Michelle Buckman - Rachels Contrition

RachelsContrition

RachelsContrition

CHAPTERONE

*

I have toact civil when I see him. That was part of the agreement. So,I plaster a fake smile on my face and bat my eyelashes at him.Hello, Sinclair. I hope you had a nice weekend.

Rachel. He says it as if my name is an answer.

His real name is Joseph Sinclair Winters, Jr., but his daddy goes byJoe, so he was stuck with Sinclair, which suits him better anywaywith the highfalutin family he comes from. It also suits hissophisticated looks his soft face and thick black hair, withserious eyes staring out behind those thin gold spectacles of his.Not ruggedly handsome like a guy in a womens magazine, but thekind youd look for in Forbes; the kind voted Most Likely toSucceed in high school.

He has an IQ off the charts. Intelligent but no common sense,his mother says. She knew what I was at first glance. He probablyagrees with her nowadays.

I agree with his mom about his lack of common sense. How else couldhe forget about our baby? He remembers now. He forgot only once. Butthat was enough to change our lives forever, and enough to end hers.Me, Ill never forget our baby, ever. Just thinking of her sends ashooting pain through my gut.

The parking lot is full of cars, but were the only people standingout in the midday sun. We could be open with each other right now. Noone would witness our conversation and pass it on during some socialtte--tte. We could say whats really on our minds, we couldcome to terms with the truth, but we dont. We used to have so muchto say to each other that we could stay up till the wee hours and notrun out of words until our lips found better ways to communicate, butlately Sinclair doesnt even answer my polite questions. I think ofall weve been to each other and wither inside.

The day has offered respite from the cold weather in the Blue RidgeMountains. The breeze has stilled, and the midday sun is beating downon us, evaporating early-morning rain off the black pavement so thateverything below my chin wavers slightly as if Im looking throughwater, making me feel dizzy. I braved the cold and wore my short navydress to impress Sinclair, to remind him why he fell in love with me,but it doesnt matter. He looks down at me emotionless behind hisgold-rimmed glasses. Did everything go all right?

Sure. Fine.

He nods. No more words. No small talk or anything personal to show wewere married for years. I dont think thats very civil, but Imnot as fussy about the rules as he is, so I dont complain.

I push our sonSeth toward him. Seth could cry and cling to my leg because hedoesnt have to obey any rules about being civil. The agreementis about him, but not for him. Very confusing. Seth doesnt scream,or yell Mommy or anything, though. He walks silently to hisfather and places his perfect tiny hand in his fathers largesmooth one. Just looking at them, I can feel Seths baby flesh asit used to clutch at my skin when I breastfed him, his sharp babynails leaving red lines on my pale flesh, and Sinclairs doctoringhands, so well guarded against rough work, reaching for me with equalurgency. Men take and take.

I raise my eyesto Sinclairs, and we stare at each other. He shifts his weight,uncomfortable with the memories he reads in my eyes, and saysnothing. We were never this silent when we lived in the same house.

I wish Seth would cry so I could hug him and tell him how much I lovehim, because I only get to keep him every other weekend. Every visit,we become more like strangers. I want to hold him, to make him loveme, but I dont want to reach for him here in the open. I tried itonce, and he shrank away into his father.

The agreement confuses me. I should have ended up with Seth.Dr. Arick says Sinclair got him because I need to rest, to get overthe anxiety. He may be right because I do get anxious. A lot ofthings dont make sense anymore. I have to work very hard to thinkstraight. But thats not the real reason. I know why they gave himto Sinclair.

Sinclair turns to go. Well see you in two weeks, Rachel. Illbring him to your house.

Two weeks. Im not worried about remembering the date because hellcall before he comes. Hes very careful about rememberingeverything nowadays, while Im no longer expected to rememberanything at all anymore.

I stand in Applebees parking lot and watch them go in to lunch. Weused to eat at restaurants together. I used to fluff up my blond hairand curl the ends under. Id rub blush into my cheeks, paint mylips a deep red, and file my nails to perfection. I had new outfitsevery week; I was never caught wearing the same outfit twice toanywhere we frequented. Sinclair loved to parade me to a reservedtable, past his associates, past friends from the club, even past thewomen who flirted with him, showing me off to all of them. And Iloved it. I loved being the one he chose against the prejudice of hisfamily, his fair lady, the mutt who married a pedigree.

Now Im left out here.

He said this meeting place was convenient for him. I might be blond,but Im not stupid. He doesnt want me to know where hesmoved. Dumb him. I already know. I watch him and Seth whenever Iwant.

I dont like standing in the parking lot alone. People are probablystaring at me out the windows, and some media shark is likely to snapa photo and plaster it on the Internet. Once upon a time, it wasabout our Cinderella marriage, but dirt sells even better.

I stare at the ground, thinking about where I should go. At my feet,I see a picture. Not a photograph, but a little card with a colorizedsketch of a nun on it, and with a flash I remember the nun in thegraveyard standing off to one side by herself. Why was she there? Istoop down and pick up the picture. It might be the same nun, butprobably not. The card says Saint Thrse of Lisieux acrossthe top. I doubt a saint would get caught anywhere near me. I smooththe dirt off it and slide it into my pocketbook to look at later. Idont want to look at it too closely here because I might startthinking about it all. I might cry and fall apart with everyone inthe restaurant staring at me out the window. With Sinclair and Sethstaring at me.

Nervous heat washes over me. I wish I could melt away into thepavement.

I need to go somewhere.

I cant go seemy mother. She lives two hundred miles away. Even if she were tenmiles away, I wouldnt visit her, because she doesnt wantanything to do with me. She never liked Sinclair or Seth. She thinksSinclair is stuck up. Its his manners. She thinks theyre put-onairs because shes never been around anything but beer-swillingjerks. She wouldnt know a Chardonnay from a Grenache. Her idea ofa three-course meal is chips and dip before the entre and ice creamafterward.

I used to be just like her. I grew up in her shadow in a decrepitapartment in downtown Raleigh. I dont know who my father was. Hecould have been any of the guys who wandered in and out of our lives,but she never pointed to one of them and said, Theres yourfather. She never said anything to me about any of them. Shedtell me to get them a beer out of the fridge and to go to my room toget out of her hair. I was twelve before I realized I didnt haveto lie in the dark listening to her bed thump against the wall. Ididnt have to listen to the whispers and moans and feel souseless, so unwanted, so set apart and in the way. I could crawl outmy bedroom window, and leave for the night and she wouldnt care abit.

I found my own comforts.

I was a waif of a thing, with gold spun hair that hung down my backas long and thin as my pale limbs, far from a beauty at that point,but it didnt matter. I quickly learned there were men aplentywaiting to comfort a young girl with empty eyes and a heart asunformed as her body.

Id planned to spend my first escape night with my girlfriendJennifer, but I never got there. I met Kenny Sprat on the way. He waswalking home from a ball game. Kenny wasnt the best-looking guy inschool, but he was fourteen and worked out at the Y a lot, so mostgirls thought he was pretty hot. He fell in step beside me. Asked mewhere I was going. Turned out his dad worked the night shift. Thatnight I learned all about thumping beds.