Reinventing Rachel (31 page)

“I still sometimes get frustrated and think, ‘Well, if he loved me, why didn’t he make it clear to me earlier that I wasn’t on the right page?’” She shook her head. “It’s a never-ending cycle of questions that I can’t seem to break out of.”

Leah blew out the flame that had engulfed her marshmallow and pulled the charred mess from the skewer. “It’s not an easy question to answer. But I honestly believe that if you trust him—just
go
for it—he’ll sort it out for you. It might take time, it might be a frustrating experience, but I’d bet that he’s using every minute of it for growth and good, you know?”

Rachel raised her eyebrows. “Just go for it—that’s what I pretty much decided to do this afternoon at the meeting. You read my mind.”

Leah wiggled her fingers. “Spooky.”

They finished their roasting and said good-night, disappearing into their own rooms. Rachel was restless, tired but not yet willing to go to sleep. She sat for a moment on the bed, contemplating what to do, when her eyes fell on the small box of items she still had not unpacked from her move. She sat on the floor and pulled open the box, knowing it contained knickknacks she hadn’t known what to do with when she’d first arrived. Now having seen how the other three women placed personal items on the bookshelves and mantel, she thought she might do the same.

When she opened the box, the first thing she saw was a skirt she’d found beneath her bed while packing. She pulled it out and felt something hard in the pocket beneath her fingers.

Tears sprung to her eyes as she pulled out the cross and chain she’d stuffed in there the day she’d moved. She felt her defenses crumble a little more as she opened the chain and wrapped it around her neck. Was she ready to wear it again?

She connected the chain and sat still, feeling the familiar weight of the pendant on her chest.
All right, then. Have it your way.

Epilogue

February

Rachel stared out the window at the snow on the mountains below. It was beautiful, but blinding; after a moment she lowered the shade and pulled her laptop from her carry-on, wondering if she’d be able to get anything done when her mind was so scrambled with nerves. She opened the document titled “Lost Days” and reread the last few paragraphs to refresh her memory. It wasn’t bad, what little she had written so far. She still didn’t know what she’d do with it when she was done, but she was having a good time writing again. She opened another document containing a plot outline and checked for her next scene, then began to type.

“Wow, your fingers really fly.” The young woman beside her smiled, looking impressed. “Do you do a lot of typing for your job?”

“Not my job, just my hobby. I’m trying to write a book.”

“Oh cool! I love to read. What’s it about?”

Rachel faltered. “It’s, um … well, it’s about a woman who—”

The plane dipped and shook as it hit a pocket of turbulence. The woman cursed through clenched teeth, her face turning white. When the aircraft stabilized the woman blew out a deep breath, looking suddenly haggard. “I hate flying.”

Rachel slowly released her grip on the armrest and relaxed her hold on her laptop. “I didn’t until just now.”

The woman pushed the attendant call button. “I need a drink or I’m never going to make it to California.”

Rachel sucked in a breath.
Oh no.

The attendant came by and the woman asked for a Bloody Mary, then turned to Rachel. “Want something? My treat.”

God, give me strength.
“Just—just another Coke. Thanks.”

The attendant brought the drinks and Rachel shot one prayer after another to heaven, begging God to remove her craving. The woman gulped down half her drink, then sighed. “That hit the spot. Usually I try to grab a couple drinks before I get on the plane, but my stupid taxi was late to the house, and I barely made it to the gate on time.”

Rachel searched for a way to change the subject. “You fly a lot, by the sounds of it.”

“No, only a couple times a year. But that’s plenty for me.” The woman took another sip, then glanced down at Rachel’s laptop. “So, before we nearly died you were telling me about your book.”

“Oh, right. Well, it’s about a woman who loses everything and goes on a spiritual journey, looking for peace. I’m not trying to get published or anything—at least, not yet. This is just practice.”

“That’s awesome. I wish I could write. I read an article about one of my favorite authors once, and she talked about writing what you know. That totally wouldn’t work for me—my life is so dead boring.”

Rachel chuckled. “Yeah, I had that problem for a while, too.”

“For a while? Then what happened?”

She smiled. “I lost everything and went on a spiritual journey.”

A voice on the intercom announced they were approaching LAX. Rachel handed her empty cup to the attendant, then stashed her laptop back in her bag. Her stomach began to churn with nerves as she thought about seeing her parents for the first time in so long. She’d never been away from them for more than a few weeks, and now she felt like they were all—them and her—completely different people. Her parents’ recommitment ceremony was tomorrow, Valentine’s Day, and she was reading a poem her mother had chosen as a surprise for her father. She was worried she wouldn’t be able to get through it without crying. At least there wouldn’t be any booze at the party to tempt her afterward—with both she and her father in AA, that decision had been easy for her parents to make.

As they began their decent, Rachel’s craving grew stronger. To occupy her mind she pulled out Jasmine’s copy of the
Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions
and opened to her bookmark. She was working on step number nine—making amends to people she had wronged. A Post-it note on the page listed the people she’d been writing letters to. Some of the names were crossed out already—Ruby Jean, Jack, and Daphne, whose letter she had dropped into the mail without an address. Her parents’ names were the last ones on the list; she’d be presenting a formal apology later that evening over dinner.

The plane landed, and Rachel turned her phone on and sent a new text to Declan.
Just landed. Flight was fine.

Less than a minute later he replied.
4362
.

She frowned, fingers typing.
What?

Minutes till u r back.

She laughed to herself.
LOL Miss u 2
.

The line of people began to move. Rachel pulled her bag from the storage space and entered the stream, shuffling along with the others as they made their way off the plane. She bid her seatmate farewell as they disembarked and pulled her carry-on behind her through the terminal. She was halfway to the baggage claim when a familiar face came into view just ahead of her.

“Barb?”

Her old friend stopped and turned, and a smile broke out on her face. “Rachel!” With a laugh she ran over and wrapped her arms around Rachel’s neck. “I can’t believe you’re here. How random is that?”

“No kidding. Where are you flying in from?”

“Just got back from a weekend in the Rockies. I met some old girlfriends for a reunion. What are you up to?”

Rachel laughed. “You have no idea how complicated the answer is to that question.”

Barbara grinned. “Wanna get some coffee?”

Rachel called her mom to let her know she was taking a detour, then followed Barbara in her rental car to a café near Barbara’s house. The glare of the sun was a welcome change from the dreary gray of Chicago’s lingering winter, and when she reached the coffee shop she took a minute to change from her sweater and jeans to a skirt and blouse more accommodating for the day’s mid-70s. They brought their drinks outside and settled into the chairs that sat under the storefront’s canopy.

“So I heard through the grapevine that you went to Chicago.”

Rachel nodded. “In June. I don’t know if you remember me talking about my friend Daphne—we grew up together, and she’d moved out there. If you heard about that I’m assuming you also heard about Patrick, and my parents?”

She nodded, her face sympathetic. “I can’t believe everything that hit you all at once.”

Rachel waved it away. “I can’t believe how selfishly I acted when you were in crisis. I’m so, so sorry, Barb.”

“Nonsense. You had every right to be angry, especially when
you
were in crisis and I basically turned you away.”

“But with good reason.”

They looked at each other and laughed. “Should we just call it even?”

Rachel smiled. “Sounds good.”

“It’s funny we should meet right now,” Barbara said, stirring her drink. “Just before I left on Thursday I found the letter I’d written to you when I was making amends to everyone. I didn’t know where to send it when I’d written it, so I set it aside, and it got swept into a pile of stuff that’s been sitting forever in my office. I told myself I was going to track you down when I got home. God’s funny that way, eh?”

The phrase “making amends” caught Rachel’s attention. “That wouldn’t by any chance have been part of step nine, would it?”

Barbara’s eyes got wide. “How did you know that?”

Rachel raised her hand. “My name is Rachel, and I’m an alcoholic.”

“What?!”

“It’s true. Depressingly true.”

“What happened?”

Rachel chuckled. “How much time do you have?”

o

The trees down her parents’ street looked bigger than Rachel remembered. Everything on her drive over had seemed mostly familiar with just a bit of change—a store here and there had been replaced by something new, a stoplight put in where stop signs had once stood, a half-completed building where an empty lot had been. Here in the neighborhood where she’d grown up she noticed even the smallest changes—new flower boxes, new landscaping, newly painted trim. A lump sprang to her throat when she saw Daphne’s house. It was a different color now, with two unfamiliar cars in the driveway. A tricycle stood near the front door.

She pulled into her parents’ driveway and pressed a hand to her chest to calm her heart. The Serenity Prayer sprang to mind, and she repeated it under her breath as she got out of the car. She’d already asked her father about the local AA meetings and had determined she’d attend them while in town. She only had thirteen more to go before she’d completed her “90 in 90.” Not only did she not want to break her commitment; she knew she really would need those meetings if she was going to get through the three-day visit intact.

What are you waiting for?
She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.
Okay, God. I’m going to need some serious reinforcements here. Give me grace for my parents. Give me willpower for my sobriety. And calm me down so I’m not so stressed.
She closed her eyes and imagined her heavenly Father wrapping his arms around her—an image an AA friend had given her. The thought was comforting. She took hold of the cross around her neck, zipped it back and forth along its chain, and went inside.

… a little more …

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