Rachel From the Edge Pt. 06

Rachel From the Edge Pt. 06

by G. Lawrence

Daniel Benson's funeral becomes a circus

Still recovering from a deadly bout of pneumonia, Rachel is asked to attend Daniel Benson's funeral, creating a media sensation. Rory is in love with Rachel, John is studying her, and Pamela Benson is plotting ways to use her. In a turn that will have dire consequences, the angry youngest son arrives to cause chaos. Much of this story is now a family drama with immensely rich people dealing with the media and a strange young woman they still don't understand. All characters are over 18 years old.

* * * * * *

Chapter Six

THE FUNERAL

As the sun set over the Pacific Ocean in the distance, Rory joined Pamela, John and Oliver on the flagstone patio. The late September evening was pleasantly cool.

"Rachel fell asleep on the floor," Rory said.

"On the floor?" John asked.

"I don't want to risk waking her," Rory replied.

"She really is a delightful child," Pamela said. "And very smart. Did you know that spatial engineering can make a Summit A9000 search engine four times broader than its design coefficient? And that all you need are multiplying layers of disassociated integrators properly aligned to achieve a solution?"

"I don't even know what that means," John said.

"I know! Isn't that wonderful?" Pamela replied.

"Mom, what are you saying?" Rory asked.

"Are we talking privately? As a family?" Pamela said, looking toward the house to make sure no one was watching.

"Not if it hurts Rachel," Rory said.

"Sweetheart, it's the farthest thing from my mind. I swear to God."

"Okay. Let's hear it," Rory agreed.

"I should have gotten suspicious two weeks ago. Sheila came to me about buying Marbury & Benson. Said to sell while I still could. And she wanted to know if M & B had Rachel under contract. It was all there, but I was so caught up in my stupid vengeance campaign that the truth never dawned on me. A cold bitch like Sheila never puts anything on the line for nothing."

"Did you offer to sell?" Oliver asked.

"No. Sheila was afraid to press too hard," Pamela answered.

"What's the big deal, Mom? M & B was Dad's dream, not yours. Go ahead and sell it," John said.

"I shouldn't need to say why it's a big deal. Should I, Ollie? Because you've known all along. Haven't you, Ollie? Wouldn't it be nice if you finally shared with everybody else? Wouldn't it be nice if you finally shared with me?"

"You're in a cantankerous mood," Oliver said.

"I've spent the whole afternoon with a cantankerous young lady. I'm in training," Pamela said.

"Mr. Mendelson?" John said, eyebrows bent in a frown.

Oliver walked to the pool, gazing down into the dark blue water.

"We're over here, Ollie. Not down there with the goldfish," Rory complained.

"You know Danny and I were fraternity brothers at Yale," Oliver said, speaking cautiously. "Friends for forty years. I haven't wanted to say anything that could be misunderstood. And in some instances, I was afraid people would understand all too well."

"Yeah, I'm getting that impression, too," John said.

"Pam obviously suspects some of this. Just not the scale. One of our fraternity brothers, Jabby Borowski, is an economics professor at Harvard. He told me about this amazing undergraduate. She had these eccentric ideas about quantum analysis. Really groundbreaking stuff. But she was so introverted that no one was paying attention to her work. And those who did, didn't know what to make of it. Then one day this student needed money. A lot of it, because her father was dying. I brought her out to meet Danny and he hired her on the spot."

Oliver finished his drink, walked back to the table, and stole Pamela's.

"Officially, Rachel worked in forensic accounting, but most of her time was spent alone in her lab. Co-workers resented her special status. When Danny started flirting with her, they assumed she was sleeping with him. Actually, it took Danny over a year to seduce her. It was a lot of work, too. He offered her a luxury apartment. New clothes. She said no to everything. Eventually, he turned it into a special project."

"That's disgusting," Rory said.

"It wasn't just about sex. Not for Danny," Oliver explained. "He never had trouble getting women. He wanted to keep Rachel close. Make sure none of our competitors would steal her. He considered Rachel the company's most valuable asset."

"The bondage?" Rory asked.

"Danny always liked that. He liked the dominance. But with Rachel, being as shy as she is, it was a way to win her trust at the most intimate level. And in Rachel's world, trust is a rare commodity."

"Why is that?" John asked.

"It's not my place to discuss her personal secrets," Oliver said.

"Would they still be secrets if I hire private detectives? Like you did?" Pamela said. Oliver took a deep breath.

"Rachel hasn't shared much about her past, and I've wanted to respect that. But Danny's death hit her harder than I realized. If Ro hadn't pretended to be her friend, I don't think we'd be having this conversation."

"Pretended? I'm not pretending!" Rory protested.

"Come on, Ro. I've known you your whole life. Since when do you care about anybody but yourself? Any of you? Just look at Billy. And Johnny was the most spoiled child I ever met. It took five years in Boston for him to grow up. That's why I was working with Sheba to get Rachel away from here."

"You did what?" Pamela asked.

"I tried to get Rachel to leave M & B, but she refused. Danny's hold on her was too strong."

"And when Daddy died, you left her to rot in that tiny apartment on 14th Street," Rory said.

"I wasn't thinking," Oliver confessed.

"It's obvious why Rachel doesn't trust you," John said. "Why wouldn't she trust us?"

"I'm on thin ice with her already," Oliver answered.

"You're on thin ice with a lot of people," Pamela warned.

Oliver leaned forward, speaking softly.

"Rachel's gifts emerged at a young age. When she was four, her mother took her to the park. Rachel came home speaking Spanish. While her first-grade class was learning to add and subtract, Rachel was doing Algebra. In Sunday school, Rachel could quote the Bible better than the pastor. Her parents grew afraid of her. They took her out of school. They abused her. When she was put in foster care, she was abused again."

"Rach told me about that," Rory said. "This army guy--"

"It was bad," Oliver interrupted, giving Rory a guarded look.

"Yeah, Rach said it was bad," Rory agreed.

"Life didn't get any easier," Oliver continued. "Living on her own, without money or family, she struggled to finish high school. Rachel's strange moods made it difficult for her to make friends. Her co-workers at M & B are backstabbers. Time after time, when Rachel's offered her trust, she's been betrayed."

"Dad, too?" John asked.

"No. Definitely not," Oliver insisted. "Not in the way you think. When Danny realized Rachel had these challenges, he did everything he could to win her confidence. It took two years, but when Rachel finally gave him her trust, he fell in love with her. The most swaggering, cynical man I've ever known, fell under her spell."

"So, let me get this straight," John said. "Dad brainwashed a vulnerable young woman to protect his business interests, while using her for kinky sex?"

"I said this might not sound good," Oliver admitted.

"It sounds awful," Rory said. "What am I missing?"

"You're assuming Rachel didn't know what your father was doing, and you're wrong. There were no tricks. No false expectations. She entered the relationship fully aware of what Danny wanted. He filled needs she'd had her whole life. Warmth. Patience. Companionship. Understanding. Now that he's gone, I don't know what she's going to do."

"Rachel is strong. She's going to get through this," Rory insisted.

Martha waved from the door, announcing dinner. They went back in the house and up to the dining area on the north level. The table was set for five, but Rachel wasn't there.

"Is she all right? Did she go back to bed?" Pamela asked. Then she heard noises from the kitchen and followed the sound. Rory and John were right behind her.

"What the hell?" Rory said, stopping in the doorway.

As Martha rushed around preparing dinner plates, Rachel was strapped to a heavy stool in the middle of the kitchen, issuing orders. She was wearing red sweatpants, a green turtleneck sweater, and pink kitten slippers.

"The timer only has twenty-five seconds left," Rachel warned. "Reduce the temperature. Don't let the pasta cool before adding the sauce. The bread needs to breathe."

"Why is she tied up?" John said, going toward the stool.

"You stop right there, young man," Martha said, jumping in his path. "You leave that girl right where she is."

"Why?" Rory asked.

"Because that little hurricane will run herself to death if you let her. She wants to do everything herself, and she don't have the strength," Martha insisted.

Rachel was watching them from the stool, her arms crossed, pouting.

"Okay, this is a side I haven't seen before," Rory said, hugging John's arm. "That girl still has a spark plug."

"She sure does," John agreed, unable to take his eyes off her.

Oliver went to Rachel, whispered in her ear, and freed the strap. Rachel needed help finding her balance.

"Rachel and I are going to sit near the fire for a few minutes," Oliver said, leading her down the ramp into the living room. Rory followed. Pamela and John took seats at the dining table.

"What are you thinking?" Pamela asked.

"She seems to be doing well," John said. "She's struggling, of course, but that's natural after losing a spouse."

"Then you believe they were a couple?"

"Absolutely. Dad wouldn't have offered grandma's ring if they weren't. What I don't understand is how she got so sick. Wasn't anyone watching out for her?"

"I can't make any excuses. My behavior was disgraceful. When I finally did help, it was only to avoid bad publicity. Rory is the hero. She really stepped up."

"Too bad Billy won't step up. Have you finally heard from him?"

"Last night. He'll be at the funeral. And he wants an advance from his trust fund."

"Make him go back to school," John pressed.

"No one makes their kids do anything these days," Pamela sighed.

She looked down toward Rachel, sitting next to the fire, attentive as Rory told her stories. The two seemed to be growing close.

"Rachel was a star student at Harvard. On a scholarship," Pamela said. "And she gave it all up when her parents fell ill. Parents who treated her cruelly. Who does that? If I got sick, who would ever make a sacrifice like that for me?"

John was watching Rachel, too. The big eyes. The shy smiles. And even recovering from a severe illness, she was striking. Her face was round, with high cheek bones and a button nose. Her small body was perfectly proportioned. The chestnut hair was soft and long, hanging over her shoulders.

"I see what Dad saw. He must have found her irresistible."

"You have no idea," Pamela said.

The diners feasted on delicately spiced lasagna. Rachel ate tomato soup with slices of sourdough bread. She was quiet, listening to the conversation but saying little.

"We should talk about the funeral," Pamela said as Martha cleared away the plates. "Big crowds, lots of press, and lots of questions."

"Let's take this to a more comfortable area," Oliver suggested, helping Rachel down into the living room. She curled up in blankets near the fire, looking sleepy. Pamela found a seat next to Oliver on the leather couch. John sat in his father's big easy chair. Rory sat on the stone hearth next to Rachel, brushing her hair.

"What do you think, Rachel?" Rory asked.

"About what?" she said.

"About attending the funeral with us," Rory answered.

"Saying goodbye is important," Rachel replied. They noticed her sense of detachment. She turned away, staring into the flames.

"Rachel or no Rachel, it's going to be a zoo. We've hired private security," Oliver said.

"What's the game plan? Are we going to have time to mourn Dad, or is it just for show?" Rory asked.

"Of all the businesses your father owned, M & B was his darling. And now it's in trouble," Pamela said. "If we ignore the problem, the press will keep feeding on this story until the investors walk away. And the bloggers haven't exactly been nice to us, either. We can take it lying down, or we can go on offense."

"Where does Miss Montgomery fit it?" John asked. "She doesn't look ready to be outdoors, let alone bait for sharks."

"If Rachel is there, with us, it will prove to everybody that we're standing together. With no animosities," Pamela insisted. They looked toward Rachel. She didn't seem to be paying attention.

"Rachel? Rach?" Rory said.

Rachel turned her head. She seemed someplace else.

"A fifty-point gauge on Level 12 is insufficient. The matrix needs to be reconfigured for singular variations and then back-scaled using spiraling integrators," Rachel replied.

The room was quiet.

"Okay, now that we've settled that," Pamela said. "This will be good for Rachel, too. Even necessary."

"How so?" John asked.

Pamela went to the bar, mixed drinks for everyone except Rachel, and sat on the tree stump coffee table. Rachel suddenly sat up, saw Pamela's gin and soda, and held out her empty hands with a frown. Pamela mixed another drink for her, mostly soda rather than gin. Rory made sure Rachel drank slowly.

"I don't need to tell you all the terrible things people are saying," Pamela explained. "They say Rachel slept with Daniel for raises and promotions, even though she never got any. They say she did it for money, though she never accepted any for herself. They've called her a gold-digger, a slut, and a whore."

"They say I killed him. With both hands tied behind my back," Rachel said, her voice a million miles away. Rory got down on the floor to hold her, but Rachel wasn't crying. She looked empty.

"Do you see what I mean?" Pamela whispered. "I'm as guilty as anyone. Maybe more. But if Rachel comes to the funeral with us, with Daniel's family, it will tell everybody to shut their goddamn mouths."

"Is this something you want, honey?" Rory asked.

"I should go," Rachel replied.

"Even if things get rough?" John said.

"That doesn't matter," Rachel answered.

"I'll be at your side the whole time," Rory promised. "If anyone wants a piece of you, they'll have to go through me first."

"We should prepare a statement for the press. What about other family members?" Oliver said.

"I'll reach out tonight. Tell them to be on-board or stay home," Pamela said.

"Isn't that a bit much?" Oliver asked.

"Rory has shown me the warpath. Everyone needs to know that," Pamela said, daring anyone to say different.

Pamela sat down on the floor next to Rachel, took her hand, and looked into her eyes. It took a moment for Rachel to make contact, her vision slowly focusing.

"Are you here?" Pamela asked.

"Yes, Mrs. Benson," Rachel said, looking curious.

"You must all understand, I have sins to pay for," Pamela said. "Amends to make. The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep."

"Since when do you quote Robert Frost?" John said.

"Rachel read it to me this afternoon," Pamela said. "She reads a lot of poetry. Because she's a romantic."

Tears appeared in Rachel's eyes. Pamela found a napkin to wipe them.

* * * * * *

September 23rd started out warm. A limousine arrived to take the mourners to the cemetery, but the household wasn't rushing to get ready.

"If the internet hadn't turned Dad's death into a joke, we wouldn't have reporters stalking our every move," Rory said, dressed in black. She was in the butler's bathroom helping Rachel with her makeup. Rachel was also dressed in black, the widow's weeds hurriedly ordered from Neiman Marcus by Pamela. It came with a wide brim hat and a thin gray veil.

"How are you doing this morning? Are you engaged?" Rory asked.

"Oh, yes, fully engaged. I'm sorry to have wandered away last night," Rachel answered, going back to her bedroom. She took the jewelry box out from under the pillow, trying to decide if she should bring it.

"When the professors at Harvard talked about you being eccentric, is that what they meant? That you would zone out?"

"It wasn't always this bad."

"What do the doctors say?"

"About what?"

"About you drifting off into outer space?"

"Ro, I don't drift. I'm constantly engaged, just someplace else. And the time is well spent. I just can't stay there too long. Sometimes it's hard to get back."

"How can I help? How can we help?" Rory asked.

"You've always been helping. Just take my hand and whisper my name. It might not be instantaneous, but I'll know."

"Have you talked to doctors? Do they have a handle on this?"

"It's complicated."

"Your health is not complicated. It's important. I'm training to be an RN, remember?"

Rachel looked around the room, even though they were the only ones there. She slid off the bed to the floor, motioning for Rory to join her.

"Ro, I've never had money for doctors," Rachel whispered. "The specialists I've spoken with want to study me. Like a laboratory experiment. That's something I'll never be. I need to work these problems out in my own way."

Rory thought more could be done, but wasn't sure what.

"You can still change your mind about going."

"I won't back out on your mother."

"Scared of her?"

"She fights for her own. It's more than my parents ever did."

"I need to ask you a question. Can we talk for a moment?"

"Is it something bad?" Rachel asked.

"No, it's not bad, but it's important. Do you think I'm your friend, or that I'm only pretending to be your friend?"

"Why would you ask that?" Rachel said.

"Is it a hard question?"

"If it was an easy question, you wouldn't ask."

"What's the answer?"

"Rory, I appreciate everything you've done for me. I will always be grateful."

"That's not an answer. Do you think this is just a game for me? That I'll go back to school bragging about how I saved my father's sex slave?"

"Of course I don't think that. It would never occur to me."

"I want to be your friend, Rach. I am your friend. Can't you believe me?"

"Does it matter what I think?"

"It matters to me. It matters a lot," Rory said.

Rachel sighed and shifted to face Rory directly, sitting cross-legged with her shoulders squared and the long hair brushed back from her face. Rory noticed something very different about Rachel's expression. Her gaze was suddenly more intense. The eyes strangely focused. Her breathing grew steady. Controlled. Rory felt like she was under some sort of examination, a sensation so powerful that it had a physical presence. The bizarre experience only lasted a moment, and then Rachel relaxed. Her eyes got misty and she reached for a tissue.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry," Rory said.

"It's okay, Ro," Rachel said, taking her hands. "Thank you. Thank you so much for being my friend."

* * * * * *

Martha was in the kitchen making coffee when the young ladies arrived. Bacon and scrambled eggs were on the stove. Rachel's herbal tea and toast were on the sideboard. John wore a dark gray suit with a navy-blue tie. Martha had chosen a black dress with a broad skirt.

"Good morning, children. Ready for this sorrowful day?" Martha asked, though as Rachel approached the kitchen, she grew wary.

"Stay back, little hurricane. The kitchen is mine this morning," Martha warned, using her body to block the stove. Rachel entered the kitchen anyway, paused before Martha, and lowered her head with her hands at her sides.

"I'm sorry for being such a brat last night. Please forgive me," she said. Martha let out a relieved breath and took Rachel in her arms.

"Darling, no apology is needed. I know the troubles you have."

"I appreciate that, but I've always been a brat in the kitchen. I can't help it."

"Then you'll just need to give me cooking lessons, won't you?" Martha said.

Breakfast was quiet. Rory made sure Rachel ate her toast and some eggs. Martha gave Rachel the medication prescribed by Dr. Bellows.

"Are we ready? The carnival is waiting for us," John said.

It caused them to look at Rachel.

"There's nothing they can do to hurt me. Mr. Benson, I'm sorry I didn't give condolences on your father last night. After killing him, I couldn't find the words."

"What?" John said.

"Johnny, Rachel saw that bullshit the bloggers are writing," Rory explained. "She was very sick, and very vulnerable. That trash got into her head, and now she can't sort out what really happened."

"You didn't kill my father. His heart gave out," John said.

"I knew he was sick," Rachel responded.

"How did you know that?" John asked.

"He died, didn't he?" Rachel replied.

"Does everyone see what I need to deal with?" Rory said. She went to Daniel's office and returned with a letter. "Rachel thought Dad was looking tired, so she made him go to the doctor."

John read the letter, noting the date and the doctor's name. The stationary looked authentic. The signature was ink, not a photocopy.

"We can check this. But even if the doctor was wrong, there's no reason to think Miss Montgomery would know," John said.

"I should have known," Rachel said.

"How? How could you have known?" Rory persisted.

"I don't know. Somehow," Rachel said, starting to tear up.

"You're going to make a tissue company rich," Rory said, pulling one out. "Martha, how many boxes are we bringing?"

"Three," Martha said. "Think that's enough?"

It was a long drive to Glendale where Daniel Benson was being entombed. Large crowds and reporters gathered at the cemetery gate. Others had managed to infiltrate the grounds. Their limousine was given priority, parking near the quaint old church where services were being held.

"I'll be close the whole time," Rory promised.

"Ro, I appreciate your concern, but today should be about you. About your father. Your loss. Please don't let me distract you."

"You aren't a distraction, Rachy. Helping you makes this easier for me. I've never asked. What religion are you? Are you religious?"

"My parents were Baptists. I stopped going to church when ... when my father was leaving too many bruises on me to attend Sunday services."

John heard the remark and frowned. He'd heard Rachel's parents were abusive. No one said anything about beatings. He was beginning to think there was a lot more that wasn't being talked about.

"We're Presbyterians. You can be a Presbyterian for a day if you want?" Rory said.

"I'm not a virgin. No virgin sacrifices," Rachel said.

"Don't worry, we stopped doing that last year," Rory replied.

Their portion of the parking lot was roped off, a dozen security personnel in dark suits and sunglasses maintaining order. The press wasn't happy about the lack of access. Two big media trucks were broadcasting the event live from a distance while news crews roamed the periphery conducting interviews. Oliver came to greet them, wearing a dark brown suit and a black tie.

"Services start in a few minutes," Oliver said. "Our seats are off to the side. Less visible. Then we'll proceed straight to the mausoleum for the interment and say final prayers. It should all take about two hours."

"Thanks for your help, Mr. Mendelson," John said, shaking his hand.

"Least I can do for old friends," Oliver said. "How are you holding up, Miss Montgomery?"

They had taken the wheelchair from the trunk. Rachel didn't want to use it, but the distance to the church looked too far. Hundreds of feet. And the tomb was up a hill.

"I am well. Thank you," she said, trying to get in the chair without falling. John rushed to help, finding her light as a feather. She really needed to put on weight.

An eager TV reporter and her cameraman eluded security and approached. John was ready to cut them off, but Oliver waved them through.

"Miss Cates, this is a solemn event. Please show respect," Oliver said.

The vivacious reporter, an aggressive blonde in her late twenties, looked prepared with an agenda. Her dark blue outfit was pert yet professional.

"Of course, sir," Felicia Cates said, making sure the camera angle was good. "I recognize Johnny and Rory Benson. Our condolences on the death of your father. Who is the young lady accompanying you?"

Rachel had the thin veil down, as Rory wanted, but her face could still be seen. Cates was looking at her with expectation, excitement in her vivid blue eyes.

Rory didn't know what to say, and John wasn't sure what to say. Rachel had no intention of saying anything, but had a feeling the reporter already knew the answer. As if on cue, Pamela suddenly appeared.

"Hello, Felicia, I see you're working hard," Pamela said.

"We have a job to do, Mrs. Benson. Can you make introductions?" Cates replied.

"Of course. This is Miss Rachel Montgomery, Daniel's fiancée. Her grief over my ex-husband's death has left her with a serious case of pneumonia. It's very brave of her to be here."

Pamela knelt next to Rachel, sure to show her good side to the camera. Her mourning outfit was less grim than her family, only being an ex-wife. She took Rachel's hand.

"How are you dear? Is there anything we can do for you?" she asked.

"Mrs. Benson, Daniel wasn't--" Rachel started to say.

"Miss Montgomery doesn't wish to discuss personal business before the press," Pamela said, jumping back up. "But we're waiting to see if she's in a family way. It would be a final blessing to add another child to his wonderful legacy."

"She's pregnant?" Cates asked, thrilled about the exclusive.

"We don't know for sure. We are hopeful," Pamela said.

Pamela smiled for the camera and pushed Rachel's wheelchair up the cement path toward the church. Rory and John hurried after them. They stopped under a willow tree.

"Mrs. Benson, I was not Daniel's fiancée," Rachel said.

"Sweetheart, Daniel proposed to you, and you were going to accept. As far as I'm concerned, you were engaged."

"I'm not pregnant," Rachel said.

"Are you sure? Didn't you sleep with him a few weeks ago?" Pamela asked.

"I can't be completely sure," Rachel admitted.

"You have the ring, don't you?"

"In my pocket."

Pamela found the engagement ring and put it on Rachel's finger, pulling back the sleeve of her jacket so everyone could see.

"Mom, what are you up to?" Rory asked, taking over pushing duties.

"I'm changing the narrative, dear. When people hear your father's heartsick fiancée attended his funeral even though she is ill and with child, America will rally around her. Those motherfucking cable news assholes will be singing my tune."

"That's terrible," Rory said.

"No, it's smart," John disagreed.

"Rachel, you don't mind if we fudge a few facts, do you? To help the family?" Pamela asked, again kneeling next to her wheelchair. Rachel looked to Rory.

"Ro? What should I do?" Rachel asked.

"Let's not cause trouble today, honey," Rory reluctantly agreed, though she was displeased with her mother's shenanigans. Nor was she happy that Pamela kept invoking Daniel's family to manipulate Rachel.

The church was crowded. An area off to the right was set aside for kin. Rachel sat between Pamela and Rory. The seat next to Pamela was empty.

"Some of Daniel's relatives aren't here," Rachel noticed.

"Family politics. Don't worry about it, dear," Pamela said.

"Is it because of me?" Rachel asked.

"Adults make their own decisions," Pamela firmly said. "Through all the turmoil you've suffered, I haven't heard you blaming anyone else. Not a single time."

"Mom's right. Screw 'em," Rory said.

It looked like Rachel was going to apologize again. Or start crying.

"Don't do that. Do not do that," Pamela insisted, waving a finger at her. "I made the arrangements. I laid down the law. If disrespect is being shown here, it's being shown to me, and I will deal with it. Your job is to get better. Are we communicating?"

"Yes, Mrs. Benson," Rachel said, sitting back with her hands in her lap.

Rory couldn't help staring. Somehow, her mother was gaining control over Rachel. She wasn't sure if that was a bad thing. Rachel was in desperate need of guidance. But it was unsettling.

"Billy's still not here," Rory whispered.

"He's coming," Oliver said, sitting in the pew behind them with Martha.

Additional family members appeared, including Sheila Marbury, who found a seat next to Oliver. She said a quick hello to Rory and John, and to Pamela's surprise, leaned over the pew to whisper condolences to Rachel, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Just as the services were about to start, a young man arrived dressed in a camel hair sport coat and a red tie. He was twenty-two years old with curly reddish hair and a thin beard. Unlike his father, William Benson was under six feet tall, weighing in at a hundred and sixty pounds. His build was thin boned but muscular.

"Thank you for returning my calls," Pamela sarcastically said.

"Been busy, Mom," he said, leaning over to peck her on the cheek. "Hi, Johnny. Hi, Rory. Sheba. Hey? Wait. What is the whore doing here? What the hell is this?"

He was not discreet. Dozens of people heard him.

"Mind your manners. We'll discuss family business with family," Pamela said.

"She's not family. She's a goddamn whore. She killed Dad with both hands tied behind her--"

Pamela slapped William across the face so hard his sunglasses went flying. Then she motioned to her security team, and before he knew it, William was dragged out of the church.

"I'm going have a serious talk with that young man," Pamela said, trying not to appear flustered. She turned to see Rachel on her feet, struggling to wiggle down the aisle past Rory.

"Where are you going?" Pamela asked.

"I should leave," Rachel said, desperately looking for the door.

"You can't go," Pamela said.

"It's okay, I still have my bus pass," Rachel answered.

"Dear, this isn't about you," Pamela whispered.

"William should be here, with his family," Rachel said. "Not Daniel's--"

"Don't say what I think you're going to say," Pamela interrupted, grabbing Rachel's hand. "Don't ever say that. Or think it."

Pamela dragged Rachel back into her seat, noticing how distressed she looked. "Billy had issues with his father, and he has issues with me," Pamela said. "He has issues with everybody."

"But--"

"No buts. We've already talked about buts," Pamela said. "You're going to stay here. With us. Do you understand?"

"You're okay, honey. I promise," Rory whispered, sliding closer.

"Are you sure?" Rachel asked.

"I'm sure," Rory replied.

The services began with Daniel's bronze casket being carried in and set before the altar surrounded by candles. Pastor Robbins, a spry old man with no hair, opened the lid, gazed at the body, and spoke to the assembly of Daniel's many accomplishments, his family, and his faith. He didn't mention Daniel's death. Old acquaintances and colleagues rose to give remembrances. Many were funny. Despite controversies and rivalries, Daniel had a legion of loyal friends. Rory kept an eye on Rachel, who was listening but rarely reacting.

"It won't be much longer," Rory said.

"Saying goodbye is important," Rachel responded, quietly studying the congregation.

As the testimonies ended, a line formed to pass by the casket and say farewells. Daniel's aunts, an uncle, and several cousins went first. John and Rory followed, bringing Rachel with them. She didn't want to the use the wheelchair, even if her walk was unsteady. Pamela stayed close behind. The body was dressed in a russet brown Brunello Cucinelli suit and a blue silk tie, the mortician's makeup giving him a youthful vigor.

"Goodbye, Dad," John said, putting his hand on the casket.

"Goodnight, Daddy," Rory whispered, choking back tears.

"He looks so handsome," Rachel said. And then she fainted.

Pamela slowed her fall. Oliver rushed to help, keeping Rachel from hitting her head. John picked her up, following Pastor Robbins to a rear room out of public view. Fainting at funerals was not uncommon. They had water, blankets, and smelling salts ready.

"I warned you this was too much for her," Rory said, fanning Rachel to give her air. "You know, she only did this to please you."

"Yes, sweetheart, and I appreciate it," Pamela said.

Rory wet a towel, putting it to Rachel's lips, and softly said her name while rubbing her hand. Rachel started to come around. It seemed fainting wasn't a new experience for her.

"I'm okay," Rachel said, letting John help her sit up. "I'm sorry to be such a distraction. Has the burial started?"

"In a few minutes," Oliver said.

"You need to be there. He'll know if you're not," Rachel said.

"Rachel, Dad is gone now," Rory said, putting the cold towel against the back of her neck.

"Corinthians 15:51," Rachel said.

"Lost me again," Rory replied. Pastor Robbins stepped forward, clutching his Bible.

"Behold, I show you a mystery," the pastor quoted. "We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed."

"You're very religious for someone so far removed from Sunday school," John said. Rachel looked surprised.

"It has nothing to do with religion, Mr. Benson," Rachel said.

With Rachel snugly back in the wheelchair, they followed the pallbearers to the mausoleum where Daniel's parents and Benson grandparents were entombed. The coffin was set on a bier before the marble crypt. Final words were spoken, many thinking it the end of an era. William was allowed to rejoin the ceremony, standing toward the back. Oliver stood next to him.

"Act like a man, as hard as that is," Oliver whispered.

"Why did she have to come?" William said.

"Why did you show up late? Dressed for a street faire?"

"I know you don't like me. You never have. Why do you like her so much?"

"Because Rachel is a giver, not a taker. Something you'll never understand."

"When do I get my share of the money?"

"What makes you think you're in the will?"

"What the hell are you talking about? I'm in the will. I am, right?"

"Unfortunately. Too bad, though. Struggling for what you want in life would be better for you."

"I'll struggle on my yacht fishing off Tahiti, if that whore doesn't get all the money first." His remark was not as private as he thought.

* * * * * *

Rachel may look like a leaf blown in the wind, but this day will bring drastic changes to everyone's perspective. Before long, they will discover that the quiet, introverted, damaged young woman they've adopted is pursuing a staggering dream.