2. Rachel
2
RACHEL
I paced my tiny, pink bathroom, gnawing on the end of my thumb. The digital pregnancy test sat perched on the toilet tank, its little swirling symbol spinning round and round. Why had I splurged on the digital test? Oh yeah, because the box promised the comfort of an unmistakable “yes” or “no” answer, but, damn , that little swirl was driving me crazy. Around and around, twirl, twirl?—
Gah! I should have bought the kind with the little blue lines. I’d still be plenty anxious, with my entire future on the line, but at least I wouldn’t be dizzy from all the damn spinning.
“I can’t watch this.” I stomped out of the bathroom. The knot in my stomach threatened to tie itself even tighter, and little black dots crowded my vision. I took a deep breath and let it out through my teeth. Cleaning the rooms vacated by the two couples who’d checked out this morning could be just the distraction I needed. Three minutes of busywork, and then I’d know.
I marched across my apartment and stepped into the hallway just as the doorbell chimed.
“Hello?” I called as I jogged down the stairs and found my mother inside already, her scrawny boyfriend dogging her heels.
“Rachel,” Tammy Winchester said, drawing herself up. She stood the same height as me, at five foot two. But where I loved to color my long black hair whatever shade struck me at the moment (currently a vivid blue since the purple had faded), my mother chose to keep hers uncolored and cut to fall at her shoulders. “Darryl has a proposal for you.”
I glanced at Darryl and saw him smiling unpleasantly. Damn it. The last thing I needed right now was a fight. Darryl’s brown eyes stayed cold, full of dark, grubby greed. “I think you’ll like what I have to say.”
“I doubt that.” I rubbed my stomach to ease its churning. The last time my mother had brought Darryl to the house, the two of them had tried to convince me to let them dig up the yard, searching for pirate treasure down by the beach. I had refused, of course. Just like I would now.
“Listen,” I said, “if this is about the treasure, you know it’s not real. The Golden Age of Piracy was three hundred years ago. If there’d been treasure, don’t you think someone would’ve found it by now?” I wasn’t going to let them tear up the grounds I worked my ass off on all to chase some pipe dream.
“At least let us try.” Deep grooves scored my mother’s face as her lips quirked down. “This is my place too, you know. We inherited this property together. The least you could do is let us dig.”
“And disrupt my business? Wreck my lawn? Are you going to re-sod it when you’re done with your search?” I sagged where I stood, wanting this over. Wanting this done with, so I could crawl back into bed. “Tell you what,” I said. “There’s a metal detector in the garage. You can take that and?—”
“What if the treasure is pearls or diamonds? Those aren’t metal.” My mother jabbed her finger at me. “I have rights to this place, as much as you do. We have the right to dig.”
I groaned. “I’ll say it again, since you didn’t listen the last ten times I told you.” I drew a deep breath to steady my anger. “The attorney I consulted the first time you tried this stated that no court of law would let you harm a profitable business to dig for some mythical treasure. Not without evidence it actually exists.”
My mother’s hand dropped and Darryl’s eyes narrowed. I couldn’t help twisting the knife.
“In case you need it broken down further, that means no digging on this land as long as Winchester Manor Inn is open for business.”
“And what if it wasn’t?” Darryl pounced like a panther, yellow teeth bared. “What if I’m offering to buy you out?”
I barked out a semi-hysterical laugh. “How? That’s absurd.”
“Rachel!” My mother stamped her foot. “I’ve told you, don’t take that tone with Darryl.”
“I can take whatever tone I want.” I straightened to my full height, but I couldn’t hide my exhaustion. “I’m not selling,” I said, my voice as firm as I could make it. “I’ve worked hard to restore this house and turn it into a reputable, profitable business. A business I love , and I won’t give it up.”
“I’m offering cash,” Darryl said.
“I don’t want your cash,” I shot back.
“You sure about that?” Darryl’s brown eyes darted down to the tops of my breasts, lingering on the chrysanthemums tattooed across them. “Wouldn’t you rather start over someplace else? Someplace folks won’t judge you on just your last name?”
I flinched at that, because Darryl was right. Folks around here looked at me and saw trash—my mother’s daughter, dyed in the wool. Still, I’d made strides—my business, for one.
“You could have that,” Darryl said. “A nice, fresh start. In Atlanta or Charleston, you might even find people who don’t mind all that ink and your punk hair. But here? People look at you and see trash.” He stepped forward, and it took everything I had not to jerk backward. “Face it, little girl. The Winchesters aren’t on the mayor’s Christmas card list for a reason.”
“Darryl!” My mother gripped his bicep, nails digging in. Apparently, even she had her limits.
I smiled at the pair of them as best I could, pretending their words hadn’t hit me like punches to the stomach.
“I’m not like you,” I said. “I’m not like either of you, and I’m not like Dad. I’ve never been fired, and I don’t drink. I don’t mooch around town making nothing but trouble.” I scowled at my mother, and my anger flared brightly. “I’ve got tattoos—so what? It wasn’t my tattoos that nearly lost us our trailer. That was you, Mom, blowing the payments on booze. I’m living down your sins, not?—”
“Rachel!” Mom slapped at me, but I wasn’t done.
“I can build my own name here. Build my own life. And you can go dig for treasure somewhere else. This is my property, and I won’t let you interfere with it.”
Darryl’s hands clenched into fists. “It’s only your property as long as this business stays open. Bed-and-breakfasts fail all the time.” He took another step closer. “Your TikTok won’t save this place once the novelty wears off. Those things, social media, are just a fad. You’re just a fad—white trash dumb enough to think you’ve actually made good. It'll all fall apart, you just wait and see. One day, you’ll be begging me to take this place off your hands.”
“Get out.” I pointed at the door.
My mother glowered at me. “You can’t kick us out.”
“I think I just did.” I crossed my arms over my chest to hide the tremors in my hands. “You have thirty seconds to leave quietly, or I’ll call the police.”
My mother stared for a long time, upper lip curled. Then she tossed her hair back and spun on her heel. “This conversation isn’t over,” she said, and flounced to the front door. “I didn’t inherit half this property just to be told I have no rights to it.”
I slammed the door shut, then bent and clasped my thighs. Exhaling loudly, I let my muscles go loose. I shook all over—great, wracking shivers. A sob made me jerk, and I nearly fell over. Swiping my blue hair out of my eyes, I glanced at the clock on the credenza where I kept my guest book. Nine thirty-five. It’d been fifteen minutes—well past the three the pregnancy test required. I swallowed. Oh, God . Could I handle this, after that wretched showdown? Whether I could or not didn’t matter. I had to know if my missed period was due to stress or….
I trudged up the steps, my flip-flops like cement weights strapped to my feet. Sweat slicked my palms, and I couldn’t get enough air.
Right. Here goes nothing.
I strode into the bathroom and snatched the test off the tank, and?—
“Oh God,” I wheezed. The test slipped through my fingers as I dropped to the floor. “No…no. I can’t be.”
Only, I was.
Bile rose up my throat and I lunged for the toilet. I coughed up the toast I’d had for breakfast and kept on heaving until I had nothing left. Finally spent, I slumped against the bathtub.
That cold “Yes” glared up at me from beside the trash can, a digital accusation, impossible to refute.
“Why?” I asked the ceiling. My whole life I’d fought my family’s trashy reputation. Now I’d be a single mother after a one-night stand. I’d tried to rise above, but I was a Winchester after all, just like my parents and their parents before them.
Climbing to my feet, I squirted toothpaste on my toothbrush. I cleaned out my stale mouth and spat in the sink, then jerked upright.
Was that the front door? The bell chimed again. Son of a bitch . If that was Mom and Darryl, back to harass me some more?—
I barreled out of the bathroom and straight down the stairs, only to stop two steps from the bottom. “Harris?”
He stood framed in the doorway, six feet of masculine perfection. He seemed to fill up the foyer with his well-muscled bulk, the aura of confidence that came off him in waves. His reddish-brown hair was still shorn close to his head, but the scruff on his face looked like it hadn’t been shaved for a few days.
I stood a moment, taking him in—his olive-green T-shirt and camouflage pants. His big, heavy boots, scuffed at the toes. He lifted his head, and our eyes met. He blinked at me, as if surprised to see me.
“Rachel.” His smooth tenor caressed my ears, and I hated how much I had missed it. “I...” He clasped his hands together, then shifted his feet. His eyes searched my face, then narrowed. “You’re trembling. What’s wrong?”