Rachel From the Edge Pt. 08

Rachel From the Edge Pt. 08

by G. Lawrence

Rachel's frustrations finally boil over

As the family gathers to hear Daniel Benson's will, old animosities leave Rachel at the center of their conflicts. Having grown up without a family, Rachel often doesn't know what to make of it. All characters are over 18 years old.

* * * * * *

Chapter Nine

UNFORGIVEN

"Home at last. Wake up, Rachy," Rory said, huddled in the limo's backseat.

It was getting close to eleven o'clock. The parking circle at Canby Place was shrouded in fog.

"I can carry her," John offered.

"This was a long day, wasn't it?" Rory said.

"For all of us. Let's not have any more funerals for a while."

"Staying over again?"

"I still haven't talked to Miss Montgomery about the will."

"You should call her Rachel. She'll be uncomfortable if you don't."

They carried Rachel toward Daniel's room before remembering she liked the butler's quarters instead. Or claimed to.

Rory chased John away to put Rachel in pajamas. As she unbuttoned the black dress and removed Rachel's underwear, it inspired feelings Rory sought to suppress, for Rachel wasn't gay. As far as she knew. But her young friend was achingly sexy, with soft skin and wonderful proportions. She wanted to give her a passionate kiss but knew that would be wrong. Finally, she wrapped her patient in blankets and quietly slipped out, only kissing her on the cheek. Rachel hardly stirred.

"The poor kid is exhausted," Rory said, going back to the kitchen. "Coffee or a drink?"

"A beer would be great. Rachel was really going there for a while. Right up until she crashed. What was that she was muttering in the car?"

"Archimedean equations," Rory said. "In Greek.

"Those numbers never leave her alone, do they?"

"When Rachel is excited about something, or when she's afraid, her adrenalin kicks in and the numbers go away. I think that's why she wanted to keep the evening going as long as she could."

"Is it schizophrenia?" John asked.

"Not according to Dr. Bellows."

"There must be some sort of treatment. Or a specialist."

"In the past, Rach was too poor. Even now, she says she doesn't have the money."

"Dad left her close to a million dollars."

"Which isn't really hers until it's probated, and Rachel thinks that will never happen. She's living day-to-day, expecting this to all go away."

"Not if I have anything to say about it. She's a sweet kid, and if she'd gotten the compensation from Dad that she deserved, she wouldn't be begging for scraps off a dead man's table."

"That's been bothering me, too. Did you hear what Sheba said? Rach could be making big money with a larger company."

"Is that why Mom changed her tune? Keeping Rachel on the farm?"

"It wouldn't surprise me. She's up to something. Just like Dad was."

"Listen, Ro, Dad didn't expect to die. I think he loved Rachel, in his own way. And he expected to take care of her. But now she needs our help. Every time I looked at her today, I thought a stiff wind might blow her away."

"She's stronger than she looks, in the ways that matter. The investors liked her, and they don't like anybody."

"Yes, she charmed everybody."

"Except Billy," Rory warned.

"No one charms Billy, unless they're giving him something."

"Yeah. That's sad. Think Mom will get him under control?"

"If she can't, nobody will."

They talked about their father, the funeral, and their mother's ambitions. To the extent they knew them. It was the first long talk they'd had in years.

"It's almost two o'clock. I should turn in," Rory said with a yawn. "I need to check on Rachel first. I'll bring her some tea."

"She was out like a light," John said.

"She doesn't sleep much. When I began taking care of her, she'd cry for three hours, sleep for three hours, and then cry for three more hours. Dad's death really hit her hard."

"I'm glad you were there for her."

"I almost wasn't. Not with what Mom was saying, and all those stories that were coming out."

"I'm ashamed of believing them, too. When I saw the bloggers piling on a defenseless woman, I should have known something was wrong."

Rory stretched and went to the kitchen. The kettle on the stove was always warm. John followed. She made a cup of herbal tea.

"Would it be okay if I take it to her?" John asked.

"Don't mention the legal stuff. Not tonight."

"Not a problem."

Rory stopped him. The wavy auburn hair was shaggier now. The eyes more thoughtful. Suddenly she needed to hug him.

"I'm so glad you came home. I've missed you so much," she said.

"Everything's going to be okay, Ro," he promised.

John knocked on the door to the butler's quarters, still wondering why Rachel wasn't staying in the master suite.

"Miss Montgomery?" he whispered.

"Come in," a drowsy voice answered.

John crept in as Rachel was sitting up. She was wearing pink cotton pajamas, lying under a heavy quilt. As John turned on the light, she took off the engagement ring and put it under the pillow. She tried to be subtle, but John noticed.

"I didn't know you were asleep. I can come back."

"I wasn't really sleeping," she said, rubbing her eyes.

John looked for a chair, but the room wasn't big enough. No wonder Martha complains, he thought.

"Sit on the bed," Rachel said, pulling her legs up to make room. She accepted the tea, sipping slowly as she tested the temperature.

John still couldn't get over how frail she looked. He'd seen photos of Rachel with his father playing tennis, and heard she was a strong swimmer. Seeing her in this condition made him angry.

"I just wanted to see how you are. This was a hard day," John said.

Rachel smiled and lowered her head. John sensed the attraction his father had felt, and was not immune. There was something about her big brown eyes that drew him in. And even in her weakened state, her body had a quiet sensuality that she seemed unaware of. He needed to remember that he had a girlfriend.

"This was not a hard day, Mr. Benson. Someday, maybe, I can tell you about hard days," Rachel replied.

"Thank you for helping us. Dad's death, and everything else ... It's been difficult. You made it easier."

"I wanted to help Rory. I owe her so much. And I don't want your mother mad at me again."

John couldn't help laughing.

"She can be quite the taskmaster."

"I don't mind that. My mind wanders. Too much, lately. Your mother brings me into focus."

"Can I ask what that's all about?"

"Another time. Maybe. But it's not a disease. Lots of people deal with worse problems."

"Are you dealing with it?"

"Wanting to die wasn't a good choice, but Rory straightened me out. And your mom paid my mother's medical bills. I can't tell you how much that means to me. It's given my life back. Now I just need to get better and start looking for a job. Hopefully something that doesn't involve a stripper pole."

"Money isn't going to be a problem for you."

"You don't need to go there."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Are we speaking confidentially?"

"Lawyer-client privilege. Nothing goes beyond this room."

Rachel sipped more tea, trying to find the right words.

"I don't know what this will is all about, but we both know I won't be getting any money. I never expected any."

"Mom opened a brokerage account for you."

"It's not money from the will, even I know that. It's her money."

"You could write a book?" John said, testing her.

"Would you want to be remembered as Danny Benson's sex toy? Have someone turn it into a movie?"

"No, that wouldn't appeal to me. What about your job at M & B? And those things you were telling the investors."

"Your mother needed the investors reassured, so I reassured them."

"It wasn't true?"

"Oh, it was all true. MFI will do amazing things."

"I don't understand."

"My concentration isn't what it was," she confessed. "The numbers ... I can't ... Don't worry, the company has a bright future. I'm not the only mathematician investigating fractal engineering anymore."

"What does Rory say about this?"

"Rory needs to go back to school. She's sacrificed enough for me already," Rachel replied. She finished her tea, putting the cup on the nightstand before settling back.

"You're tired. I should go," John said. Rachel stopped him.

"Do you have a normal life in Boston?" she asked.

"Yeah, I guess so. You could call it normal."

"You went to Stanford, and then Harvard Law?"

"Dad wanted me to go to Yale, but I needed to get out from under his shadow. It's one of the reasons I haven't been home much the last few years."

"One?"

"It's personal."

"Your family has no problem asking me all sorts of personal questions."

"Dad slept with a girl I liked. Cynthia and I weren't a couple at the time, but I needed some distance after that."

"I attended Harvard. Not the law school."

"And you applied for the graduate program at Stanford. We almost crossed paths," John said. "Maybe you can go back to school?"

"No, that's over. Who would give someone like me a scholarship?"

"Why wouldn't they?"

"I'm still a national joke. That's not going away."

"I know it's been rough, but you're wrong to think Dad's will won't be respected. Even if it's not, Rory and I would help you. We're inheriting an awful lot of money."

"Thank you, Mr. Benson, but I don't take charity. I learned a long time ago that nothing comes for free. Are you still dating that girl?"

"Alicia. She plays shortstop for Boston College. We're thinking of getting an apartment in Brookline."

"During my last year at Harvard, I rented a loft in Little Italy. It had lace curtains, and I could see the river. It was nice."

John noticed how sad she sounded. As if the best part of her life was over.

"Do you know what I think? I think you're so accustomed to being hurt, you're afraid of everything. And everyone. I see that now. And I promise, it's going to get better. Just give it time."

"I'm trying," Rachel said, starting to tear up.

"What can I do to help?" he asked.

"Please tell me stories until I fall asleep."

"About what?"

"Your life in Boston. Having a job. Going to work," she said, rolling over. "Tell me what it's like dating a normal girl."

* * * * * *

The house slept late Monday morning, quiet with Martha off visiting her grandchildren. When Pamela arrived, Rachel was in the kitchen making hominy grits, eggs-over-easy, pork sausages and wheat toast. Sliced oranges and bananas were on the sideboard. John was assigned the job of keeping her calm, which had its challenges. When he offered to stir the grits, Rachel threatened to chop off his fingers. He assumed she was joking.

"Morning, Mom," Rory said, answering the front door.

"A wonderful morning. How is our superstar?" Pamela said, dropping her jacket over a chair.

"John is watching her," Rory assured her. "What's this about a superstar?"

"The investors are happy. Very, very happy. The press is off our necks. The top news of the day has you shoving Bobby Marbury into the marina. And Ruth Sparrow's column is glowing. She is in love with Rachel. It couldn't have gone any better."

"Billy didn't think so."

"Billy and Oliver will be here soon. We'll talk this out."

"Here?" Rory said.

"I'll have Killer watching him. If Billy gets out of line, he has orders to beat the holy crap out of him."

"Does Mr. McLane like being called Killer? Don't most people call him Big Bob?"

"When I want people to be afraid, I call him Killer."

"I'd rather not let Billy within ten miles of Rachel, Killer or no Killer."

"It's her choice."

"No, Mom, it's your choice. Rachel will do whatever you say."

"That does make things easier," Pamela agreed.

"Are you really going to let her keep the house? And the money? There was a lot of talk last night. Everyone thinks you're just biding your time, waiting to pounce."

"It's not really up to me."

"The hell it isn't."

"If you must know, I'm giving it serious thought. It's not that much money, and I have no use for the house. M & B is a tougher sell. No one can tell me what the damn thing is worth. But since Rachel has been wise enough to let me run it, I'll probably let her keep that, too. It's not important enough to fight over."

"It was a week ago."

"No, dear, a week ago it was about principle."

"If you're lying to Rachel, it will break her heart. You know that, don't you? Not about the money. That doesn't matter to her. But pretending you care? That will hurt."

Rory was pressing her mother hard. Pamela didn't care to be pressed.

"Do I hear someone making breakfast? I'm famished," Pamela said, heading up the ramp toward the kitchen.

Pamela was less pleased when she entered. Rachel looked unusually fixated, and much too weak for so much effort. John was trying to make her ease off, but Rachel was in one of her moods. She had managed to splash grits on her cheek. Adorable, Pamela thought, but unacceptable.

"We're going to reorganize the labor force," Pamela announced, rolling up her sleeves.

"Thank God," John said.

Rachel didn't take notice, standing over the skillet.

"John, pull the heavy stool into the middle of the kitchen. Rory, strap that young lady down like Martha did," Pamela ordered. "I'll finish the cooking."

"Leave my eggs alone," Rachel snapped with an angry glare.

John dragged the stool over, lifted Rachel on it, and Rory tightened a wide belt across her lap. Rachel resisted, but not much. She didn't have the strength. Then Pamela stood directly before her, took Rachel's hands, and made eye contact.

"Rachel, dear. It's me, Pamela. Do you recognize me?"

"Mrs. Benson? Did I just yell at you? I am so sorry," Rachel said, tearing up.

"No tears this morning. Were you seeing the numbers again?" Pamela asked.

"Yes. But I never see the numbers while cooking. They are supposed to go away."

"It's the stress, sweetheart. The next time you make breakfast, the numbers will be gone. I promise. Now I know how to make a family breakfast. I did it for twenty years. Just relax and watch."

To Rory's amazement, that is what Rachel did. She sat quietly and watched, wiping the tears with her sleeve.

Pamela had not forgotten her kitchen skills, moving efficiently between the stove, refrigerator and microwave.

"There, food is served," Pamela said. "John, please help Rachel into the dining room. Pour the orange juice."

John helped Rachel down, then decided it was easier to carry her. The waif weighed all of nothing.

"Mom, that was amazing," Rory whispered, helping with the plates. "How did you know to do that?"

"I had a video conference this morning with Dr. Brandon Keller of the Swiss Institute. He's the world's leading expert on dissociative disorders."

"Dissociative?"

"According to my $3,000 lecture, Rachel has a condition that causes a disconnection between her thoughts, surroundings, and people. Probably the result of a traumatic childhood experience. These escapes she makes from reality are involuntary. And potentially dangerous."

"Listen to you. You've become quite the expert."

"Dr. Keller is preparing a regimen for her. It's unlikely there's a cure, but psychotherapy and medication should help. I've found the therapist you wanted, Dr. Susanne Belcher. She's the best there is."

"The world's leading specialist? A therapist? That's a lot of effort."

"Rachel came through for me yesterday. It's the least I owe her."

Breakfast was pleasant, the patio door left open for fresh air. Most of the discussion was about the funeral and reception. Rory noticed that Rachel stayed engaged, not saying much but listening.

"Are you sure it's okay for Billy to visit?" Pamela asked.

"It must be difficult to have your children fighting over me," Rachel replied.

"This isn't about you, honey," Pamela said. "Take a look. John likes you. He wants to be your lawyer. Rory wants to be your best friend."

"Rory is my best friend," Rachel said, taking her hand.

"So, you see? My children are not fighting over you, only Billy is making a squawk. His issues are his own."

"Mom's right. Regardless of what Billy says, don't let it bother you," Rory agreed.

Two cars came up the steep driveway from the security gate, a midnight blue Mercedes Benz with Oliver and Big Bob McLane, and a rented red Porsche driven by Billy Benson. Pamela went out to meet them in the parking circle.

"Is Billy minding his manners?" Pamela asked.

"Don't get your hopes up," Oliver answered.

Oliver wore a navy-blue business suit, having a law firm to go to. Next to him stood a tall middle-aged black man wearing a beige trench coat and a gray fedora. He looked like a professional wrestler. William looked like he was fresh off the yacht, wearing a Hawaiian shirt, scruffy jeans and white tennis shoes. He had his father's wavy auburn hair and hazel eyes.

"I'll be right out here, ma'am," McLane said in a gruff voice. "Mind if I check the security systems? Make sure everything is up to date."

"Thank you, Killer. Anything you can do to help," Pamela said.

As the party entered, Rory and John went to confront William in the atrium where the morning sun glistened off the naked Greek statues. Rory was ready to light into him when she noticed Rachel retreating to the living room, sitting on the floor before the fireplace.

"We can't do this here. Not in front of Rach," Rory said.

"You're very lucky, little brother. No family ruckus today," John said.

"Mendelson has been lecturing me all morning," William replied. "Let's just get this over with. Can I get a drink?"

"It's not even noon yet," John said.

"I've been working on my boat since sunrise," William answered, following them into the house.

"Working? Isn't that a new word for you?" Rory said.

"Children, we're not here to discuss life choices," Pamela lectured. "We're here to keep our family business out of the gossip columns. I'm tired of dealing with bad publicity."

"Miss Bad Publicity is sitting right over there. Why don't you deal with her?" William said, thrusting a finger in Rachel's direction.

"I have," Pamela said. "She's worked hard to earn my trust. You'd be surprised how many problems that solves."

"Come on, Mom. I know it's a trick. Everybody says so. No way are you giving all that money to Dad's whore. What's the real deal?"

It was hard to blame him for asking. Rory had asked the same question. John made his suspicions clear by offering to be Rachel's lawyer. Even Oliver had expressed doubts about Pamela's motives.

"It's disturbing to have my own family thinking me such a creature," Pamela said.

She went to the hearth and sat down next to Rachel, now subdued from the energetic woman making breakfast hours before. She was curled up in blankets, looking anxious.

"I'll have the room," Pamela said.

Her family went out on the patio, closing the sliding glass door. William picked up a bottle of Johnny Walker on the way.

"I'm sorry this is hard for you," Pamela said, tucking the blanket around Rachel's shoulders. "Do you trust me?"

Rachel looked down into her lap, clutching her fingers. She wasn't wearing the ring.

"You really don't have a choice, do you? I'm sorry about that, too. Sweetheart, Daniel didn't love you just because you're pretty. Daniel could have any pretty girl he wanted. But I won't say being pretty didn't help." She gave her a poke with her elbow. Rachel smiled.

"My own family doesn't trust me. Oliver doesn't. But you and I, we've moved past the hard feelings. The harsh words. Haven't we?"

"They are the past," Rachel agreed. She started to lay down on the carpet. Pamela pulled her into her lap, stroking the long brown hair.

"I know you're sad, and that you miss him. And I know you're afraid. I know you're afraid all the time, and why. I spoke to Dr. Brandon Keller this morning. Do you know him?"

"Dr. Keller has been after me for years. He wants me to be his lab rat," Rachel said.

"You aren't going to be anyone's lab rat. It wasn't all easy to follow, but Dr. Keller explained your condition to me. I know you're afraid the numbers are going to take over, and you won't be able to get back."

"They've been hard to control since Daniel died. I can't ... I don't know ... Sometimes I wish Mr. Garcia hadn't found me."

"No, don't say that. Don't even think that."

"I won't be a problem much longer."

"Darling, this isn't you talking, it's the grief. In time, it will pass. I'm going to help you with that. And protect you."

Rachel felt stiff. Cold. Pamela pulled her closer, rubbing her arms. Rachel wasn't crying, though Pamela wished she would. It seemed to help.

"You aren't alone. We'll be your family until you get better. I promise. You and I are going to be great friends."

"Thank you," Rachel said, sniffling.

"Do you want me to send Billy away?"

"You have issues to resolve."

"We do, but they have nothing to do with you. Listen to me carefully, sweetheart. If Billy insults you. If he hurts your feelings. If you don't like his attitude, don't take it lying down on my account. Or Ro or John. You defend yourself. Put some steel in that tiny little spine of yours."

"I'm afraid of getting mad," Rachel said.

"You get mad?"

"Sometimes when I get mad, I get mean. It can be terrible."

"Honey, if Billy is insulting you, you get as mad and terrible as you need. That's an order."

"Yes, ma'am."

"But don't stab him."

"No, ma'am."

* * * * * *

Pamela and Rachel joined the family on the stone patio. The pool was off to the side, and tennis courts farther down the hill. They saw the ocean in the distance. Pamela brought a bottle of white wine, sharing it with Rory and Oliver. They all took seats around the picnic table, William at one end, Rachel on the other.

"Billy, as Ollie has told you, you have a right to contest your father's will," Pamela patiently explained. "If you win, and deprive Rachel of the inheritance your father wanted for her, you may gain a few extra million dollars. Over the six-hundred and fifty million you are already entitled to. Do you understand?"

"I know my rights. I have lawyers, too," William said.

"Then contemplate this. Rory and John will be opposing you. John will be acting as Rachel's attorney. And even worse, I will be opposing you. I will contest your portion of your father's estate and tie it up in court. Maybe for years. And when it's time to read my will, your name won't be in it. Are we communicating?"

"You don't need to be such a bitch, Mom. I recognize the riot act," William said.

"Say you'll drop the lawsuit," Pamela demanded.

William nodded.

"Apologize to Rachel," Rory said.

"No, I won't do that. Not ever," he said, trying to stare Rachel down.

"I don't need an apology. It's not important," Rachel said.

"It's important to me," Rory protested.

"It's not important," Rachel repeated.

"Ollie, have we addressed the pertinent issues?" Pamela asked.

"Unless the children have questions," Oliver said.

"Is father's estate really that big?" Rory asked.

"Minus Rachel's share and benevolences, there is just under two-billion dollars left over for the three of you," Oliver said. "To be divided equally. I suggest you get good accountants. I can recommend a tax attorney."

"Rachel, have you anything to say?" Pamela asked.

"Martha and I need to go shopping. We need milk, eggs, and bananas."

"Maybe you and I can go to the store together?" Pamela suggested.

"That would be nice," Rachel gratefully agreed.

"I want to see the cars," William said.

"The cars?" Rory asked.

"In the storage garage," William explained.

He jumped up and went out the front door, marching past Big Bob McLane. There was a second garage located next to the wall on the south side of the compound. William knew the code to open the doors.

"The cars," William said, waving his hand.

There were three vintage automobiles covered in dusty gray shrouds. William pulled a cover back, revealing a 1957 Maserati 300S. The second was a 1965 Ford Shelby GT350. The third was a Ferrari 288 GTO.

"The Ferrari is mine. Dad promised it to me," William demanded.

"Got it in writing?" John asked.

"No, I don't have it in writing. It was a promise," William said.

"Rachel inherited Canby Place. The cars belong to her," Rory said. "Ollie?"

"The will has no special provisions for the cars," Oliver confirmed. "Legally, they are Rachel's property."

"He can have the car," Rachel said without thinking about it.

"Billy will not have the car," Pamela insisted. "I won't have his bad behavior rewarded with such a gift. Case closed. Do you understand, Rachel?"

"Yes, Mrs. Benson," Rachel acknowledged. "Can Rory have the Maserati?"

"Me? You'd give that gorgeous monster to me?" Rory said.

"I would be so happy if you'd take it," Rachel urged.

"Well, I do like making you happy," Rory replied.

"We'll discuss the car later. When the dust settles," Pamela said.

"John, you can have the Shelby, if you like it," Rachel offered.

"Don't you like it?" John asked.

"It's a beautiful car, but I can't drive. My mind wanders."

"How about you keep it, and when I'm in town, I'll drive you around," John suggested.

"That would be fun," Rachel answered.

William stormed back into the house, went up to the bar, and made himself a Black Russian. Oliver and John kept an eye on him. Pamela and Rory caught up after closing the garage, but Rachel lingered behind, talking to the fearsome bodyguard. In his mid-40s, McLane stood 6'4 and must have weighed two-hundred and fifty pounds. She fetched him a cup of coffee and hot muffins.

When Rachel returned to the house half an hour later, she found everyone sitting in the living room. The mood was tense. Her first instinct was to go back to bed, but Rory gave her an encouraging wave. Rachel reluctantly sat on the floor next to Rory's feet, huddled against the couch. And was immediately attacked.

"Whatever your game is, it's not going to work," William said, glaring at Rachel from across the room. "Ro can be your friend. Or your lover. John can be your ambulance-chaser. Mom can pretend to be your mother, but America isn't forgetting what you really are. A scheming whore. A trailer-trash slut. What about killing Dad with both hands tied behind your back? That joke isn't going away."

"You fucker," Rory said, standing up with her fists clenched.

"No, Ro. Your brother is right," Rachel said, drawing her down. "Many think that joke is funny."

"It's not funny," Rory said.

"I think it's plenty funny," William insisted. "If Dad was still alive, he'd be laughing at you, too."

They all felt it. One moment, Rachel had been nestled next to Rory's legs, trying to stay out of the family quarreling, but now she seemed like the center of the room. Everyone watched as she straightened up and caught her breath. The shy dance in her eyes turned cold. The mild countenance faded.

"Miss Montgomery, are you all right?" John asked.

"I am just fine, Mr. Benson. Thank you for asking," Rachel replied.

She looked at Pamela, wondering what Billy's mom was thinking. Pamela seemed surprised. And intrigued. Rachel's big brown eyes were fully engaged. Active. And very angry.

"Rach?" Rory said, sensing something was wrong.

"It's too bad your brother isn't a scientist. We could test his theory," Rachel said.

"I've sailed my boat to Australia and back, and did my own navigating," William said. "I know enough to outsmart a stupid bitch like you."

"Are you willing to bet on it?" Rachel asked.

"Game on," Billy said, pounding the coffee table with the palm of his hand.

"An interesting choice of words," Rachel said, leaving the room.

"Where did she go? Is she coming back?" William asked.

"You better hope she doesn't," Rory said.

Rachel returned twenty minutes later. She had changed into a frilly yellow summer dress better suited to the beach. It had a low-cut top and a short skirt rising above her knees. She wasn't wearing shoes or a bra. Rory had not seen her dress so provocatively before.

"Mrs. Benson, what do you want me to do?" Rachel asked, standing before the group. There was a distance in her expression, and an eerie menace in her posture.

"Win the bet," Pamela said.

"You might not like me after," Rachel warned.

"I might like you more," Pamela replied.

"Who's going to judge this?" Rory asked. "John? Ollie?"

"It should be William," Rachel suggested.

"Just to be fair, we'll let Mom judge," William answered. "Maybe she'll keep me in her will."

"Let's go outside," Rachel said, walking out on the patio. Though it was a cool day, the sun was bright. She wished she'd brought a hat.

"It happened up there, on the second terrace," Rachel said, pointing up the tall grassy hill to the fatal spot.

She went through the small wooden gate and up the brick path with Rory at her side. William and John followed a few paces behind. Pamela and Oliver lingered near the pool. Rachel stopped as the path leveled off below the final terrace. Flower gardens were on the right, broad green lawns to the left. Rachel looked at the old red barn at the top of the hill, but said nothing of it.

"You have read the reports. Seen the pictures," Rachel said. "Daniel took me off the path here, went under this great oak, and out on the meadow. My hands were tied behind my back. I had no clothes. Daniel enjoyed his costumes, dressed as a big game hunter."

Rachel went out on the mowed lawn, looking for the exact place, followed by Rory and William. It was the first time she had returned. Rory expected Rachel to panic. To relive the trauma. She wasn't. Rachel seemed detached. Scarily clinical.

"This looks like the right spot," Rachel said, indicating an area of thick grass. "I was completely naked with my hands tied behind my back. I dashed around before letting Daniel catch me. He was very excited. He wanted me here, under an open sky."

Suddenly there was a blur of motion from behind the oak tree. William was tackled, pressed face down in the turf, and his hands were tied behind his back. A thick leather boot rolled him over, and when he tried to get up, the boot was placed on his chest, pinning him to the ground.

"Killer?" Billy said, uncomprehending.

"Big Bob to my friends," McLane growled, glancing at Rachel.

When William tried to wiggle free, McLane bent over, applying even greater pressure on his chest. William was no match for the former army sergeant.

"Let me up. Let me up," William breathlessly demanded.

Rachel knelt in the grass, and to everyone's astonishment, slapped him across the face. It wasn't a hard slap, but enough to get his attention. William stared up, seeing the quiet little urchin was gone. The big brown eyes were thirsting for revenge.

"Leave me alone," William protested.

"What's wrong? Didn't you say game on?" Rachel asked. "This was your bet. You're the one that said this is funny. And that Daniel would have laughed at me."

And then she grabbed his crotch. It wasn't a romantic gesture.

"Let's test how funny that joke is now," Rachel continued. "Imagine yourself naked, trapped on the cold lawn, and no mercy coming your way. No mercy, because I'm not going to show you any. By the way, it rained that night."

Rachel went for the garden hose, turned the water on, and sprayed William from head to toe. He howled, kicked, and fought, but he couldn't move. Then Rachel knelt next to him and sprayed his face. William was helpless to stop her.

"How funny is that joke now? How funny is it?" Rachel shouted. "How long can you take it, Billy? How long? How long? Think you can last until tomorrow morning?"

She ran the hose down his chest, under his shirt, and then stuck the nozzle in his pants. He struggled to fight her off, but McLane wouldn't let him budge. Between the heavy boot and the cold water, William was gasping for air.

"What's wrong, Billy? You still haven't told me how funny that joke is. What do you think, Mr. McLane? Would Billy understand this better if we cut off his clothes?"

Rachel produced a pair of garden shears, clicking them in front of William's face. Then she cut a button off his shirt. And then another. A third. She yanked the shirt open, pawing the curly red hair on his chest.

"Ever been tied up and naked in the rain, Billy?" Rachel whispered, spraying him with the hose again. "Just so you know, we can make this last all night. We'll have a full moon."

And then she opened his belt.

"No! No! Stop! Stop!" William screamed, spitting water. "Mother, make her stop!"

He was frantic. Shivering. Rachel nodded to McLane. He stepped back, rolled William over, and cut the rope loose with his jackknife. William ran down the hill soaking wet, clutching his torn shirt. Rory was right on his heels.

"How funny is that joke, Billy? How funny is it?" Rory yelled.

"Mom, what are you going to do about this?" William asked, rubbing his sore wrists. The rope had left red marks.

"It looks like you lost the bet, son," Pamela said.

William looked at Rory and Oliver, who were laughing.

"This is messed up. You are all so messed up," William said. He stormed through the house, and a minute later, his car screeched out of the driveway.

Rachel remained kneeling in the wet grass, soaked to the skin. She was crying. McLane helped her up. Her knees were weak. He could feel her trembling.

"I shouldn't have done that," Rachel mumbled.

"No, missy, you did good. Real good," McLane whispered.

Rachel had trouble standing, so John and McLane helped her down the hill to the patio. Her yellow dress had become transparent, revealing very nice female features. John draped his jacket over her shoulders, though both men had gotten a look.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Benson. I got angry," Rachel said.

"Don't apologize to me," Pamela replied. "I told you to grow some steel in that tiny little spine. Until this moment, I never dreamed how much steel you have."

"Then you're not mad at me?"

"I'm shocked, honey. But no, I'm not mad. William was the one who said game on. You should consider working in the front office with me. God would I love to turn you loose on our investors."

Rachel blushed. Rory took her elbow, keeping Rachel steady.

"Glad to finally vent that anger?" Rory asked.

"I didn't expect to get so mean," Rachel answered.

"Have you ever been mean before?" John asked.

"Not like that. Not on purpose. Mr. McLane, I'm sorry I got your boots wet. I'll buy you another pair."

"They'll dry, missy, but thanks," McLane said.

Rachel stood before him. She wanted to hug him, but knew hugging Pamela's employee would be inappropriate.

"Thank you for helping me, Mr. McLane. You are very gallant," Rachel said.

"Helping women in distress is my profession," McLane replied.

"You two seem to have grown an attachment," Oliver said, standing back so Rachel's dripping dress wouldn't get his shoes wet.

"We had a nice talk. Miss Montgomery gave me advice on how to keep my daughters in school. And offered to tutor them in math," McLane said. "Never had one of you folks offer me that kind of consideration before. No offense, Mrs. Benson. I know you like straight talk."

"No offense taken, Big Bob," Pamela answered. "I worry about Rachel being here on this big estate, sometimes alone. Would you mind taking over her personal security for a while? Maybe stay in the caretaker's cottage on occasion."

"I would like that assignment a lot, Mrs. Benson," McLane said. "And my daughters would be ecstatic."

"Your daughters?" Rachel said.

"Miss Montgomery--"

"Rachel."

"Missy, the way you stood your ground at the funeral yesterday. The media mocking you. Vultures swarming all around. And there you were, modest and brave. It's like what Ruth Sparrow wrote in her column, you're the hero of every young woman in America who's ever had to fight for her dignity. Young women like my daughters."

"Thank you, Mr. McLane," Rachel said, her eyes misty.

Rory helped Rachel into the house. Her dress was drenched, and it wasn't a warm day. Oliver and McLane followed. Pamela waited with John until she was sure no one was watching, then walked up the path to the second terrace.

"Johnny, will you help me down?" Pamela said, sitting where William had been tackled, and then laying back. Her dress quickly soaked through, and it was cold. She laid there for several minutes. Quiet. Contemplating. The wispy clouds. The quiet yard. A light wind blowing through the tree branches. An occasional bird.

"What are you doing?" John finally asked, kneeling next to her.

"Trying to understand. Trying to imagine Daniel here, on top of me. I loved him, too, you know. He was happy. Laughing. I can see the gleam in those wonderfully devilish eyes. Then he suddenly stopped. Stopped forever. First his heart. Then his breathing. And here was Rachel. Her lover and mentor gone. The man she'd built her dreams around. And all she could do was lie here, in the rain, unable to help him. Waiting to die."

"What's it like?"

"It's terrifying, Johnny. I can't say how terrifying. I think this is why Rachel's condition is getting worse. The trauma must be unbearable. Hell, I don't know how she gets out of bed."

"How can we help?"

"We'll do whatever it takes. I'll speak with Dr. Keller again. We'll get her the best doctors money can buy."

"Rachel says she won't take charity."

"Rachel will do what I tell her to do," Pamela insisted.

John helped his mother up. "You'll need to change."

"I have an extra outfit in the guest suite. Did you notice how Rachel kept looking up the hill?"

"That dilapidated old barn?"

"Something about it spooks her. I'm going to ask Rory what it is."

* * * * * *

After warming Rachel in a hot bath, Rory put her to bed, tucking in the blankets. Rachel wasn't wearing the engagement ring, but Rory assumed she would put it on once she left. Oliver found her there a few minutes later, sneaking into the butler's quarters while Pamela was making lunch. The blinds were pulled down.

"Rachel? Are you awake?" he whispered.

"I'm awake," Rachel said, laying on her side facing the wall.

"With the funeral and everything, we haven't had time to talk."

"There is nothing to talk about."

Oliver crept close, sitting on the foot of the bed. Rachel crawled up against the headboard, tucking in her legs.

"You're always so quiet. I didn't realize how much anger you have."

"What do you want, Ollie?"

"I want you to know how sorry I am. About everything that's happened."

"It doesn't matter."

"It does matter. We're friends."

"Please go away," Rachel said, turning back toward the wall.

"Rachel, I know I screwed up," Oliver said, inching forward.

"Mr. Mendelson, whatever you're asking for, it's too much. Don't make this harder."

"When Jabby summoned me to Boston, and we first met--"

"You were there to serve Daniel's interests. And you continue to serve him. He was your best friend. I'm not stupid. But when I lost him, you didn't need to turn your back on me."

"Please understand. When he suddenly died like that, I didn't know what to do. I was in shock. And I wanted to help Pam."

"It's your job to protect Daniel's family."

Oliver thought he had seen Rachel's every mood, but not this one. She was dry-eyed. Sad, but engaged. Hurt. Betrayed.

"I wanted to be there for you."

"But you weren't, were you?"

"No."

"Let's just forget it."

"What can I do?" he asked.

"If you must, you can help me with groceries after I leave Canby Place. And help me keep my apartment. I'll pay you back when I find a job."

"Groceries? Your apartment? You have a home here."

"The Bensons have tolerated me so far, but it won't last. When they finally realize how crazy I am, they won't want me around. No one ever does."

"That's not true. Daniel loved you, and he was helping you. Pam and Rory want to help you."

"My bus pass is good for another month, but I don't have any money. A small loan isn't much to ask."

"You don't need to worry about money. Daniel wanted you taken care of, and you will be."

"Please don't make promises you can't keep. Like you've done before."

Oliver rocked back, hands folded in his lap. "This is never what I wanted. Danny took one look at you and changed the rules. I tried to stop him. You know that."

"Daniel did what he did. I don't hold it against you. What more do you want from me?"

"I want to be friends again."

"I don't know if we were ever friends, and I'm too tired to think about it." Rachel pulled the quilt up, snuggling under the covers.

"That can't be all?" he said.

"We'll see each other from time to time. I don't want to be mean. But this won't be cured with cheeseburgers."

"Is there no way you can forgive me?"

"I'll never say bad things about you to Daniel's family."

"That's not what I asked."

"I would like to forgive you, Ollie. I just don't know how."

* * * * * *

I hope some readers are staying with this story. Rachel still has one more low point to go, but she'll be bouncing back strong. And taking many people by surprise.