Rachel From the Edge Pt. 12

Rachel From the Edge Pt. 12

by G. Lawrence

A mystery is solved

This chapter will feature some crazy gizmos, mostly for the fun of it, but that's not the emphasis of the story. As a bonus, we hear a little more about the late Daniel Benson's relationship with Rachel. All characters are over 18 years old.

* * * * * *

Chapter Fifteen

LEVEL 12

"I need to go to the lab," Rachel pleaded, still in her pajamas.

Banished forever from the butler's quarters, she was now living in Daniel's old room. Bigger bed, bigger bathroom, mahogany dressers, and more space for Martha to help her. Rachel insisted they hang curtains.

"Child, you are exhausted," Martha said as she checked Rachel's temperature. "This last big ... whatever you've been doing, has rung you out."

"Martha is right. You've been pushing much too hard," Pamela said, sitting on the foot of the bed reading the Wall Street Journal.

"Don't you have a corporation to run?" Rachel complained.

"My dear, that's what texting is for," Pamela replied.

"You don't understand. Today is the deadline. I need to correlate the Level 12 extension or the numbers won't be allowed to migrate."

"If I asked what that means, would you be able to explain it?" Pamela asked.

"Yes, but it would take three years," Rachel answered.

"Dear, you've pushed yourself to the edge. You've lost weight. You don't sleep."

"After today, everything will be different. I promise."

"Rory and Dr. Bellows must agree. I won't take responsibility on my own. It's bad enough that you're the only member of this family that trusts me."

"That's an exaggeration."

"Are you poking fun at me, Miss Montgomery?"

"Mrs. Benson, aren't you a gambler?"

"What am I missing?"

"Level 12 doesn't just locate records, it correlates them."

"We don't need more clients."

"Oh, this is so much more than that."

"How much more?"

"It's a good time to buy stock in the company."

"You and I own the company."

"That's good for us, then? Isn't it?"

"You don't care about money. You never have."

"No, not as long as I have bus fare. But for you, making money is a source of pride. Of respect. Confirmation. Why can't I give that to you? For all the things you've done for me."

"You don't owe me, darling. I owe you."

"We'll need to disagree on that."

____________

Being Saturday, the Marbury & Benson offices were closed. Rachel went to her lab with Dr. Bellows. Bellows was surprised by the sophisticated security precautions. Pamela, Oliver and Rory waited in the executive suite. McLane drank coffee in the employee break room, using a laptop for his consulting work. He was able to see the laboratory door from his chair.

"Will this take long?" Dr. Bellows asked, finding a seat behind her.

The laboratory was dominated by nine large monitor screens positioned around the room, though she was only using one. Multi-colored lines ran horizontally across the screen, most of them from left to right, but a few reversing course. Numbers jumped up and down between different lines. As the speed of the operation increased, figures began forming into circles, squares and triangles. Some looked like snowflakes. A second monitor activated, then two more, and then all of them. Bellows found it dizzying.

"I will be with the numbers for a while," Rachel said, donning her equipment. The headset featured earphones, a microphone, and sensors pressed against her temples. There were holographic goggles on the console before her, but Rachel wasn't ready to use them yet. She looked like an air traffic controller out of a Star Wars movie.

Rachel accelerated the program, tapping the keyboard and whispering into her mic. She didn't seem tense, nor was she relaxed. It was work. Occasionally she'd lean forward, as if conversing with the screen, and then lean back ready to continue.

Bellows was hesitant to interrupt as she drifted into some sort of trance. At one with the waves of symbols. He had no idea what she was seeing, it just looked like rows and rows of swirling jigsaw puzzles. He settled into the swivel chair, watching and wishing he had a second cup of coffee.

"It's been an hour. More than an hour. What do you think is going on?" Pamela asked, sitting on the edge of the couch. She was nervously tapping the end table, looking toward the office door.

"Another of your tests?" Rory replied.

"Don't put this on me. Martha and I said no. Rachel insisted."

"Let's just relax, ladies," Oliver said, serving coffee. "Rachel knows what she's doing."

"And how would you know that, lawyer?" Pamela barked.

"Danny and I used to visit her lab in the late afternoons. He just loved watching her, whatever she was doing, but seeing her do all those amazing things with the computers? It really had him in awe. Like Mozart playing the piano."

"I've never seen Rach working," Rory said. "What is it she does?"

"It's the craziest thing you ever saw, and if it didn't work, you'd think it was a drug addict's nightmare. The focus Rachel can bring to bear is incredible."

"We can't let her stay there too long, Mom. You know what that could mean," Rory said. "What if she gets lost and can't find her way back? Didn't Dr. Keller say that was a risk?"

"Dr. Keller says a lot of things," Pamela said. "He wants Rachel at his institute so he can study her. Like a science experiment. That's never going to happen."

"Aren't you afraid?" Rory asked.

"Rachel needs to do this. It's important to her," Pamela said. "I won't stand in the way of her dreams."

The second hour in the lab didn't go any faster than the first, the maze of swirling colors making Bellows queasy. He knew Rachel wasn't the only programmer exploiting fractal layering, it was becoming a growing field. But she seemed very adept. When he dared to put a hand on her shoulder, she reached up with an acknowledging touch, but didn't say anything.

Then something changed. Bellows was surprised to see the flying debris field suddenly coalesce into a series of thin numerical layers. They moved across the screens in a steady flow. Sometimes a layer would rise up and mix with another layer. At other times, several layers would interact, only to separate again. Rachel was frozen in her chair, staring. Hardly breathing. Slowly tapping a single key.

In the executive suite, they grew impatient as the hours passed. They sent out for Chinese, ordering egg soup for Rachel when she returned.

"Should we check on them?" Rory asked. "Just to make sure everything is okay?"

"If I know Rachel, she has her lab locked down," Pamela replied.

"I need a drink," Rory said.

"Manhattans all around, ladies," Oliver agreed, going to the bar.

It was just after sunset when Rachel and Dr. Bellows entered the executive suite. Everyone jumped up in surprise. Bellows' suit was rumpled, the tie askew. He looked tired, the eyes blurry. Rachel wore her white lab coat. They stood quietly, Bellows not sure what to say, and Rachel not saying anything. She went to the big window, staring down at the yacht harbor in the fading light.

"Dr. Bellows, you've been very helpful today. Thank you so much," Rachel softly said, still facing the marina. "I need the room now. Can you close the door on your way out?"

"Yes, Rachel, of course. I'll be with Big Bob when you need me. If you need me." Rory noticed Bellows appeared relieved to escape. What had he seen?

Rachel turned to look at Oliver. For a moment, he thought she wanted him to leave, too. He started to get up, but Rachel motioned for him to stay. The door closed. The office was quiet.

"Yes, Ollie, I will have a drink. The Manhattans smell great," Rachel said.

Rory came up beside her, also looking at the harbor.

"Tough day?" Rory asked.

"A tremendous day," Rachel answered.

"Can you tell us about it?" Pamela asked.

"Where's my drink?" Rachel replied.

Ollie handed her the Manhattan. She took a deep sip.

"The Level 12 extension is correlating," Rachel said, turning to face the room. She appeared to be in a dissociative state, but fighting her way back. She sat on the couch, Pamela sitting next to her.

"The matrix supports multiple analytical platforms," Rachel said. "Forensic accounting applications will provide information that legal firms eagerly seek but is hard to find."

"That's not what this was about," Pamela said.

Rachel was still working on the drink, both hands clutched tightly around the tall glass. Rory made her ease up, afraid the glass might break. They noticed Rachel was wearing the engagement ring.

"You seem preoccupied," Oliver observed.

"When I started this project eight years ago, I never thought this moment would arrive," Rachel said. "I still can't believe it."

"Eight years ago? You were in high school," Rory said.

"I was still at St. Mary's. Sister Louise gave me the idea," Rachel explained. "Matthew 15:30. Great crowds came to Him, bringing the lame, the blind, the crippled, the mute, and many others, and laid them at His feet; and He healed them."

"What does this database do?" Oliver asked.

"It's a healthcare program. There are privacy issues that need to be studied by people smarter than me," Rachel said.

"Doctor-patient privilege stuff?" Rory asked.

"Something like that. What I've created may be wonderful, or it may be terrible. I don't know what the consequences will be."

"What's the worst that could happen?" Rory asked. "You might destroy the world?"

"Gosh, I hope not," Rachel replied without smiling.

"If you want, I can arrange an advisory committee," Oliver offered. "Doctors and scholars. They can make recommendations."

"Their help would be appreciated," Rachel agreed. "If this project goes forward, we will need a much bigger company."

"Honey, I'm sorry to ask this, but I need to know," Pamela said. "Is this discovery a gift to the world, or a business venture?"

"Let's make it both," Rachel said.

* * * * * *

"Hello, Rory. Haven't seen you up here in a while," Keisha said from her desk outside Pamela's office. The 12th floor was quiet in the late afternoon, many employees heading out to beat rush hour traffic.

"School's keeping me busy. Mid-terms," Rory said, wearing a Gucci leisure suit rather than her nursing uniform. The midnight blue outfit contrasted nicely with her red hair, now longer than she'd worn it before.

"Good grades?"

"Not complaining. Is Rachel around? She's not in her lab."

"That poor girl is finally getting a day off."

"My cousin Sheba is excited about Rachel's discovery, whatever it is, but Mom shouldn't make Rach work such long hours."

"Your mother doesn't let Rachel work after six, but that doesn't mean they aren't full days. And Mrs. Benson tries hard to drag Rachel out of that damn lab. Long lunches. Tennis at the club. She even took her shopping this morning."

"Shopping? Mom went to Goodwill?"

"Don't know the details."

"That must have been an adventure. Is Mom in?"

"Catching up on the paperwork," Keisha said, waving her through.

It was as Mrs. Lincoln said. Pamela was sitting at her desk studying reports on the desktop monitor. The late afternoon sun was pouring into the office through the open blinds.

"What's this about going shopping?" Rory asked, helping herself to a cup of coffee.

"I took Rachel to Rodeo Drive for some well-deserved R & R," Pamela said, getting up to make a cup for herself.

"That's big league. Does Rach even like shopping?"

"Darling, Rachel loves shopping. All the salespeople made a fuss over her. Lovely fashions. New hats. Champagne. Rachel looked like a little girl seeing Disneyland for the first time. All giggles and smiles. It was delightful."

Rory paused for a closer look at her mother. She seemed happier than she'd been in years. The soft blue eyes were animated. And she had never known her mother to gush about anyone the way she did about Rachel.

"Don't be jealous," Pamela said, reading the expression.

"If it comes to that, I saw her first," Rory said.

"What? Dear God, what a filthy mind you have! I'm beginning to think of Rachel like a daughter. The daughter I would have had if she was sweet and adorable, but also lonely and damaged. Not like the perfect daughter I already have."

"I am perfect, aren't I?"

"You are, you are," Pamela said, giving her a hug.

"Just because I'm perfect, that doesn't mean you can't have two daughters."

"Really?"

"Really."

"I considered that," Pamela confessed. "But wouldn't it cause a lot of problems?"

"Since when do you care about causing problems?"

"Do you think Rachel would want to be adopted?"

"I know Rachel would want you as her mother. Everyone sees the way she looks up to you."

Pamela led Rory back into the executive suite, mixed strawberry daiquiris, and sat near the window looking at the boats. The mid-December day was cool but not cold.

"I so much wanted Rachel with us on Thanksgiving. Nothing I said could persuade her," Pamela confided.

"Rach was downtown, cooking for the homeless shelter. Turkeys. Potatoes. Cornbread. She must have been busy all day."

"It wasn't just that. She kept saying Thanksgiving is for family, and she isn't family."

"Is that why you were so quiet at Martha's Vineyard? Alicia's folks thought you didn't like them."

"Seeing Rachel so alone makes me sad."

"I've seen it, too. She gives so much, but won't accept anything in return. I worry about her."

"Which is why I need your advice. We know the lengths Daniel went to keep Rachel close. She's a corporate asset, and he exploited his relationship with her. If I ask to adopt her, wouldn't I be doing the same thing?"

"Does it matter to you that she's a corporate asset?"

"No, but it's never far from my mind either."

"Mom, sometimes Rachel seems lost, but she's not dumb. She's smarter than just about anybody, just in a different way. She knew what Dad wanted. She'll know what you want. But what's most important, I think you'd fill a void Rachel's had her whole life. Can you imagine the things she might do if she had a loving mother? Someone to lean on? It would change her world."

It could change everyone's world, Pamela thought.

"Then I have your permission?"

"Yes, you have my permission. What's Johnny going to think? Fuck, what's Billy going to think? He'll go ape."

"I'll find a way to deal with Billy."

"I need to ask. Are you doing this out of guilt? For the way you treated her after Dad died."

"I'm sure that's part of it. I said some terribly hurtful things, and she forgave me. There aren't many women who would ..."

Pamela choked up. Rory gave her a hug.

* * * * * *

It had been a long week. Rachel locked the control panel in her lab and considered calling it a day. Her bus route days were over. Mr. McLane insisted on driving her. Instinct still told her to go to 14th Street, but Canby Place was the new destination. She knew that someday she'd probably have to give it up, but secretly hoped that didn't happen. Daniel's palace was beginning to feel like home.

The big limousine wasn't empty. Rachel found Pamela in the backseat studying quarterly reports.

"You worked an extra hour today, sweetheart. We've had conversations about that," Pamela lectured, sliding over.

"It was necessary," Rachel said, lying back on the cushioned seat. Pamela saw how tired she was. How tired she always was.

"Can you explain?"

"It would sound weird, and I'm not sure if it's going to work."

"What would happen if it does work?"

"It would change things."

"What things? Is it a secret?"

"Sort of. For now."

"Does Sheila know?"

"Yes. We've had several long discussions."

"Then it shouldn't be a secret from me, should it?"

"It's not that," Rachel said, looking out the window as the limo approached the freeway.

"Rachel, you've sacrificed so much for this project. Your health is questionable. You don't have a real life. Everyone worries about you. Please assure me it's worth it. That something good is coming out of this."

"My goal is very ambitious. It might be a delusion."

"We all have dreams. Please tell me yours."

"Ecclesiastes 5:3."

"Honey, no one works harder than you, and you're no fool," Pamela pressed. Rachel sighed.

"My father had a disposition for alcoholism. If it had been treated before it became chronic, he wouldn't have become a drunk. Maybe he would have been less violent. If my mother's dementia had been dealt with in her youth, her quality of life would have improved, and my life would have been better, too."

"I know your childhood was terrible," Pamela said.

"It's not just me. Millions of people suffer from treatable conditions. A properly aligned matrix should be able to continually update medical advisories. Preventable diseases wouldn't be allowed to develop. Gene therapy will allow illnesses to be treated years before they manifest."

"Aren't doctors doing that now?"

"There are uncoordinated programs that benefit a fortunate few, but comprehensive healthcare is expensive. I couldn't afford it. My parents couldn't. What's needed is a database that provides financial modeling for entire populations."

"Which populations are we talking about?"

"All of them."

Pamela needed a moment to think about that. Had it been anyone other than Rachel suggesting such a thing, she would have dismissed it as a joke.

"It could take years to compile that much data," Pamela said.

"I already have the data," Rachel answered.

"What do you mean?"

"The Level 12 extension has acquired the necessary profiles, but I haven't been able to stabilize the analytics. I will eventually, it's just taking time."

"What do you get out of this?"

"I don't understand."

"Rachel, honey, look at you. You're tired all the time. Often sick, and depressed. This project is killing you."

"I'm okay."

As Rachel sagged against the seat looking out the window, Pamela suddenly realized what Sheila had been trying to tell her. What Rory had been trying to tell her. If left unchecked, Rachel would pay any price to achieve her goals.

"May I stay over at Canby tonight?"

"Of course, Mrs. Benson. Always."

"Pam."

"Yes. Yes, Pam. That would be nice. I'm making chicken fettucine for dinner, if that's okay?"

"I'm sure it will be delicious."

The limo reached the freeway, heading south. Rush hour traffic was heavy, though the toll lane helped.

"There are things I've been meaning to discuss," Pamela said. "I've noticed the pressure you're under. Taking new medications. Avoiding your therapist."

"Dr. Belcher is very nice. Some things are hard to talk about."

"Have you told her what triggered your condition yet? It would help her provide a better diagnosis."

"It was a long time ago."

"At least tell Rory."

Rachel looked away, declining to make eye contact.

"Are you dating anyone? Someone you've been afraid to tell me about?"

"No, I won't be doing any dating. I wasn't good at it before I met Daniel, and I would be even worse now."

"But you're so pretty," Pamela said, poking Rachel with her elbow.

"I know. But when men get me in bed, it's not because they like me."

"I'm sure you're wrong about that."

"No, it's always been that way. Even Daniel didn't like me at first. He thought I was prissy."

"You knew that? And you were with him anyway?"

"Daniel was a powerful man. Not just physically. I wanted that in my life."

"I've been reading troubling stories lately. People claiming to be Daniel's friends are telling tales about his sex life. Some of the practices they mention aren't pleasant. And I know you get apprehensive when someone points out the old barn at Canby. You haven't talked about it with Rory, and I don't think Dr. Belcher knows either."

"It's not what you think. It's embarrassing, but it's not what you think."

"I snuck up there last week and looked around. It's just a tool shed full of dust and gardening equipment," Pamela said.

"Not exactly," Rachel said, taking a deep breath. "Mr. McLane, will you make sure the intercom is off?"

They heard the switch turnover, insuring their privacy.

"What are you willing to hear about Daniel?" Rachel asked.

"I was married to him for thirty years. And I watched your video. The part Rory would let me see." Rachel's face turned red and she looked down.

"It's not the barn I look at. There's a basement underneath the barn. An old bomb shelter. Daniel called it his playroom, but it's a dungeon. A year before he died, Daniel took me down there for the first time. He never recorded anything that happened in the basement. I'm very grateful about that."

"Not just bondage?"

"It's where Daniel acted out his more aggressive fantasies."

"Weren't you scared?"

"The first time I was. My heart beat so hard I thought it would burst. But that's another story. One that isn't resolved."

Pamela noticed Rachel wringing her hands. She opened the bar unit, mixed two whisky sours, and made sure Rachel drank some. She should have told Rachel to forget the whole thing, but she couldn't. Her curiosity was too strong.

"You can tell me anything, dear. I won't judge," Pamela said, holding her hand.

"After we began dating, Daniel had me spend weekends at Canby Place. Sometimes we played his games, but not always. Sometimes we just watched TV and spent time in the kitchen. We'd go swimming. He taught me to play tennis and shoot hoops. I didn't realize basketball had so much physical contact. Once, during our lovemaking, I called him Mr. Darcy. Daniel said he would punish me for sleeping with another man and gave me a spanking."

Pamela was shocked, but Rachel was smiling, twisting her empty ring finger. She heard Rachel sigh.

"Danny never talked to me about getting tied up, and yet it was a big part of his life. I don't understand the appeal."

"I'm no expert. I've never talked about it, except for what Rory made me tell."

"What was it like? That first time in his playroom?"

"I can't talk about that. It's too difficult. But I can tell a different story. One that's more fun. Unless it might be too much for you?"

"It's just us girls," Pamela answered.

"Okay, but you've been warned. Right?"

"Yes, dear, I've been warned."

"We returned to Canby Place on a Friday after work. I'd been spending a lot of time in my lab, sometimes sleeping on the floor."

"I've been meaning to ask about that. Can't you get a cot?"

"If I thrash around, I can fall off a cot. I can't fall off the floor. But Daniel noticed. He said I looked worn-out. Distracted. It was true. I'd had equations running through my head nonstop. Daniel said he had a new game. Maybe it would take my mind off things. I could have said no, but Daniel looked so excited. There was a devil's gleam in his eyes."

"You make horror sound romantic."

"Oh, it was. It was so ... Well, Daniel told me to take off my clothes and lie in the atrium with only a blanket, pretending to be sleeping. He disappeared and returned in a pirate outfit. Big leather boots. A sash with a cutlass. Skull and crossbones on his hat. He even had an eye-patch." Rachel laughed, a faraway look in her eyes.

"I struggled, but Daniel snatched the blanket away from me. Then he put leather cuffs on my wrists and announced that I was a prisoner of the buccaneers. He was going to take me back to his ship and share me with his mateys. It was so embarrassing. When he took me out on the patio, I realized we were going up the hill to the playroom again. It was only the second time. When I resisted, he tossed me over his shoulder and carried me the rest of the way."

"Weren't you afraid?"

"Oh, yes. Just being tied up is scary. Being in a dungeon--"

Rachel shuddered. Pamela reached to calm her down.

"You could have said no. Why didn't you?"

"This might be hard to understand. Daniel and I never stopped a game once it started. Nothing to interfere with the moment. In my lab, at home, sometimes even in my sleep, I'm constantly making decisions. All day long. All week long. All year long. Forever. Thousands and thousands of decisions. Which equation works best? Which string leads to the next level? Which track is a dead-end? If I gamble with a new layer, will it set the program back? What if I make a mistake? What's the surest path to a solution? During our games, Daniel made all the decisions for me, regardless of what I wanted. That's what I needed. A chance to escape, if only for a few minutes. Daniel knew that. And his desire made everything exciting."

"It sounds so clinical."

"My classmates at Harvard called me a robot, and they weren't wrong. Sometimes the machine is hard to turn off. On this night, Daniel had all the playroom equipment pushed against the walls. There was a chain dangling from a beam. When I realized he was going to hang me from the ceiling, I tried to back away." Rachel took a deep breath and probed the bar for a refill, adding lots of ice.

"He raised my hands high over my head and attached the cuffs to the chain. I pulled and pulled but couldn't get loose. I was stretched out before him, nude and helpless."

"Didn't it hurt?"

"I wasn't all the way off the ground. My toes could still touch. Then he put cuffs around my ankles and chained my feet to the floor so I couldn't kick him. He'd learned his lesson on that one."

Rachel laughed. Pamela was having difficulty seeing the humor.

"Daniel walked around me, poking, tickling, watching me squirm. Every once in a while, he'd say things like 'harr, I got ye now' or 'ye in big trouble now, wench.' He said I would fetch a good price at the slave auction once he was through with me. And then he opened a cabinet with whips in it and took out a cat of nine tails. He had never threatened to whip me before. I wouldn't have wanted him to, and he knew it."

Pamela was quiet, listening carefully. Rachel had been frightened. Defenseless and frightened. But that wasn't what her story was about.

"Daniel put a gag in my mouth, saying there would be no begging for mercy. He picked up the whip and cracked it. It was so loud, it made me jump. When he cracked it again, I almost wet myself. He circled around several times, and then stopped behind me, brushing my butt with the whip. I was breathing hard, fighting the cuffs. The whip cracked as the thongs struck me across the back. I screamed through the gag."

Pamela had her hands over her mouth, unable to understand how Rachel could be so calm.

"But something was off. I didn't feel any pain. Not much, anyway. The whip struck again, the sound louder than before, and I screamed again. But still, the pain I expected wasn't there. The third time he struck me, I barely felt it. Daniel appeared in front of me. He took off the eyepatch and asked me if that was exciting. One thing for sure, I wasn't thinking about equations.

"He continued using the flogger. Mostly on my butt and thighs. It didn't hurt. Not very much. Mostly I just flinched. And to be honest, I was getting very excited.

"Daniel decided it was time to... he could be ... Well, you know. He was a full-grown man. He uncuffed my ankles, lifted my body off the floor, and lowered me on him. The sex was awkward but amazing. I'd never had an experience like that. Never even imagined it.

"When he was done, Daniel went into the small bathroom, leaving me hanging. My legs were weak. He returned wearing street clothes. Slacks and a polo shirt. He came up to me, removed the gag, and asked if I'd had enough.

"Never, I said, looking him in the eye."

Pamela laughed, able to visualize Rachel's feisty defiance.

"Daniel looked so surprised. And happy. He hurried to remove the cuffs, cradled me in his arms, and carried me all the way back down to the house. He bathed me in the Roman tub, massaged me, applied ointments, and nibbled my neck until I made him stop. That night, he took me into his bedroom and we made love like normal people.

"So you see, regardless of what these gossips say, Daniel didn't abuse me. Our relationship was about trust, and that's what I needed more than anything else. When I look up at the barn now, I'm not afraid of what happened there. I'm afraid I'll never get those feelings back. The joy. The intimacy. The excitement. That's the apprehension I feel."

"You know, there are other ways to find physical exhilaration," Pamela said. "You could try bobsledding, or skydiving. Maybe Russian roulette."

"Now you tell me," Rachel said, smiling. Pamela smiled, too.

"You are so brave," Pamela said, squeezing her hand.

"You don't think less of me? For having done those things with Daniel?"

"No, dear. I realize it was all in fun. But I'm glad he chose you for his games instead of me. I would have wilted."

Rachel seemed relieved, looking out the window. They passed shopping centers, ritzy apartments, and several large estates before starting up the hill toward Canby Place.

"Have you any plans for Christmas?" Pamela asked.

"I'll go for a hike at dawn. Pray. Drink hot rum cinder with cinnamon. Watch Elizabeth Bennett on TV. After that, I'll probably sleep the rest of the day."

"I know your parents are gone. No other family?"

"None that I know of. They never spoke of it."

"Would you like to spend Christmas with Rory and me? In Aspen. The Marburys and Bensons gather there at our chalets."

"Oh, no. I couldn't intrude like that. It would be awful."

"Please come. I missed you at Thanksgiving. It made me sad knowing you were alone. And you wouldn't be intruding. You were Daniel's fiancée."

Pamela paused, waiting for Rachel to correct her. Ready to pounce. Rachel declined the challenge.

"I don't have any presents to give. I wouldn't even know where to start," Rachel said.

"We don't give many presents. Everyone has everything they could possibly want. But we won't have you, unless you say yes."

"What will your children say? Especially Billy. He hates me."

"Rory loves the idea. I haven't talked to John yet, but he'll get on board. As for Billy, I'll just need to bring him around."

"I don't want to cause more trouble in your family."

"I know, dear. Don't worry about that. We're all grown-ups, and every family has issues."

* * * * * *

This chapter marks the final turning point in Rachel's story, the trip to Aspen being accompanied by fateful events. Rachel and every member of the Benson family will need to make life-changing decisions.