Rachel From the Edge Pt. 13

Rachel From the Edge Pt. 13

by G. Lawrence

A tragic event changes everything

As the holiday in Aspen goes terribly astray, Rachel and the Benson family are forced to make important decisions.

* * * * * *

Chapter Sixteen

ASPEN

The private jet landed at the county airport. The Colorado weather was brisk and cloudy with a light snowfall expected by the end of the day. A limo picked Pamela, Rory and Rachel up at the gate. All wore winter coats and scarves.

"Excited?" Rory asked.

"I don't know. I've only read about Aspen in magazines," Rachel said as their suitcases were loaded. Pamela had gotten Rachel new Rimowa luggage, replacing her duffel bag.

"Have you done much traveling?" Pamela inquired.

"Daniel took me to New York once. And Palm Springs. I lived in Boston while going to school. I could see Bunker Hill from my loft."

"What about vacations? Europe? Japan? Florida?" Rory asked.

"Gosh, Ro, I've been lucky to have bus fare," Rachel said.

"You have plenty of money now, dear," Pamela said, testing again.

Rachel didn't say anything, perhaps drifting a little.

"Chase the numbers back, honey. Chase them back," Rory scolded, taking Rachel's hand.

"I'm okay. Dr. Keller upgraded my medication," Rachel said.

"If you cut back your hours and relaxed more, would you need such strong prescriptions?" Rory asked.

"I don't know. Work isn't the only thing on my mind," Rachel said, looking at the snow-capped mountains as they drove off.

"Daniel has been gone almost four months. We all miss him," Pamela said. "But you've found new family, too. Haven't you?"

"You've been so kind to me. I'll never forget you," Rachel replied.

"I want to talk with you later. About something very important," Pamela said. "Will you hear everything I have to say?"

"I will always listen to you," Rachel answered, surprised she might think differently.

They drove down Main Street so Rachel could see the elegant restaurants, boutiques, and historic storefronts. They passed the Wheeler Opera House, and the Wheeler-Stallard House. Pamela said she would arrange a tour of the Aspen Art Museum.

"Well, what do you think, Rach? The playground of the rich and famous," Rory said.

"I don't know how to ski," Rachel confessed.

"We'll get you the best equipment," Rory said. "Shopping with you will be fun."

"Shopping is fun," Rachel wistfully agreed.

The limo traveled west, then north, entering a river valley on a private road.

"Each family has their own chalet on Plum Run," Pamela explained. "My great-great-grandfather, Stanton Marbury, bought the land in the 1880s. He built railroads."

"We'll visit with friends over the next few days, and then get together with family at Marbury House on Christmas morning," Rory said with anticipation. "There will be a big tree, and stories, and music, and then a really big meal. And yes, our family is very wealthy, but don't be afraid. They're just people."

"They'll be curious about you. Just be yourself," Pamela said.

Rachel was quiet. They could tell she was nervous. Any kind of family was strange to her, so it was no surprise that a large family would be intimidating. But Pamela thought Rachel would step up. She always had.

"You met my cousins at the funeral. They liked you," Rory said. "Even if I did need to push Bobby into the harbor."

"I didn't say two words at the funeral," Rachel said. "What if I start talking about the limitations of Euclidean vector space and they think I'm weird?"

"You talk about whatever you want," Rory said. "If they don't like it, screw 'em."

"Oh, I shouldn't do that. I don't even know them," Rachel said.

"I don't mean you should literally screw them," Rory protested, arching her eyebrows.

Pamela noticed Rachel's quiet smirk.

"Lighten up, Ro. Rachel is making a joke," Pamela said.

They drove past Marbury House, a tall timbered mansion with big windows and six chimneys. The architecture was elaborate, with gables and spires, harkening back to the Victorian Age.

"It was quite the palace in its glory days," Rory explained. "It has a banquet room, men's and women's parlors, and lots of bedrooms for guests. The older Marburys stay here when they visit, like Hattie and Aunt May. Dad built a separate house so he wouldn't have to put up with his in-laws."

A little farther up the road, the limo stopped at a lodge that was smaller but more contemporary, situated on a hillside facing west. Balconies allowed a grand view of the forested valley. Deer loitered down near the creek. Curtained windows showed there were bedrooms on the top floor. Rachel noticed toys of the wealthy elite covered with winter tarps. A snowmobile. A 4-wheel utility vehicle. There was even a speedboat on a trailer.

"Only Bensons stay here," Pamela said as they parked. "You, me, and Rory. Johnny is flying in from Boston. Billy will probably stay with the Levensons. Libby Levenson keeps a yacht next to Billy's in Maui. I hear they date sometimes."

"Cousins?" Rachel asked.

"Second cousins," Pamela said.

"We've been spending Christmas here since I was a little girl," Rory said, helping Rachel with her bag.

"It's big," Rachel said.

"Five bedrooms, four baths, and a giant kitchen," Rory said. "That's where we'll have most of our meals, when we're here. Lots of parties and skiing to do."

Rachel entered the house, feeling overwhelmed. Parties and skiing?

It was a nice retreat, with western-style sofas and chairs, thick throw rugs, and pinewood tables. Bookcases were filled with photos of the family engaged in skiing, boating, golf, and touch football. Many featured Daniel. There were no books. The Bensons were not readers.

"Our rooms are on the upper floor," Rory said. "We have great views of the woods. No creeps from the road spying on us with binoculars."

"Shouldn't they be spying on famous people?" Rachel asked.

"We are famous people," Rory answered.

Rory led the way upstairs. Rachel chose the smallest bedroom. It felt quaint, if perhaps over-decorated, with white lace drapes, crystal lamps, and purple bedcovers. Then she went downstairs to inspect the kitchen, surprised to find the Bensons had hired a cook.

"Will I get to make breakfast?" Rachel asked.

"We're on vacation," Rory said.

"I like making breakfast."

"I'll talk to Mom. I guess Mrs. Lau won't mind having mornings off," Rory said.

"You'll still pay her, won't you?" Rachel asked. "If you can't, I have some money."

"What do you mean?" Rory asked, caught off-guard.

"I wouldn't want her to lose a paycheck because of me."

"Sure. Of course we'll pay her. Don't worry about it," Rory said.

Oliver flew in from Chicago that afternoon. John arrived just after sunset as light snow began to fall. A roaring fire kept the house warm. Not allowed to make dinner, Rachel took a nap on blankets before the hearth.

They had roast chicken and mashed potatoes for dinner around the kitchen table, catching up on events. Oliver had a new nephew. John had been offered a partnership at his firm. Rory would be graduating in May. Pamela had M & B more prosperous than ever. Rachel listened but didn't have much to say.

Pamela took Rory and Rachel shopping in the downtown district the next morning. The day before Christmas Eve was busy, the boutiques full. Rachel was shocked at the prices, though Pamela kept assuring her that money wasn't a problem. In Rachel's world, money was always a problem. Nevertheless, Pamela talked her into buying a dark red Dior outfit that set off her hair nicely.

"Looks like we've been spotted," Rory said, seeing people aiming cell phones.

"Spotted doing what? I'm not doing anything," Rachel said, pulling down her new brown felt fedora.

"No, they're just taking pictures. They post them on the internet. Instagram. That sort of thing. It's no big deal."

Rachel looked at all the gawkers, wondering what they found so interesting. Pamela and Oliver were watching from the coffee bar.

"Rachel is getting extra attention, just like you thought," Oliver said.

"She finally has color back in her cheeks, and meat on those skinny bones," Pamela said. "The boys will flock around her."

"Are you trying to fix her up?"

"I want her to have a social life. She deserves one."

Oliver got an alert on his phone and frowned.

"Pam, we need to talk," Oliver whispered, drawing her down an aisle among the heavy coats. He showed her the messages.

"Gossip Today is saying Rachel is in Aspen trying to land John as her new boyfriend. Or Rory as her new girlfriend. Or both."

"That's disgusting," Pamela said.

"What do you want done about it?"

"G. T. is produced by Krandell Productions, isn't it? Call Carlin Weatherby. Tell him to shut it down or there will be consequences. And text Ruth Sparrow. She'll rip them a new one so fast they won't know which direction to shit."

"Billy's in town. Saw him skating with Libby. I don't know where he's staying."

"He has access to Marbury House. Let him stay there. I don't want him around Rachel any more than necessary."

"Wow, look there," Oliver said, pointing back toward a forming crowd.

Pamela turned to see Joni Braintree and Karise Mercia, two of America's most popular young movie stars, conversing with Rachel and Rory. Rory did most of the talking. Rachel seemed flattered that they recognized her.

Shadow Latrobe, a celebrated Hollywood producer with a notorious reputation, soon joined them. Just over forty, tall and darkly handsome, Shadow took an instant interest in Rachel, maneuvering to stand next to her. Someone must have made a joke, because Rachel suddenly burst into a smile, her eyes lighting up. Shadow leaned over, whispering something in her ear. Rachel's eyebrows went up and her face turned red. Pamela didn't need to guess what the scoundrel was after.

"She is so cute," Pamela said with a sigh. "Ollie, I've grown awfully jaded. I've forgotten what it's like to see life as Rachel does. Everything new. Everything exciting."

"Are you still thinking about adoption?"

"I'm not sure what Rachel will say. I don't want her to think I'm exploiting her."

"It won't be well-received by the family, especially your Marbury relations. They're old school. They don't know Rachel as you do, only the media cartoon everyone finds so embarrassing. Maybe you should hold off?"

"I know. I can't throw too much at her all at one time."

"At least she's participating," Oliver said, seeing the group around Rachel growing. A dozen onlookers were taking pictures. Rachel had her jacket pulled tight, as if she was being buffeted by strange forces, but she wasn't shying away. Rory was enjoying the attention.

"Let's not say anything about these rude comments on the net," Pamela said. "Rory knows how to deal with them better than we do."

"They're like sisters, aren't they?"

"Rory always wanted a sister."

That afternoon, Pamela took Rachel to the Aspen Art Museum. Rachel liked some of the exhibits. Most she wasn't impressed with.

"I was never an art major," Rachel apologized.

"Art is an individual taste, dear. I've never liked those nude statues Daniel kept at Canby Place."

"I don't like them either. A museum should have them."

"Donate them."

"I can't do that. They aren't mine."

"We'll talk about it," Pamela said.

They entered the next gallery, a celebration of Scandinavian collage works. Pamela was impressed. Rachel didn't offer an opinion.

"Still nervous about Christmas at Marbury House?" Pamela asked.

"Bloggers say I was after Daniel for his money. What if your family thinks I've ingratiated myself with you for the same reason?"

Pamela laughed.

"You really aren't good with money, are you?" Pamela said.

"What do you mean?"

"Sheila says you could be working for H. I. They would start you at $500,000 a year, offer generous bonuses, and let you register your own patents. You'd be worth millions by the time you were thirty."

"Maybe," Rachel hesitantly agreed.

"But instead, you've stayed at Marbury & Benson. To be with me. How much money did you have when Daniel died? Don't fib, I already know the answer."

"About $12,000. But Mr. Mendelson says I'm going to get bonus money."

"Do you have it yet? Or anything from the estate? Or anything but a handful of overdue payroll checks?"

"No."

"So how much do you have? Honestly?"

"I need to reimburse Mrs. Hemmings and pay Mr. Garcia's crew. I'll have some left over."

"How much? How much will you have left over?"

"About $5,000."

"Do you see my point, dear? Is my family supposed to believe that you are such a devious schemer, that by ingratiating yourself with me, you're worth a few thousand dollars instead of millions?"

"It is a little confusing," Rachel admitted.

They strolled through the galleries, seeing contemporary drawings, paintings, sculptures, and electronic media. Rachel stopped before an exhibit by Yayoi Kusama. The Japanese artist had prepared a multimedia star field with sparkling lights and whiffs of smoke representing comets.

"It's beautiful. She sees the numbers. Better than I do," Rachel said, gazing in wonder.

"How have the numbers been lately?"

"They will be quiet soon. If the matrix discovers a sustainable solution, the numbers will rest for a while."

"Will you be able to cut back your hours?"

"I've been meaning to speak with you about that."

But Rachel stopped speaking. Whatever it was, she was reluctant to talk about it.

"Go ahead, you know you can tell me anything," Pamela finally prodded.

Rachel found a marble bench and waited for Pamela to sit. Their section of the museum was quiet with most people shopping for the holiday.

"Pam, until now, my work on Level 12 was essential. Only I understood how to stabilize the matrix. It will be different once a sustainable solution is confirmed. More engineers are coming into the field. They are smart. Most are better qualified than I am. They'll be able to continue the program without any help from me."

"That's good, isn't it? You can finally get some time off."

"Yes, it's a good thing," Rachel said.

"You look tired. Want to skip skiing this afternoon?"

"A few hours of quiet would be nice. Aspen is such a noisy place. So many people, and they talk all the time."

"If you don't get a sustainable solution, will the numbers still give you a break?"

Rachel avoided answering.

* * * * * *

"The powder is great this year," Rory said at the bottom of Devil's Run.

"Yes. Glad I made it back," John agreed, still out of breath.

"Alicia couldn't come?"

"She's with her family in Newton. I was supposed to be there, too."

"And?" Rory asked.

"With Dad just having died, I thought spending time with you and Mom was more important."

"Alicia didn't make it to the funeral."

"I asked her not to. With all the controversy, it didn't feel right."

"The controversy being Rachel? Don't tell her that. She wouldn't want her problems interfering with your relationships."

"It wasn't just that. Some of the things I told Alicia about Dad left a bad impression. Even I wasn't sure how I felt."

"You've dated for a year now, and I've only met her that one time at Thanksgiving. You should bring her out more."

"Let's get together after the holidays. You and Rachel can fly out for a visit."

"We aren't lovers, you know. Regardless of what G. T. is saying."

"I know you aren't lovers. But I think she might be your best friend. And I think she's good for you. I've never seen you so self-assured. So down-to-earth."

"Rach puts things in perspective."

"Speaking of perspectives, you guys sure were drawing crowds this morning."

"Didn't Rach do great? Did you see everyone flocking around her?"

"They were flocking around you, too."

"I'm not complaining."

Dozens of skiers were coming down the long slope, forcing them to move aside.

"I think Rachel's finally getting out of her shell," Rory said.

"Is that what she wants? It's obvious she enjoys spending time with you, but she looked confused by all the fawning admirers. She hardly spoke the whole day."

"She did better than that. And she's famous now, regardless of what she wants. Rachy is never going back to being the anonymous little lab girl that no one pays attention to. Even Harvard wants her back."

"How's that?" John asked.

"A graduate student is publishing her papers, and people are reading them. The dean said Rachel should come back and finish her degree."

"Do you think she will? I asked her about this after the funeral. She said it would never happen."

"I don't know what her plans are. She's still living day to day, like she'll wake up tomorrow and everything will be gone."

"Will it? Mom seems to like her, at least for now, but it hasn't been that long since Dad died. And the will is still in probate. What if Mom changes her mind?"

"Mom's been good to her, and she enjoys doing things for Rach. Did you see her trick Rachel into buying that new dress?"

"Tricked her? I saw the outfit. It looks terrific on her."

"But it was expensive. Mom had the salesgirl switch price tags, and then switched them back later, otherwise Rachel never would have spent that kind of money. Most of her clothes still come from the Salvation Army."

"Rachel isn't one for the rich and famous lifestyle, is she?"

"She'll adapt, once she gets more confidence."

"Is she getting more confident? She still seems very shy."

"Did you see her go after Kattie and Gresley? On live TV?"

"Yes, that was amazing. My whole office watched. Everybody loved the way she crushed the Dumbass Duo."

"I haven't heard any bloggers repeating that tied-behind-her-back thing lately."

"Not if they want to keep their advertisers."

"You know, Mom and Ollie probably have Rach on the bunny slope by now. We should go check on her. Maybe drag her out on Bokum's Run."

"Is she strong enough for that?" John asked.

"That's right, you haven't hung out with her since the funeral. Rachel swims every morning. Sometimes she goes hiking. She's been playing tennis, and Mom's teaching her to play golf. For someone so petite, she's got a really sharp swing."

"You've really brought her back from the brink, Nurse Benson."

"Actually, it's thanks to Mom. Mom makes her eat regularly. Makes her exercise. Tries to limit her lab hours. I think Mom might be trying to find her a boyfriend."

"I had no idea they were that close."

"Mom even wants to ... well, yeah, they're kind of close."

John checked his phone, looking for messages.

"There's a text from Mendelson. Rachel decided to stay in this afternoon. All the excitement must have worn her out," John said. "We'll get her out tomorrow. The weather's been good."

"Skiing with her will be fun. I bet she's a real daredevil. And we need to get her to Shadow's party, too. She is on vacation, after all."

* * * * * *

Rachel woke up, sensing someone in the room. There were still streaks of daylight creeping through the drawn blind, but not much.

"I've finally got you, bitch. Mom and Ro aren't here to protect you now."

It was William, skulking in the dark. Rachel had taken off the long woolen underwear, it was too hot, but still wore the T-Rex t-shirt Big Bob had given her for Christmas.

"Go away, William. You don't want to do this," Rachel warned.

"Oh yes, I do. You stole my Dad and turned his death into a joke. You're trying to steal my money. You shamed our family in front of the whole world. Now you're going to pay."

He turned on the light, and then pulled the covers off the bed. Rachel hunched back against the headboard, pulling the shirt over her bare knees. William looked drunk. Tormented. The green eyes were bloodshot. Rachel couldn't help thinking it was her fault. If she hadn't gotten so involved with the Benson family, would he still be harboring so much anger?

"I don't want to hurt you," Rachel said.

"I want to hurt you," William replied, crawling on the bed and trying to grab her ankle. Rachel saw he had a piece of rope in his hand.

"Calm down. Let's talk. Please, let's talk," Rachel said.

William hoped she would be terrified. Terrified and anticipating her humiliation. But she was looking at him with a strange detachment.

"You've been good at tricking Mom, and that's not easy," William said, finally getting a grip on her leg. "And Ro is always desperate for attention. I'm not surprised you seduced her. John is ready to throw his girlfriend over for you. You are quite the piece of work."

He tried dragging her flat on the bed, seeking to wrap the rope around her ankle, but Rachel was stronger than she looked, managing to pull away.

"William, please stop. Please," Rachel pleaded.

"I thought you liked this," William said, repositioning himself.

"Daniel loved you. Please don't destroy your life. Not because of me."

"You sure beg a lot, for a goddamn whore," William said, pouncing on her.

He wrapped his fist in her hair and slapped her across the face. Rachel raised her arms to defend herself. He released her hair, pushed her arms down, and slapped her even harder, drawing blood from her lip. He tried to tie her wrists to the headboard, but she wiggled free. He hit her again, leaving her dizzy.

Rachel had run out of options. She reached for the table lamp on the nightstand, not sure if it was Tiffany or a knockoff, and smashed him on top of the head, shattering the crystal. William fell back, surprised to find bloody glass in his scalp. Rachel gave him a push with her foot, saw he'd left the bedroom door open, and took off.

Hiding in the bathroom wouldn't help, the door was too flimsy, and she'd be trapped. Rachel had no intention of being trapped. She ran downstairs to the living room, but William was right behind her, reaching the front door first. She tried to run for the kitchen, but he blocked that, too. He was still holding the rope, though now it looked like he wanted to wrap it around her neck.

Rachel was cornered in the living room, backing up against the glass doors to the balcony. She threw a pillow, and then a vase. Probably an expensive vase. Then a picture frame, and a candle. William kept getting closer. She pushed over a chair. He shoved the chair out of the way, knocking over a table.

There was a thick marble ashtray, though no one in the house smoked, and she threw it with all her strength. It struck William on the forehead, opening a deep gash. He went down on one knee, probing the wound, and slowly stood back up.

"You throw hard for a little girl," William said.

He walked forward, unsteadily. Too much alcohol, Rachel thought. He might do anything now. She opened the balcony doors. A frosty wind blew through, bellowing the curtains. The landscape was covered in ice. The cold air hit like a frozen blanket.

"Where do you think you're going? That's a twenty-foot drop," William said, creeping closer. But Rachel moved to the railing anyway, a hand poised as she looked down. It took William a moment to grasp the situation.

"No, don't do that. That's not what I want," William said.

He saw she wasn't afraid of him. Not in the way he expected. She looked crushed. Like someone had shattered her dreams.

"I'm sorry, William. This is on me," Rachel said, climbing on the railing.

"No! No, don't!" William shouted, rushing to stop her.

He was too late. Rachel leaned back and went over. He heard a crash down below. She had landed on something. He ran to look, seeing white legs and a black shirt tumbling down the icy slope into a tree. Then, to his amazement, she got up and staggered into the woods.

William felt he should go after her. He went back in the house, found blood dripping in his eyes, and felt woozy. He needed to sit down.

* * * * * *

The rented SUV pulled into the driveway, skis mounted on the roof. John was driving, Rory at shotgun, with Pamela and Oliver in back. They left the ski equipment for now, anxious to get out of the cold. A snow flurry blew through.

"Good runs," John said. "The slopes are great this year."

"We need to get Rachel out there. On a real hill," Rory said.

The youngsters ran up the long flight of porch stairs, entering the house first. They quickly realized something was wrong.

"Why is the balcony door open?" John asked. "This room is freezing."

"And what's all this broken junk?" Rory said, kicking a crushed vase. And then she paused. "Oh my God. Rachel! Rachel!"

She ran upstairs to Rachel's room, finding a smashed lamp and bed covers on the floor. The bedsheet was splattered with blood. By the time she got downstairs, Pamela and Oliver were in the doorway.

"Rachel's gone! Someone attacked her!" Rory shouted.

"And I know who," John said from the kitchen.

They followed his voice, finding him kneeling over William, who was sitting on the floor against the sink. He had a cold pack pressed against his forehead with one hand, a bottle of vodka in the other. His wool sweater was streaked with blood.

"What is this?" Pamela said, not wanting to believe it.

"Where is she? Where is Rachel?" Rory demanded.

"You better answer, little brother," John said, grabbing William's throat. The grip was tight. John tossed the bottle of vodka away, lifted the ice pack to see the wound, and then slammed the ice pack back against his head.

"She went off the balcony," William reported, pointing.

Rory and Pamela rushed to the railing, looking down. Everything was in shadow.

"I can't see her. She might be dead," Rory feared.

"Not dead," William said. "Ran off. In the woods."

"I'll call 911," Oliver said, taking out his phone.

"Let's take a look for her first," Rory demurred. "She'll be terrified if strangers start beating the bushes for her."

"Take clothes," William said.

"You raped her?!" Rory shouted.

"I didn't rape her," William replied.

"Did you try?" John asked.

"I don't know what I was doing," William feebly defended.

Rory and John found flashlights, going down into the yard and around the side of the house. It looked like Rachel had landed on the hood of the speed boat, then rolled about twenty feet down the hill. A scrap of her black t-shirt was caught on a branch. There was blood, but not a lot.

"She's headed for Grazer's Creek. If she falls in the ice?" John said.

"We've got to hurry," Rory urged.

Though the thick trees kept the forest dark, the flashlights made the trail easy to follow. Footprints showed where she'd floundered in the snow. Just beyond the tree line, the valley opened. A bright moon shined on the meandering river.

"Over there," John said, pointing to the embankment. A figure was huddled among rocks next to the stream.

"Rach? It's me. John is here, too. Everything is okay," Rory said, approaching cautiously.

There was no answer. They moved closer, trying not to slip on the ice. They saw Rachel bending over the water.

"Rachel! Don't jump! The water's too cold," Rory yelled.

Rachel turned around, squinting against the flashlight beams.

"I'm not going to jump in, Ro. That would be awfully stupid," Rachel said. She was shivering. Her voice weak.

"What are you doing?" Rory asked.

"Washing my face. Did you bring a towel?"

"Brought you clothes."

They found her so cold she could barely move. In the moonlight, they saw the cut lip and swollen cheeks. Her scalp was sensitive where the hair had been pulled, some of it hanging loose. The t-shirt was torn open down the side, revealing a large red bruise on her ribs.

"I'm going to kill him," John growled.

Rory took off what was left of the shirt, wet from the river and streaked with blood. Rachel's legs had red scratches from rolling down the hill.

"Don't look, John. She's not wearing anything," Rory warned.

John unrolled a bundle of woolen garments, handing them one at a time to Rory.

"Girl, you are freezing. Let's get your arms up," Rory said, pulling an undershirt down over Rachel's head, followed by a sweater.

After Rory tugged sweatpants over Rachel's hips and put on cotton socks, John scooped her up. She groaned but didn't resist. Rory draped a blanket over her, being sure to wrap her feet.

"Be careful. She's in bad shape," Rory warned.

"I'm okay," Rachel said. "There's a cabin downstream. Only a few hundred yards."

"You're coming back with us," Rory said.

"No. No, don't," Rachel replied.

"Let's go, Johnny," Rory ordered, leading the way with the flashlights. John followed her back to the chalet, trying not to slip on the slick hillside.

William had been moved to a sofa in the living room. John burst in and set Rachel before the fire, rubbing her hands.

"She almost died out there, you goddamn piece of shit," Rory barked, punching William in the face. She was about to punch him again. Oliver pulled her back.

"Take it easy, honey. You'll break your hand," Oliver said. "We've called the sheriff."

John looked up, surprised his mother had allowed that. But Pamela looked angry. Angrier than he'd ever seen her. Rachel was curled in a ball near the hearth, listening but not responding. Her lips looked white. The breathing was shallow.

"Twenty years in prison is what you need, you fucking rapist," Rory said, shaking free of Oliver.

Pamela knelt next to Rachel, probing for injuries. Rachel put out her hand.

"It's no big deal," she said.

"No big deal? How can you say that?" Pamela asked.

"He was drunk. Let him sleep it off," Rachel said.

"Billy is going to jail. There is no arguing that," Pamela insisted.

Rachel put her head down. She wanted to protest, she just didn't have the strength.

When the sheriff arrived, Rachel was upstairs with Rory, bathing in the master bathroom. She declined to be interviewed. The officers took statements from John and Oliver, photos of the living room, gathered the bloody sheet from the bedroom, and put the torn t-shirt in an evidence bag. William was handcuffed and driven away. He appeared in a daze. The sheriff took him to the clinic for an x-ray.

Rachel was still in the tub when Pamela went upstairs. Rory was running warm water over her shoulders, rubbing her fingers and toes.

"This is so messed up, Mom. Shouldn't we call an ambulance?"

"No ambulance. I'm okay," Rachel insisted.

She didn't look okay to Pamela. The scratches were shallow, but Rachel's ribs were tender from where she'd landed on the boat. Her face was puffy, the left eye turning black. The lip was swelling.

"Can we get you anything?" Pamela asked, hardly able to speak.

"Jack Daniels would be nice," Rachel said. "And a few aspirin."

"Why are you so calm?" Pamela pressed. "Are you having--"

"She's not in a state, Mom," Rory said, looking into Rachel's eyes. They were focused. Aware. "Her adrenalin is running high."

"Getting smacked around will do that," Rachel said.

"This is so awful. So, so awful," Pamela said, kneeling next to the tub. "How can I ever say how sorry I am?"

"Families have problems. Mine did. This is nothing compared to what my father did to me. But I can't stay here anymore. I'll be leaving in the morning."

"You don't need to be afraid. Billy will never come near you again," Pamela promised.

"I'm not afraid of William. I'm afraid of destroying your family. Daniel's family. I can't do that."

Rachel tried to get out of the tub, but slipped back in. Rory steadied her. Rachel wrapped herself in a towel.

"We should talk about this," Pamela said.

"There is nothing more to say. I'm sorry," Rachel replied. "The math was never good. I let myself hope for something that could never be, and that's my fault."

Rachel tucked the towel tight and hobbled into her bedroom, closing the door. They could hear her crying.

"I'll make that drink for her," Rory said. "It will give me an excuse to see how she's doing."

"Do you think alcohol is good for her right now?"

"If that happened to me, I'd sure want a drink. Wouldn't you?"

"More than one."

The ladies went downstairs. Oliver was picking up the living room. John was in the kitchen making tea, hoping Rachel would want some.

"This has been a disaster," Pamela said, dropping on the couch. "How could Billy do that? I don't understand."

"He's going to need a lawyer. It won't be me," Oliver said.

"Or me," John said. "What did Rachel say?"

"She said to forget about it," Pamela replied.

"You're kidding?" John said.

"Rachel says Billy was drunk," Rory explained. "Her father got drunk and beat her for years. She told me about this army guy who slugged her. Walking away may be easier for her than confronting it."

"I've seen cases like this in court. I never thought I'd see it in my own home," John mumbled.

"Rachel is leaving in the morning," Pamela said. "She thinks she's hurting our family."

"She hasn't hurt anyone. Don't let her go, Mom," Rory urged.

"She's rational. She's on her medication. I don't know what I can do. I can't lock her up," Pamela responded.

"It's just the shock," John said.

"No, it's more than that," Oliver said. "Rachel has been worried about this for a long time. Not this precisely, but something."

* * * * * *

Rachel was up early the next morning, moving slowly. She hurt all over. She was glad to have strong bones.

Everyone was downstairs at the kitchen table, waiting. Rachel looked at the stove. They knew she wanted to make breakfast, but those days were over. Her eyes were clear. She might not have gotten much sleep, but she was alert. All she carried was a leather shoulder bag. A wool hat with flaps helped cover the bruises on her face. When the family started to get up, Rachel stopped them. Then she stepped forward and put the black box with the engagement ring in it on the table.

"You have all been so kind to me. I will never forget," Rachel said, retreating to the doorway. "I'm sorry for the trouble I caused."

"You don't have to leave. We want you here," Rory said.

"Yes, I know. I'm sorry," Rachel said. "You should tell the police I'm not pressing charges against William, and I won't testify. I've hurt him enough already."

"This shouldn't be about Billy. He made his choices. This should be about you," John insisted.

Rachel looked at them with tears in her eyes, seeing them for the last time. Then she turned for the front door.

"At least let us call you a car," Oliver said.

"I can walk," Rachel answered, though it was more of a limp.

She went down the long wooden staircase cautiously, one hand on the railing, the other pressed over her ribs, and paused to remember which direction to go. The road dipped downhill toward a bus stop on the main highway. The family watched from the porch. She looked like a tiny wraith in the frozen landscape, gradually picking up her pace as if desperate to escape.

"I can't stand it," Rory whimpered, holding John's arm.

"She might come back," John hoped.

"She won't come back," Pamela said, clinging to Oliver. She was crying. And she never cried.

"Mom, you've got to do something," Rory pleaded.

"What? What can I do?" Pamela said.

Oliver pried Pamela loose, turned her toward the staircase, and gave her a nudge.

"Listen to me, Pammy. You know what to do," Oliver whispered. "You don't need anyone's permission."

"Permission?" Pamela questioned.

"Go get her," Oliver said.

It took no extra urging. Pamela was suddenly off the porch, down the stairs, and running toward the road in her house slippers. She almost fell on the ice before finding her footing. Rachel was wrapped in a light mist.

"Rachel! Rachel!" she shouted.

Rachel didn't stop. Pamela tried to run faster, but the blacktop was too slick. She continued to shout, growing frantic. Rachel finally turned to look, pausing with a mystified expression. Pamela caught up, grabbing her arms.

"I'm not letting you go," Pamela said, out of breath. "I'm never letting you go. Do you hear me?"

"I have to go. I have to. Before it's too late."

"It's already too late. You're my child now. Mine. I love you. I'm going to protect you. Do you understand?"

Rachel looked up into Pamela's eyes, sensing her resolve. But what she was asking for was impossible.

"You have your own children to protect. You have a family. There's no room for me. It only makes everything hard."

"Then it's going to be hard. We'll get through it. Together."

"Please don't. I'm not as strong as you think."

"I can see your heart is breaking. It doesn't have to. All you have to do is stay. Please believe me."

Rachel shook her head, trying to say no through growing tears. But then her legs went weak and she sank to the ground, forcing Pamela to catch her. Pamela landed on her butt in the middle of the ice-covered road, Rachel in her arms. Rachel was sobbing, struggling for breath against her injured ribs. Minutes passed as they sat in the frosty haze.

"They're going to freeze down there," John said, watching from the porch. "We've got to do something."

"No, this is about them now. It always has been," Rory said, holding him back. "Ollie, heat the spa for us. John, build up the fire in the fireplace, Rachel likes to lay near the hearth. Get plenty of blankets. Make coffee for Mom and tea for Rachel."

"You sound cool and collected," John said.

"Rachel is doing the math now. Everything's going to be okay."

The private road was rarely traveled, letting Pamela and Rachel sit undisturbed.

"Can we talk now?" Pamela asked, clutching Rachel's shoulders.

"You should be inside. It's cold, and you're old," Rachel sniffled.

"I'm not old. You've made me young again. Reminded me about things I care about. Can I ask a favor? A very great favor?"

"A favor?" Rachel said.

"Will you be my daughter?"

"Your what? What do you mean?" Rachel said, raising her head.

"I want to adopt you. Legally. Officially. I want you to be my daughter."

"We can't do that. It would cause trouble."

"You let me worry about trouble. Would you like to be my daughter?"

"More than anything."

"See, that was easy."

"Nothing is ever easy. You might feel differently later. When your family doesn't like me. When Billy gets in more trouble. I'm just--"

"You are sad, and depressed, and hurt," Pamela said, pulling her close. "The world batters you without mercy, so you need to listen to me now. I'm not letting you go. You're going to be my daughter, if not today, then tomorrow. It's just a matter of time. You can do the math."

Pamela felt Rachel laugh.

"It's cold," Rachel said.

"It certainly is."

"We should go inside."

"That sounds like a good idea."

* * * * * *

"The charges have been dropped," the bailiff said, having William sign the release papers. "Too bad. You should be looking at rape."

"There was no rape," William said.

"I saw the shirt you tore off that poor girl. It's got her blood all over it. You rich boys. You get away with everything."

The bailiff turned her back, anxious for him to leave. William went out the front doors of the old courthouse into a cold but clear morning. Oliver and John were waiting for him on the steps.

"Thanks for getting me out," William said, his wrists still sore from the handcuffs. There was gauze taped over his left eye.

"You can thank Rachel. I'd let you rot," John answered.

"I was going to plead guilty," William contritely mentioned.

"Well, I guess Rachel cheated you out of that, too. Add it to her list of crimes," John said.

"How is she?" William asked.

"Bruised. Scratched. Maybe broken ribs," John reported.

"I'm sorry. Real sorry," William said.

"We're not the ones who need an apology," Oliver complained.

They had a chauffeured car waiting. The three got in back.

"Mom doesn't want you anywhere near the house. You can stay with the Levensons, if they'll have you. And you can come to Marbury House for Christmas, if you have the nerve."

"Only because Rachel insisted," Oliver added. "She almost left us this morning. Left because she didn't want to cause more problems for the family. Are there going to be more problems?"

"Not from me," William said, rubbing his forehead. "Rachel has a good throwing arm. She really whacked me with that marble rock."

"I hope she knocked some sense into you," Oliver said.

* * * * * *

Rachel spent the rest of the morning in her room lying still. Pamela summoned a doctor to treat the injuries. John brought her chicken soup. Rory checked to see if Rachel was slipping into a haze, only to discover she was fully engaged, just quiet. She noticed Rachel wasn't wearing the engagement ring. Ruth Sparrow arrived just after noon.

"I got here as fast as I could," Ruth said, letting John take her coat.

"Mom's in the living room. She needs to talk with you," John said.

"What's wrong? Is she all right?"

"It's best you hear it from her," John replied.

Ruth found Pamela sitting in a big chair before the fireplace, a vodka martini in her hand.

"A bit early in the day for that, isn't it?" Ruth questioned.

"Billy broke into the house last night. He attacked Rachel," Pamela replied.

"Make one for me," Ruth requested.

They moved to the bar, sitting on the leather stools.

"How is Rachel?" Ruth asked.

"Stronger than I would have expected. Stronger than I'd be. I thought you should know before the news breaks."

"Where is she?"

"Upstairs. Resting. I don't know what I'm going to do."

"What's Billy being charged with? He didn't ... He didn't rape her, did he?"

"No, I don't think so. Rachel refused to press charges."

"I'll go talk with her."

"Thank you for coming. Rachel wants to be with us so badly, but she doesn't trust anything right now. Or anyone. She doesn't even trust herself."

"She'll trust me. I'm the grandmother she always wanted but never had," Ruth reassured her.

"Can you keep a secret?"

"When I must."

"I want to adopt her. Rachel is thinking about it."

"That's a big step."

"What do you think?"

"Ask me again in an hour."

Ruth made tea in the kitchen, found a plate of oatmeal cookies, and went upstairs, tapping on the door. Rachel invited her in without getting up. She was in bed wearing blue pajamas, her hair washed and brushed. Ruth was shocked by the purple bruises and black eye, but was careful not to overreact.

"Sweetheart, you finally made it to Aspen," Ruth said, sitting on the bed to serve the tea. "What are you reading?"

"Pride, Prejudice, and Zombies," Rachel said. "It feels more real now."

Ruth laughed. She had her gray hair up in a bun, looking matronly. The gold jacket looked like silk, though Rachel guessed it probably wasn't.

"How was shopping yesterday? I heard you hobnobbed with the elite."

"We met movie stars," Rachel replied.

"And they met you," Ruth said.

"I don't think they were impressed. I hardly said a word."

"Not speaking for no reason is a gift, child."

Ruth watched as Rachel sipped the tea and nibbled on a cookie. It looked like her jaw hurt.

"I heard about what happened. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, I'd rather not. But thank you," Rachel said.

"That's fine, we have plenty to discuss. You still haven't met most of the Marburys. And only a few of the Bensons. Let me give you the dirt on everybody."

Ruth visited with Rachel for over an hour, gesturing as she told tales of legendary family members, both alive and dead. Rachel occasionally smiled, enjoying the stories. If not for the bruises, and long periods of silence, Ruth would not have guessed she'd suffered such a traumatic event.

"Many of my best columns have been about you these last few months," Ruth admitted. "They are very popular, and just when my star was dimming. I want to thank you for that."

"You write nice things. Sometimes too nice."

"May I write a book about you? Get your real story? Will you tell me all of your secrets?"

"A book should have a happy ending. Mine won't."

"I think it will. I know it will," Ruth said, getting up. "Get some sleep. I'll see you again after the holidays. We should go shopping, I hear you like that."

"Thank you, Mrs. Sparrow," Rachel said, starting to roll over.

"Honey, where is your ring?"

"In the dresser drawer."

"Pamela and Rory aren't giving up on you," Ruth said. "Please don't give up on them."

Ruth found the house quiet when she went downstairs. Pamela and Oliver were in the kitchen, whispering over coffee. Rory and John got up from the couch where they were watching football.

"What did she say?" Rory asked.

"Rachel is a very special young woman," Ruth said. "She's resting now, but wants to be up in time to help with dinner."

"She doesn't need to work so hard," John said.

"It helps Rachel to be around familiar things, especially pots and pans," Ruth replied.

Pamela rushed from the kitchen, seeing Ruth putting on her coat.

"Sorry, I can't stay," Ruth apologized. "I have family waiting, but I hear Rachel has been invited to Christmas morning at Marbury House. She has to go. Don't let her make any excuses."

"Do you think she's up for that?" John asked.

"She has to be, and Pam knows why," Ruth answered.

"She won't want to go," Rory said.

"It's true. She's afraid of what your family will think. When she shows up with those bruises, everybody will know what happened."

"Everyone should know," John said.

"This story isn't staying secret," Ruth said. "Rachel knows that better than anyone, but she doesn't want to be seen as a victim. She doesn't want your family seeing her as a victim. She needs your support, not your pity."

"I understand," Pamela said.

"I hope you do. Make sure Rachel takes the ring with her, even if she doesn't wear it."

"The ring?" John said.

"Johnny, the ring isn't just about the love she had with your father, it's about the love she's found with this family," Ruth explained. "When she gets confused, the ring gives her hope."

John helped Ruth down the steps to her taxi, thanking her for coming. Rory waited for him on the porch.

"Mrs. Sparrow is right," Rory said. "The last thing Rachel needs is everyone looking at her like the poor beat-up orphan girl."

"I'll spread word around. Tell everyone to mind their tongues."

"Have Mom spread the word. In the mood she's in, no one's going to screw with her."

"She must be feeling guilty, even though none of this is her fault."

"She had a plan for tomorrow. She was very excited. Now she's not sure if the timing is right. Did she tell you?"

"Tell me what?" John asked.

"It should come from her," Rory said, turning to go inside.

"No, no more of that. I'm still a member of this family. I'm tired of being treated like an outsider."

"Mom wants to adopt Rachel. Legally."

"That's sudden. Because of last night?"

"No, Mom's been thinking about this for a while. But she wanted it to be a happy occasion. Not surrounded by all this drama."

"What has Rachel said?"

"Rachel wants to say yes, but she can't. She's scared it will cause divisions in the family. What do you think?"

"I like Rachel. I like her a lot. But I need to think about it. Should I ask what you think?"

"Rachel is already my sister in every way that counts. We've been through a lot together."

"I'll talk to Mom. Keep an open mind. What about Billy?"

"If I have to make a choice between them, he won't like the choice I make."

* * * * * * *

Always the outsider, Rachel is now confronted by a perplexing situation. But nothing keeps Rachel down for long.