”

A hot scratch.
Sure. Times twenty.
Rachel forced the air in and out through her nose and pushed her mind to concentrate on absolutely anything else but what was happening. She ran through lyrics of songs, even allowing herself to mentally sing through Christian tunes from CDs she’d chucked back in California—anything to keep her mind occupied.

“You’re doing great—halfway done!” Shaundra’s voice jarred Rachel from her concentration, and she realized the needle didn’t hurt as much as it had in the beginning. Now it was just the idea of it that made her queasy. She turned her thoughts to herself dancing with Jack back in Vegas, then conjured the memory of her make-out session with him at the Taste of Chicago. She walked through each kiss, each fireworks explosion they’d managed to see, until suddenly the whirring stopped. “All right. You’re done.”

Rachel opened her eyes and let out a deep breath. The ink was dark and edged in an angry red. “Oh wow,” she said, then let out a laugh. “I can’t believe
I
just got a tattoo.”

“Like it?”

“Yeah! Although it looks pretty nasty.”

Shaundra nodded. “Yeah, it’ll take a day or two to calm down. I’ll bandage it up before you go and give you a list of aftercare instructions.” She stood and walked to the back room, and Rachel gazed at her wrist with a dazed smile on her face.
Jack is going to love this.

Beside her, Daphne called out, “You done?”

“Yeah, look.” She went over to Daphne, who was leaning over the back of a chair while Mikey drew the laurel wreath on her back. The fingers of Daphne’s hand were drumming on the chair. Rachel flashed her wrist in front of Daphne’s slitted eyes. “Sweet.”

“You hanging in there?”

“Yeah.” Her voice sounded strained, and Rachel had to go sit down at the thought of a needle on her own back—which seemed somehow worse than on her wrist. Shaundra came back and smeared ointment over Rachel’s tattoo and laid a bandage over it. “There you go,” she said, pulling off her gloves. “All done. Cash or charge?”

“Oh—I’m not sure. Daphne’s paying. Hold on.” Rachel went back over to Daphne. “You paying with cash or charge?”

“Charge. Go ahead and get my Visa out and have her run it.”

Rachel rifled through Daphne’s crammed wallet until she unearthed the silver card, then brought it up to the front counter. Shaundra ran it and Rachel went to sit in the waiting area. The thought of what she’d just done was making her knees a little weak.

After a few minutes Shaundra said, “Sorry, this card won’t go through. Got another one?”

Oh no.
“Yeah, hold on a second.” She walked back to Daphne, but slowly, trying to decide if she should just pay it herself or ask Daphne for another card. She stopped halfway to Mikey’s station, then turned back and dug out her debit card from her own wallet. “Here, just put it on this. And Daphne’s too.” Shaundra ran the card and handed Rachel a pen. She signed the receipt, feeling sick.

Though the more she thought about it, the more confused she became. When was the last time she saw Daphne in a new outfit? Or saw her bring home anything other than groceries when she went out shopping?

It took another twenty minutes for Daphne’s design to be completed. They were halfway back to the L station when she slapped her forehead. “I never signed the credit card receipt!”

Rachel swallowed hard. “Oh—I’m … sure it’s fine.”

“How do you figure?” She gave Rachel a look, then frowned. “What aren’t you telling me?” Daphne looked into Rachel’s eyes, then punched her arm playfully. Rachel could tell she was trying to keep her tone light. “You idiot, did you pay? For your own birthday present? Did you pay mine, too?”

“Um … yeah.”

“Why?”

“Well … your card wouldn’t go through.”

Daphne was silent for a minute, then unleashed a flurry of excuses. “My payment must have gotten lost in the mail. Or something. I wonder if this is because I just used it yesterday. You know how sometimes when you use a card a bunch they get all worried it’s been stolen? I wonder if—”

“Daph, listen.” Rachel decided it was time to clear the air. “I saw the statement on your desk last week. The one with ‘final notice’ stamped on it.”

Daphne’s eyes went dark. “Why were you snooping on my desk?”

“I—what? I wasn’t. I was in your room, we were talking, it was sitting right there—”

“Well, it’s not what you think, so don’t get all excited.”

“Excited? Look, you don’t have to be embar—”

“I’m not, Rachel, I’m not. I’m fine; that statement was wrong.” She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and pulled her wallet out of her purse. When she opened it, Rachel was stunned to see how much money was stuffed into its folds. Daphne yanked some of it out and shoved it into Rachel’s chest. “Here. Happy birthday.” She swore under her breath and shook her head. “Some friend.”

Rachel was rooted to the sidewalk.
What did I do?
“Daphne, you’re totally overreacting.”

“Whatever.” She began walking faster, muttering under her breath, and Rachel decided not to try to keep up. She didn’t know what else to say, and Daphne obviously wasn’t in the mood to talk. She watched her friend disappear up the steps of the L, and fished out her own train token from her pocket.
Hope I remember how to get back home, because it looks like I’m on my own.

Chapter 15

A week after Rachel got her tattoo, something else got under her skin.

She walked in from her shift to find her apartment in complete disarray. The sofa and armchair cushions were on the floor, the sofa itself pulled away from the wall. Kitchen cabinets and drawers stood open, an empty laundry basket lay upside down beside a scattered collection of clothes, and the sounds of general mess-making could be heard coming from elsewhere in the apartment.

“Daphne?”

The sounds stopped. Daphne appeared from Rachel’s room, eyes narrowed. “I’m missing a hundred dollars.”

“That sucks, but why would it be in my room?” Rachel brushed past Daphne and gasped. She had tossed Rachel’s room as well. “Daphne! What are you doing?”

“You must have taken it—there’s no other explanation.”

Am I going crazy, or did my best friend just accuse me of theft
? “You don’t seriously think I’d take anything from you, do you?”

“How else did it disappear?”

“I don’t know. But—I can’t believe you’d blame me. What reason would I even have? I don’t need your money. This is insane.” She began heaving the mattress up onto the box spring, incredulous. “I can’t believe this, Daphne. Unreal.”

“That’s what I was thinking. Why would my ‘best friend’ steal from me?”

Rachel slammed her hand onto the mattress. “I didn’t! Stop saying that!”

“So what are you implying?”

“I’m
implying
that you obviously lost it. Don’t blame me for your mistake, Daphne. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time your messiness led to something getting lost.”

“How dare you.” Daphne’s tone was menacing.

“How dare I what? Seriously, you’re debating that you’re messy? Your room looks like this on a good day. Why don’t you clean instead of ripping the place apart? That would be more productive than trying to pin your problem on me.”

Daphne shouted obscenities as she stormed out of the room and slammed her own bedroom door behind her. Rachel sniffed back tears as she went about setting her room to right, emotions tangled.

Who was Daphne anymore? Certainly not the person Rachel grew up with. Not even the person she went to Vegas with. How can someone change so much in less than six months? And why? Rachel had no answers, but one thing was clear: Home was becoming less and less friendly. This is not what she had in mind when she decided to move. But where on earth would she go if she wanted to leave?

It took her half an hour to return everything to its rightful place. Satisfied with her cleaning, she went to the kitchen for dinner, defenses up in case Daphne was still on the warpath.

The living room and kitchen were still a mess. Empty bottles were scattered everywhere. Why Daphne thought she’d find money in the recycling bin was beyond Rachel, but it did make Rachel notice how many bottles of vodka they’d gone through recently. For this, she couldn’t entirely blame Daphne. Rachel really liked vodka Cokes.

Daphne’s door was still closed. Too overwhelmed to tackle the living room, she tidied the kitchen instead, then began to pull dinner together. Normally she’d make dinner for both of them, but not tonight—Daphne would probably accuse her of poisoning it or something.

The ludicrous thought made her smile, and she doubled the spaghetti she’d pulled from the box, deciding she’d rather attempt a truce than propagate more wall building. Daphne didn’t have to eat it if she didn’t want to.

The pasta was just about ready when Daphne’s bedroom door opened. Rachel steeled herself for another onslaught, but Daphne acted like nothing had happened. She simply walked into the living room and piled the cushions back into place.

Rachel stirred the sauce. “I made some spaghetti, if you’re hungry,” she said. “Would you like something to drink?”

Daphne said nothing.

Rachel felt her blood beginning to simmer. “All right,” she said, trying to keep the edge from her voice. “I’ll leave some here for you if you change your mind.” She brought her own plate to the bar and sat down, though she no longer had an appetite.

She swirled pasta around on her plate for a minute, trying in vain to actually want a bite, then set down her fork. “Look, Daphne, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings earlier when I made those comments about your room. I shouldn’t have been so critical.”
I shouldn’t be apologizing, either, but if it cuts the tension and gets us past this, then fine
. She waited for Daphne to reciprocate, but she was met with more silence as Daphne continued to re-shelve books. Rachel didn’t know whether to yell or cry. “Daphne, this is ridiculous,” she finally said, voice cracking as tears stung her eyes. “Not just today, but the last three weeks—”

“Don’t judge me!” Daphne yelled. “For the last twenty years that’s all I’ve gotten from you. I’m sick of it. I don’t know why I thought you’d change.”

She stared open-mouthed as Daphne shoved books back onto the rickety bookshelf and continued to rant. “I can’t believe what a mistake it was letting you come here. What was I thinking?”

Rachel finally found her voice, and she didn’t restrain it. “Fine, then! If you’re so miserable with me here, I’ll leave. God knows I don’t want to live with someone who can’t stand to have me around.” She left her uneaten dinner on the bar and retreated to her room, shocked at the words that had come out of her own mouth. It was an empty threat, but what if Daphne took her up on it and booted her out?

A few silent minutes passed before a knock came on the door. Rachel tensed. “What do you want?”

The door opened slowly. A concerned-looking Daphne walked in. “You wouldn’t really leave, would you?”

Rachel felt cautiously optimistic. “I don’t know. You’re not giving me much of a reason to stay.”

“Don’t leave.”

“Well, I—”

“Seriously, don’t. I promise not to go through your stuff again.”

“Thanks. That wasn’t my only concern, though.”

“Just promise me you won’t go.”

Rachel was confused. “Okay, okay. I won’t go.”

Daphne nodded silently and left. Rachel stared at the door.
No apology. No remorse, even. What is going on?
Rachel didn’t appreciate her one last longtime friend freaking out on her. She’d moved to Chicago to get away from insanity—she didn’t want to deal with it again.

She tiptoed to the door and peeked out. The coast was clear. She snuck out, into the kitchen, and grabbed a can of Coke and the vodka bottle from the pantry, then scooped a glass through the ice container in the freezer and made a mad dash back to the bedroom. These days coffee couldn’t hold a candle to the calming power of alcohol. And after an evening like this, calm was just the beginning of what Rachel was looking for.

o

Rachel didn’t see Daphne at all the next day. She left for work before Daphne was up, and the apartment was empty when she came home. Just as well—she didn’t know how to act around her anymore. She was relieved to be alone.

Jack came by after his shift to take her out for dinner. He frowned when he kissed her. “Have you been drinking?”

“I needed to unwind; I had a rough afternoon.” She told him what had happened with Daphne and how this was yet another odd event that had her questioning Daphne’s sanity. “It’s weird. I mean, all of it, not just ransacking my room and calling me a liar and a thief. The last few weeks she’s been so different, and I don’t know what to do.”

Jack shook his head. “Seriously, Rach, I’d make good on that threat and move out. You seriously want to keep putting up with this?”

She remembered what Daphne had said to her the night Jack had turned down Rachel’s advances.
You’re safe.… I know you’ll always love me and want to be my friend, even if I suck.
“We’ve been through so much together,” Rachel said. “I would feel so bad if I left and then found out later that I could have helped her with … whatever it is that’s going on.”

“That’s noble—but it’s also borderline codependent.” He wagged a finger at her. “You need boundaries.”

She laughed. “What are you, an armchair psychologist?”

“My mom was a therapist before she started having kids. I have just enough knowledge to be mildly helpful to friends in need.”

He brought her home just before midnight and didn’t pout too much when she gently refused to let him come up with her. “I haven’t slept well the last few nights,” she said. “I really need to just get to bed.”

“Okay, okay, I understand.” He opened the door for her and kissed her good-night. “I hope it’s a better night for you. See you tomorrow.”

She climbed the stairs and waved good-bye as he flashed his brights in parting and drove away. Anxiety clenched her insides as she prepared herself for yet another confrontation.

She let herself in and felt the tension ease away when she saw Daphne asleep on the couch. She walked softly to the bar, draped her coat over one of the stools, and was about to make for her bedroom when she spotted something on the floor in front of the sofa.

The bottle of vodka she’d mixed drinks with the night before lay empty on frayed area rug.

Rachel frowned. A niggling fear made her tiptoe over and pick it up.
When I put that bottle back, it was half full.

“Daphne?” She dropped to her knees and grabbed Daphne’s shoulder. “Daphne, come on, wake up.” She shook her, then again, harder. Her hands begin to tremble. “Daphne, come on!”

Not a sound, not a movement.

Rachel scrambled to her feet and grabbed for the landline mounted on the wall beside the bar. “My roommate,” she gasped when the dispatcher asked what was wrong. “She drank half a bottle of vodka, and I can’t wake her up.” She answered the dispatcher’s questions as she fumbled with shaking hands through her purse, looking for her cell phone. She hit the speed dial for Jack, trying to keep calm like the dispatcher told her to, and when he answered said, “It’s Rachel, come back over quick,” and hung up.

He arrived as she was pulling the coffee table away from the sofa to make room for the paramedics. She pulled him in the room while answering another question for the dispatcher, then pointed to Daphne’s unconscious form. He let out a curse and dove to the floor in front of her, checking her pulse and listening for her breath like an emergency pro. Rachel sank into the armchair, relieved someone else could take over her attempts to rouse Daphne, and continued to talk with a quaking voice to the dispatcher who kept her on the line until the EMTs were tramping up the wooden steps.

Jack wrapped his arms around Rachel as the paramedics started an IV and strapped Daphne to a body board. She numbly answered the questions a police officer asked her, repeating much of what she’d told the dispatcher.

“We’ll take her to the University of Chicago hospital,” one of the EMTs said as they prepared to take her down the stairs. “You can meet us there if you want.”

Jack took her hand and they followed the police down to the sidewalk. She climbed into Jack’s truck and burst into tears. “Hey, hey.” He squeezed her knee as he pulled away from the curb. “She’ll be okay. She was still breathing, that’s good. It’ll be okay.”

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Rachel struggled to get her tears under control. “I don’t know what’s going on. I can’t believe she …” Rachel couldn’t bring herself to admit Daphne may have tried to commit suicide.
She must have just gotten carried away.

They ran from the parking lot into the ER, and Jack explained what was going on to the front desk nurse. “I’m sorry, family only,” she said. Jack looked to Rachel for what to say next. “She doesn’t have family here,” she said. “They’re all in California. I’m her roommate, and her best friend. I’ve known her since I was six.”

“Do you have her parents’ phone number?”

She shrugged, feeling helpless. “If their number is the same as it was five years ago, yes.” She gave it to the nurse, who told them to go sit in the waiting room. Jack led her to a chair and then left to go get her coffee.

An hour passed. Rachel felt invisible. The phone number she’d given the nurse now went to a donut shop, so there was no one to tell the nurse that Rachel was as close to a sister as Daphne had ever had. Eventually she fell asleep, her head on Jack’s shoulder.

She woke up when a nurse came and told them to go home. “What, and just leave her here?” Rachel gasped. “Does that mean she’s doing all right?” The nurse gave her a look that told Rachel she wasn’t going to fall for it. She tried another approach. “Look, put yourself in my shoes. She’s my best friend. We’ve known each other since we were little kids—we’re practically sisters. I moved all the way out here from California to live with her. You can’t honestly expect me to just dump her off here and then leave.”