17. Rachel
17
RACHEL
S itting in my apartment’s living room, I carefully slid a razor under the tape on the shipping box. It had been four days since Darryl had been shot.
Four long, miserable, soul-stealing days.
I’d needed to sand the hardwood to get his blood out, and the bare spot still had to be refinished. I couldn’t bring myself to haul out the cans of stain, so I’d covered the spot with a rug, a stopgap solution. Yes, my couch looked stupid straddling the hardwood and the rug, but what did it matter? I wasn’t expecting guests.
My heart sat like an anvil, heavy in my chest. Who are you fooling?
I couldn’t be bothered with the job because it reminded me too much of Harris. Not because he’d shot Darryl—good riddance to bad rubbish—but because this was the type of thing I’d gotten used to us doing together. Everywhere I looked, I saw him. In the house, in the yard, everywhere we’d hammered or weeded or caulked. We’d felt like a team then. A winning team, even.
I still froze every time I heard a throaty engine growl, expecting Harris’s Mustang, but it was never him.
Today, I was trying. I was up and about. I’d done the dishes and taken out the garbage and even made a start on the living room floor. I’d picked up my packages from UPS. Now I sat opening one of them—the crib I’d ordered, I guessed. A nice crib, with great safety ratings. Not the fanciest, but good quality baby things were so expensive . Going with a plainer crib had made sense.
I flipped the box open and let out a gasp. Flowers peeked through the packaging, roses and tulips. This wasn’t the crib I’d ordered. This was…
“Oh, God. Harris.” My face crumpled, and I lost the last trace of control I’d had over myself. Tears spilled down my cheeks, and I dropped my head in my hands. He’d gotten me the crib I’d secretly wanted—the one I’d decided against because it was too expensive, even though it had looked absolutely perfect .
“Why?” I didn’t get it. Why go to so much effort to make me think he was happy? Why expend so much time, money, and trouble pretending?
Maybe I’d never understand. In the end, I guessed it didn’t really matter. I’d gotten so wrapped up in the fairy tale I’d missed the reality. I’d fallen for a man who only wanted to be free.
“Rachel?”
I winced at the woman’s voice floating up from below, not wanting a customer to see me this way.
“Coming,” I yelled, pushing the box away. I dried my face on one of the tissues I kept stocked in my pockets—the ones Harris had bought for me, a whole damn case—and I pushed off the couch and hustled down the stairs.
“What can I do for you, Lorraine?” I met the retired town librarian outside the den.
“We know you’re busy, and we won’t keep you long. But we have a surprise for you. Something you’ll like.” She gestured toward the den. “What do you say? Five minutes?”
I didn’t want to go in. The den was full of memories, just like everywhere else: Harris surrounded by ancient books, reading about pirates. Harris guarding the new coffeemaker like a ferocious beast. Harris laughing, joking, holding me close.
“After you,” I said.
I stepped into the den, Lorraine following swiftly. The Quilting Club had gathered around the big table—five older ladies, all from town. Moe from the bakery and Bitsy from the bank. Patsy, a retired fifth grade teacher—I had been in her class—and Marge, the oldest at nearly seventy, who’d run the greeting card store at the mall.
I smiled awkwardly, unsure what to say. The club had been holding their meetings at my B&B once a month since I’d first opened, but this wasn’t their usual day. Outside of those meetings, I’d exchanged pleasantries with these women in passing, but I didn’t know them well. They weren’t the types of people my family mixed with. And today, I was dragging. I barely felt human. Even forcing a smile felt like a monumental effort.
“It’s okay, honey,” Patsy said. “Come on, sit down.”
I pulled up a chair and sat at the table. I hoped my red puffy eyes and blotchy face weren’t as noticeable as I feared. At least I’d managed to dress myself correctly, unlike yesterday’s disaster. I’d walked around all day with my shirt inside-out, only spotting my flub when I undressed for bed.
Lorraine reached into a carpet bag sitting on the table. She pulled out a small quilt and shook it out on the table. “What do you think?”
I sat gaping at the bright, happy colors—squares in green, blue, orange, yellow and purple. Each square had an intricate flower sewn onto it, colorful petals in dozens of cheerful fabrics. The middle flower had a heart instead of a flower. I reached out to touch it and found it soft as silk.
Lorraine smiled. “That’s where the name goes, once you’ve decided.”
My head spun. The name? For my baby?
“Um, that’s…” I felt myself choke up, and I swallowed hard. “That’s for me?”
Lorraine put her arm around my shoulders. “How are you feeling? The nausea getting better?”
“Oh, man,” Patsy interjected. “I remember those days. I couldn’t lift my head out of the bowl.”
“And the swollen ankles?” Marge pulled a face. “Don’t get me started on those.” She peered over her glasses, smiling at me. “But you, you look fabulous. Glowing through and through.”
I covered my snort by coughing. I looked like a train wreck with a plane crash on top.
“Yes.” Lorraine nodded. “You’re going to be a radiant mother.”
“And a strong one too,” Patsy announced.
“Damn straight.” Marge slapped the table. “It’s not our place to ask what happened with the father, but whatever his problem is, you’ll be just fine. You’ve got us if you need us, but just look at you! A mother, a businesswoman, and you’re so brave.”
Tears pricked my eyes. I’d always hated the town rumor mill, but these women weren’t laughing or pointing fingers. They were rallying around me. How had that happened?
“You call us,” Lorraine said. “If there’s anything you need.”
“We’ll be surrogate grandmothers. Free for babysitting and spoiling.” Marge nodded sagely, and Patsy chuckled.
“Lord knows, we’ve had enough practice.”
I wiped a tear and laughed wetly. Between these five ladies, they had an army of children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. And they wanted to help me? I wouldn’t say no.
“You’ve always been so good to us,” Patsy said. “Don’t think we haven’t noticed how generous you’ve been. Letting us stay late, bringing us tea.”
“And those divine snacks. How are those free?”
I managed a smile. “All part of the service.” I touched the quilt again. They’d made this for me . They liked me, respected me, and I’d never noticed. I’d gotten so used to contempt and condemnation, to being labeled as “trash” or being ignored, that genuine acceptance flew straight over my head. I’d been certain my pregnancy would be the final nail in my coffin, and they’d all write me off as one more worthless Winchester. I’d been so sure the people of this town wouldn’t give me a chance, I’d never thought to try giving them one.
“Thank you,” I said. “I mean, this is… thank you.” I yanked another tissue out of my pocket and cleared my nose. “This is so beautiful. It’s going straight in the nursery. The baby’s going to love it.” I half-stood, eyes watering. I had to get out of there before I lost it completely.
“We’ll get out of your hair,” Lorraine said. “I know you’re busy. We just wanted to stop by and bring you your gift.”
The ladies all stood, still smiling. Lorraine hugged me, and Patsy did too, and then they were off, heading out to their van. I scooped up my new quilt and clutched it to my chest. If the baby didn’t like it, I’d sleep with it myself. Or Harris could?—
I stifled a whimper. There he was again, hiding behind every corner in my mind. I ran from his memory, straight to the nursery. It was my favorite room, and it hurt so much being in it. It hurt even worse now, seeing the crib in its box. Why had Harris bought me that, if I was such a burden? How had he known I wanted it? Why had he cared?
I stared at the walls, pale green and yellow. To capture the memory of our perfect date. So Harris had said, but had it been true? Maybe these colors had just been on sale. But that still didn’t explain the crib. I turned to look at it, and a lump stuck in my throat. This crib rang of love, clear as a bell.
“I don’t get it,” I whispered. I knelt to open the box. This crib was perfect—the prettiest, the safest. All it needed was a mobile to hang over the mattress. I could almost hear the music, a sweet, plinking tune.
Wait . I froze in place. I wasn’t imagining that melody. The music was real.
I turned to find Harris standing in the doorway, a spinning mobile dangling from his hand. Colorful butterflies danced and trembled, and it took me a second to realize it was because Harris’s hand was shaking.
My traitorous heart leaped with something like joy. He was back. To say he was sorry? It was all a mistake? Then I saw that he’d shaved his hair back to regulation lengths. He wore full fatigues and combat boots, as if he had just come from the base.
“Rachel,” he said, his voice low and strained. “Please, hear me out.”
I gripped the box tight to keep from running to him. “You’ve already said plenty. You’re free of me, so?—”
“I don’t want to be free of you.” He inched into the room, the mobile still chiming its happy tune.
“That’s not what I heard.” I lifted my chin, my heart breaking at the sight of his face. He looked like I felt—worn down, heartbroken. “Please, Harris. I don’t want to be the bad guy and ask you to leave again.”
“I was talking out of my ass to Darryl,” he pleaded, still inching closer. “I was saying anything I could to distract him till I had my shot.”
I pressed my lips together. “No one can lie that convincingly. What you said about our child?—”
“Made me want to puke.” He took another step closer. “How can you sit there, and still be so blind? Look at this room. What do you see?”
I couldn’t look. It hurt way too much. “Lies.”
“The hell you do.” He closed the distance. “I see love.” He hooked his finger under my chin and forced me to look up at him. “You didn’t ruin my life. You made it worth living. You gave me something to fight for when everything else fell apart.” The mobile bounced in his hand. “This room was me trying to show you how I felt. I was too scared to say it aloud, in case you didn’t feel the same. But these walls, this crib, this mobile—it’s all us.”
I stared at the mobile. The butterflies, black swallowtails, danced on their strings. The same butterflies we’d seen on our date.
Oh God. It was true. What had I done?
Harris stroked a thumb lightly over my cheek. “I love you,” he said. “There. Now I’ve said it.” His eyes darkened with emotion. “I’ll say it again—as many times as you need to hear it until you understand. I love you, I love you. I love you, Rachel.”
I blinked. Was I dreaming? “You love me?”
“That’s right.” He brushed a tear off my cheek. “I’ve loved you for weeks. I love you so much, it’s been killing me to be away from you. And I love our child—our Ava. Our Aiden. Our McCallister-Winchester—the child we made together.” He set the mobile down gently, on top of the box. “I love the home we’ve made here. The home we’ve taken care of together. It’s the haven I didn’t even know I was looking for, but I was lucky as hell to find it.”
I could hardly see him through the tears streaming down my cheeks, but I still couldn’t let myself fall into his arms. One nagging fear kept me frozen in place.
“I love you too,” I said, my voice soft and trembling. “But I don’t know if I’m strong enough to watch you leave on missions. Or wait for months without knowing if you’re coming back.”
“You won’t have to.”
“What?” He wasn’t saying what I thought he was, was he?
“I retired earlier today.”
I swayed, and he pulled me against him. “You did? But why?”
“You’re my home and my family.” He tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “You’re what I need . I want us to be a team, to build our future. The military taught me a lot and gave me a purpose for a while, but I have new priorities, and you and our baby are the center of them. Can you believe that?”
I smiled. “You retired for us? Then, yes. Hell, yes.” I flung my arms around him. “I love you so much, Harris McCallister.”
He wrenched back and searched my face. “Say that again. I want to watch those words pass your beautiful lips.”
I laughed. My face was wet, and my nose was running, but I’d never felt better. “I love you, Harris McCallister.”
“ Yes !” He picked me up and spun me. “Now, back to those baby names. I was thinking?—”
“Don’t you dare!”
“Barclay.”
“Shut up.”
“Agatha.”
I burst out laughing, and he silenced me with a kiss. Tilting my head, I welcomed him in, kicking the door shut in case anyone stopped by. I planned to do some wicked things to my retired Marine, and the only audience I wanted was the butterflies on the mobile.