Rachel Running on Empty Pt. 01

Rachel Running on Empty Part One

by G. Lawrence

Foreseeing the future leaves Rachel confused

The generous reaction to Rachel From the Edge has encouraged me to post the second Rachel novel on Literotica. Though there is romance, it is not an erotic story. It does have family drama, adventure, and elements of fantasy and science fiction (very understated, for this is not a science fiction book). As in the first novel, we will find Rachel getting herself in challenging situations. Life for our hero is never easy.

Having never posted a novel on Literotica before, I only entered one chapter at a time for Rachel From the Edge, which displeased some readers. And I don't wish to displease anyone, so we will try two chapters each this time, making for eight episodes.

* * * * * *

"True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings."

William Shakespeare, Richard III

Chapter One

THE LOST DAUGHTER

Two years of searching had come to an end. Many said Rachel Montgomery was dead. Others said she'd been kidnapped and taken abroad as a corporate asset. Or something worse. But here she was, in the kitchen of a rundown coffee shop, making breakfast for twenty noisy patrons. Pamela wanted to embrace her. Tell her everything was forgiven. It wasn't the right moment.

"Ham omelet #3, extra onions," Mrs. Johnson ordered, a buxom black woman in her late fifties.

"For who?" Rachel shouted, looking out through the serving window.

"Big Willy."

Looking like a relic of the 1960s, Sadie's Café was packed. Pamela thought the diner better suited to ten or twelve customers, not the motley mob eagerly devouring their meals. The three booths were full. The old wooden tables crowded. A Latino busboy was running from one group to another refilling coffee cups. The owner, a burly middle-aged black woman, was taking orders while managing the cash register.

The swinging kitchen doors burst open, causing everyone to stop. A small woman, barely five feet two inches tall, emerged carrying a large bowl. It wasn't the Rachel that Pamela remembered. That Rachel was so shy she could hardly speak half the time, not one to burst boldly into a lively dining area. The Rachel that Pamela knew had long luscious brown hair setting off her big brown eyes. The petite bone-structure and rounded curves had turned every man's head.

This Rachel was different. The hair was bleach blonde, curly, and cut short. She wore tinted wire-rim glasses to hide her beautiful eyes. The white chef's coat was baggy, disguising her figure. There was nothing shy in her posture.

"Here," Rachel said, putting a shrimp salad in front of an overweight truck driver.

"This isn't what I ordered," Big Willy protested.

"It's what you're getting. Now shut up and eat," Rachel demanded. She stood defiantly, arms crossed, ready for an argument.

Rachel had been a twenty-four-year-old mathematician when she and Pamela first met. Just days after Pamela's ex-husband had died in coitus with his tied-up girlfriend. It was a poor beginning, with Pamela seeking revenge on an innocent young woman too introverted to defend herself. But the relationship had grown, and Pamela came to love Rachel like a daughter. Cute and adorable, but also lonely and damaged.

"Yes, ma'am," Big Willy said, taking a bite. "Hey, it's good."

"I know," Rachel said. "And if you ever want to eat my omelets again, you better lose another five pounds. Are we communicating?"

Sitting in the far corner behind dark sunglasses, Pamela gasped. That was one of her favorite terms. Often said to her stubborn young friend when Rachel was too shy, or too obstinate, to act in her own best interest. She watched Rachel march back into the kitchen where a large Hispanic cook was flipping pancakes over a hot stove.

The customers were chowing down the food. Pamela had enjoyed Rachel's cooking hundreds of times and knew that making breakfast was always her favorite pastime. She wondered if Rachel's talent was responsible for the large crowd.

"Morning, ma'am. What will you have?" Mrs. Johnson asked, suddenly looming over her. She wore a white apron over her blue dress, her gray hair up in a bun.

"What's good?" Pamela asked.

"Everything."

"You have quite a busy establishment here."

"Mostly locals. Don't get many stragglers this far off the main highway."

"Cheese omelet and coffee, please," Pamela said.

Felix brought her a cup as Mrs. Johnson went back to the cash register. Pamela noticed firemen, lumberjacks, and nurses from the clinic. Ketchum was a small mountain town, probably not more than a hundred residents. It looked like half of them ate at Sadie's.

"Best breakfast in the world, lady," an eager truck driver said, leaning over with a sausage on his fork. "But if ya want a fancy dinner, ya got to drive back down to Cajon Junction. Katie don't work the night shift."

"Thank you, sir. Do you eat here often?" Pamela asked.

"Every chance I get. For the last year, anyway. Before that, this place weren't nothin' special."

"Katie is the cook bossing everyone around?"

"Yep. Recommend you don't mess with her. You complain about the food, or try to order something that ain't good for you, she'll come stomping out of that kitchen like a summer storm."

"So I've seen."

"You look familiar? Have we met?"

"No, I haven't been up this way before. I was on my way to Wrightwood and took the wrong turn off."

"Skiing's been good this year. Might still get another snow, too," the truck driver suggested.

"Just looking around. Is there a hotel nearby?"

"Not here. You'll need to go up to Big Pines or take Route 2 down to Mountain Top."

"Thank you so much."

Pamela ate her meal unobtrusively, watching the activity in the kitchen. It really was Rachel, vigorous and healthy. Years of terrible fears were put aside. Pamela thought she should be angry, but she was too relieved.

She finished breakfast, left a big tip, and went out to her car. Her chauffeur was waiting. It was a cold but clear March morning. The small town occupied a tiny wilderness crossroads. Tall pine trees were everywhere.

"Here you go, Sam," Pamela said, handing him egg muffins and a cup of coffee. They were in an SUV, not the town car he usually drove.

"Wow, this is good," Sam said.

"That's what everyone says."

"Another wild goose chase?"

"Let's not talk about it now. To anyone."

* * * * * *

Pamela had Sam drive the car fifty yards down the highway and park on the side of the road. She got out and looked back at the diner, a small oasis in the middle of a grand forest.

"She's there, isn't she?" her chauffeur asked.

"Yes, Sam. Working in the kitchen. Probably at minimum wage."

"Wouldn't the press love to hear that? Rachel Montgomery, billionaire inventor, scrubbing pots and pans for $15 an hour."

"She's still Rachel Marbury to me, and I'm sure she doesn't want the press knowing anything about this. But why is she here? Why did she run away?"

"Ask her."

"I'm not sure what to do. She might take off again."

"Get Rory up here," Sam recommended. "She'll know what to do."

"Rory acts a little strange when I mention Rachel. I'm not sure what she'll think."

"You can't just leave her in the middle of nowhere."

"I know. Let's find out where she's staying."

Pamela had Sam open the trunk, then stand guard as she changed from a business suit into a casual blue dress with a heavy wool coat. She added a large floppy hat that covered much of her face.

"Looks like you've gone undercover," Sam said, trying not to smile.

"Find a motel for us down the hill. I'm going to snoop around the town, and when Rachel gets off work, I'll follow her home."

"I don't like the idea of leaving you alone," Sam protested.

"I'm not alone. If there's trouble, I'll have Rachel. Again. At last."

Just after one o'clock, Pamela saw a bundled figure slip out the back door of the café, walk to a side road, and then up over a low hill. She'd been watching from the rustic country store, waiting for this moment. Pamela left the covered porch, following from a discreet distance.

From what Pamela was able to gather, Ketchum was located on a subsidiary road going over the mountains between the San Bernardino and Antelope Valleys. The whole village was little more than the market, a clinic, the diner, and a few small stores. And the fire station. Its primary function appeared to be a supply point for fighting forest fires.

Just past the low hill, Pamela saw a trailer park set under oak trees near a blue lake. It appeared very pleasant, with winter gardens, white picket fences, and a recreation hall. She watched as Rachel disappeared into one of the long trailers.

Pamela wasn't ready to be discovered yet, but she needed to get closer. She slipped quietly into the recreation center. A bulletin board held notices for community events, a book fair, a bicycle for sale, and a Saturday night dance. There was a small stage, folding chairs stacked against the walls, and long collapsible tables. The sink board held a coffee maker and Styrofoam cups. From the rear window, Pamela was able to see Rachel's trailer down at the end of the lane.

"Mrs. Benson? What are you doing here?" a voice said.

Startled, Pamela spun around to find a black woman in a dark auburn wig looking at her. Likely in her late-60s, she wore a red gingham dress with white ruffles and gray tennis shoes.

"I don't know what you mean?" Pamela said.

"Don't go there. I know who you are. I know your whole family."

"How?"

"My name is Jackie McLane. Bobby McLane is my son."

"Mrs. McLane? Does this mean Bob's known where Rachel has been all along?"

"You need to stay calm and listen. Can you do that?" Jackie asked, drawing Pamela to a bench near the window. They could see frost on the trees. The ice in the narrow blue lake was melting.

"Okay," Pamela finally said, trying to hide her frustration. Nearly sixty years old, tall and elegant, with green eyes and golden-brown coiffed hair, Pamela Benson was a lawyer by training and by nature. She found it important to keep perspective.

"My son did not know where Rachel went, initially. But he kept searching for her. He was her bodyguard, after all. And he found her a little more than a year ago. The night she almost died giving birth to her child."

"I had no idea she was even pregnant," Pamela gasped, a hand over her mouth.

"Bobby did whatever it took to save Rachel's life, but she was weak for months. Hardly able to get out of bed. He brought me in to help, and the town rallied around her. They owe her so much, and they are good people. Rachel doesn't know my real name. She thinks I'm Mrs. Carter, formally of Modesto. My son was afraid that if Rachel knew she'd been found, she'd run again."

Pamela nodded. That was why she hadn't confronted Rachel in the café.

"How is she now?" Pamela asked.

"She's stronger. Works hard every day but Sunday. Usually too hard, between the diner and that damn computer. I'm her babysitter and her nanny. And when she's so tired she can't even move, I'm her maid."

"You seem fond of her."

"Rachel is the sweetest, most giving woman I've ever known. When she's not lecturing someone."

Pamela laughed. That sounded like Rachel.

"I need to see her," Pamela said.

"I realize that. I just needed you to understand. Rachel is afraid. She's afraid all the time. And sometimes she gets a little crazy. If not for the baby, I'm not sure how grounded she would be."

"This must all have been so terrible for her. Why? She has money. A home. Family. Why has this happened?"

"That needs to come from her," Jackie said.

* * * * * *

Pamela approached the mobile home cautiously. The fifty-foot trailer was made of aluminum, painted light green with red trim. The yard had a garden of winter flowers. There were wicker chairs on the long redwood porch. It wasn't the fanciest trailer, but looked well-maintained. An array of antennas kept it in touch with the outside world. Pamela couldn't remember ever being so nervous as she knocked on the door.

"Just a minute," a voice said.

A moment later, the door opened. It was Rachel.

"Sweetheart, I've found you at last," Pamela said, spreading her arms.

Rachel stood frozen in the doorway, her face turning white. Her eyes widened, her breath short. Then she pushed the screen door open, rushing into Pamela's embrace and sobbing her heart out. Rachel's legs went weak, and she slid to the ground. Pamela sat down with her.

"I remembered to bring tissues," Pamela said, reaching into her purse. Rachel gradually recovered her composure.

"It's cold. Let's go inside," she said.

The interior was quite charming, with hand-turned maple furniture and small porcelain figurines, mostly Dutch girls and puppies. The kitchen was particularly well-organized. There was a bassinet, baby bottles, and a diaper bin.

"Let me look at you," Pamela said, standing back but keeping hold of Rachel's hands. She looked healthy, but thin. The dyed-blonde hair was poorly cut. Probably deliberately. Rachel's eyes were a bit shrunken, likely from stress or lack of sleep.

"I'm so sorry," Rachel said, hardly able to speak.

"We're together again, sweetheart. Nothing else matters."

"I don't know if that's true."

"What do you mean?"

Rachel went into a rear bedroom and emerged a moment later with an 18-month-old toddler wrapped in a blue blanket. The rosy-cheeked little boy had curly auburn hair, hazel eyes, and a big smile. She paused, contemplating her next words.

"Pam, let me introduce you. This is Daniel Jefferson Marbury. Your grandson."

"I don't understand," Pamela said, staring.

"Would you like coffee? Or a whiskey?" Rachel asked.

"Make it a double."

Rachel handed the baby to Pamela and went to the kitchen, emerging with two glasses and a bottle. He was a hefty child. After giving grandmother and grandson a moment together, Rachel put him in the bassinet.

"I guess we both have questions," Rachel said, sitting in a breakfast nook overlooking the lake. She poured Jack Daniels on ice with a splash of lime.

"That's an understatement. My grandchild?"

"Please don't hate me."

"Darling, I could never hate you."

"The night of my graduation, John and I got drunk. He had broken up with Alicia, and I was afraid of the future. We had a one-night stand. By the time I found out I was with child, John and Alicia had gotten back together and were married."

It took Pamela a moment to assemble the pieces.

"You were afraid your pregnancy would destroy their marriage, weren't you?" Pamela realized.

"I couldn't do that to Alicia. They were newlyweds, and she was so happy that John was finally hers. And I couldn't have the family taking sides. Not to mention the media. It was all so awful, and nothing was going to fix it."

"I'm sorry, but couldn't you have ...? I mean ...?"

"End the pregnancy? No, that was never an option. Not for me."

"This must have been so terribly difficult. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."

"I know you wanted to be. And Rory. There were so many times I wanted to reach out, but as time went by, it just got harder."

"I heard you were very ill."

Rachel looked down, then she went to a small oak desk in the corner, returning with an envelope. Pamela opened it, reading slowly.

Dear Doctor Meadows, if only one of us can be saved, my instructions are to save my baby. His name is Daniel Jefferson Marbury. Daniel's grandmother is Pamela Benson of Westwood, California. She is to be his guardian. Bury me in the Ketchum graveyard without a headstone. Offer no explanations. Signed and notarized, Rachel Lajune Marbury, aka, Katie Smith.

"It's tragic," Pamela said, starting to tear up.

"It was a difficult delivery. I really didn't expect to survive. If not for ... If not for something unusual, I probably wouldn't have. And Mrs. McLane has been so kind to me. She's a godsend."

"You know she's not Mrs. Carter?"

"Not at first. I figured it out."

"She'll be relieved."

"I'm sure Mr. McLane thought that if I knew he'd found me, I'd run again. And for a long time, that was true."

"But not anymore?"

"I wouldn't have been able to stay secret much longer. Not that I don't want to. I'll have a talk with Mrs. McLane and thank her."

"Why? What's changed?"

"After I became pregnant, the numbers went away. They've been gone for two years. But now they're coming back. I get headaches, and mild hazes. Sleep is becoming difficult. I won't be able to give Danny the care he needs much longer."

"Come back home, dear. I'll take care of you. I'll take care of Danny."

"What if John finds out? Or Alicia?"

"You've been gone a long time. I doubt they'll suspect anything. And if they do, we'll get through it. As a family."

"I can't just pack up and leave. I have responsibilities. Maybe in a few weeks."

"Does this big trailer have an extra bedroom?" Pamela asked.

"Yes. Mrs. McLane uses it sometimes."

"Then I'm moving in. Because you're either going home with me, or I'm staying here with you. Are we communicating?"

"Yes--"

Rachel paused, her head down.

"Am I still allowed to call you mother?" she asked.

Pamela jumped from her seat, pulling Rachel up.

"Darling, darling, darling, I will always be your mother. Always. You will always be my daughter. Nothing will ever change that."

Rachel cried, squeezing like a world had been lifted from her shoulders.

"Do you cook at home?" Pamela asked.

"It's quieter than eating at the diner."

"Then let's get started. I'm famished."

* * * * * *

"The trout is very good. Did you catch it yourself?" Pamela asked.

"Not this time. Mrs. Carter and I ... I mean, Mrs. McLane and I go up to Trower's Creek once or twice a month. Danny's been a little fussy this last week."

"That boy is strong as a pony," Jackie said, coming from the kitchen with mashed potatoes and greens. "New mothers worry so much."

"Not so new. Danny is almost a year and a half old now."

"Have you told Bob that your secret is out?" Pamela inquired.

"That Rachel's known about our conspiracy for the last six months?" Jackie answered. "Yes. He wasn't mad, but he wasn't laughing, either. Men think they're so clever."

"Was I being selfish? Keeping you here?" Rachel asked.

"Child, after I retired, life got so dull. My husband's been gone six years now. My children are all grown. My grandchildren are off to college. I sat at home all day feeling useless. And then I got the chance to be here with you. And Danny. I'll always be thankful."

"Mother, do I still own Canby Place?"

"Of course, dear. Family members stay there from time to time. Mostly hoping you'll return someday."

"Mrs. McLane--" Rachel started.

"Now that we're using our real names, Rachel, maybe you can call me Jackie?"

"Oh, no, ma'am, that would be disrespectful," Rachel replied.

Jackie laughed. "You are so old school."

"I was thinking," Rachel said. "Would you still be able to help me? At Canby Place? Mr. McLane will be doing security there again, and your granddaughters often visited when I was tutoring them in math. You can have the Queen's Suite."

"Honey, I would love to help you at Canby Place. I've been praying you would ask," Jackie said, causing Rachel to jump up and hug her.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," Rachel confessed. "I don't know what Danny would do without you."

"Child, I love you like a granddaughter, and little Danny like he's my own. Don't be afraid. I'll take care of you both."

They heard the baby making noise in the bassinet. Rachel took him in back to change diapers.

"I need to thank you, too," Pamela said. "Rachel is always so anxious. I can see you give her peace of mind."

"Katie, as I've been calling her, never knows peace of mind. I worry about her so much. Between the baby and her work for Harvard, she's always under so much stress."

"Harvard?"

"Can't talk about that. But it's big. Big like only she can do."

Rachel returned a few minutes later, refreshing her drink before sitting down.

"Have you told Rory yet?" Rachel asked.

"What do you want me to say?" Pamela replied. "She got those cryptic notes you'd send every once in a while, so she knows you're still alive."

"I have to tell her the truth. It's going to be hard," Rachel said. "Is she still seeing Donna?"

"No. They've remained friends, but Rory is dating a young lady named Ashley Wilkerson now. She's a doctor."

"Wow, Rory landed a doctor? Good for her," Rachel said. "I guess I've missed a lot."

"Well, let's see. John and Alicia have twins now. Lisa and Gabriel. Almost a year old. William and Samantha want to get married in June after she graduates. Oliver finally proposed to me, but I'm making him wait until the dust settles."

"The dust?"

"World Health Database has gotten so big. Gigantic. Just like you anticipated. It keeps everyone busy," Pamela explained. "Have you followed it at all?"

"I met with Sheba last fall, and she caught me up on some of it. I didn't want to ask too much about the family. It hurt too much."

"Sheila met with you?" Pamela asked, growing angry.

"I thought you were finally going to call her Sheba? Like the family does. Did you have another fight?"

"Honey, she slept with my husband while we were still married. That's hard to get over."

"You should make up. You're cousins."

"Did Sheila know where you were living?"

"I ambushed her in the middle of the night, and then disappeared. I told her that if she told anybody, I'd fire her."

"You would never fire her, and she knows that."

"I wanted her to know how important my privacy was."

"How important is it now?" Pamela asked.

"I knew this wouldn't last forever. It's amazing it lasted this long."

"Why did you meet with Sheila?" Pamela said.

"I had her set up a trust fund for Daniel. I knew you would always take care of him, but I wanted him to have something to remember me by. To know I cared."

"Are you sick? What are you not telling me?" Pamela said.

Rachel put her head down, unable to answer.

"It's those damn headaches," Jackie said. "Child, you got to get better medicine. A doctor, or a shrink, or something."

"I'll put in a call to Dr. Keller," Pamela said. "He's the world's leading expert on dissociative disorders."

"I texted Dr. Keller a few months ago," Rachel said. "He insisted I come to his institute. In Switzerland. He wants me to be his lab rat."

"You will never be anyone's lab rat," Pamela promised. "I'll read Keller the riot act. No one screws with my daughter's health."

Pamela stayed for twelve days as Rachel prepared to end her life in Ketchum. Calling herself Sheri Smith, Katie's aunt from Vermont, she spent her time getting to know her grandson and loitering in the tavern. Some of the stories she heard about Katie were hair-raising. She learned why the town was so thankful.

The time for departure arrived. Pamela's chauffeur was driving an SUV, not a town car. Rachel took baby things and her porcelain figurines. She donated the trailer to the town clinic. Many from Ketchum came to say goodbye, offering hugs and shedding tears.

Bob McLane appeared with a truck to move his mother's things. 6'4, two hundred and fifty pounds, the former U. S. Marine sergeant had been Rachel's protector before her sudden disappearance.

"Hello, Mr. McLane. Not hiding anymore?" Rachel teased.

"Me? Hiding? Missy, I'll have you know--" McLane began to respond. Rachel laughed, her big brown eyes bright.

"Thank you so much for being my friend," Rachel said, giving him a grateful hug.

"It's good to see you looking well. Real good," McLane said.

The farewells were over. Rachel and Pamela sat in the back, the baby secured in a car seat. Rachel took a last look out the window.

"Sad?" Pamela asked as they reached the main road.

"When I needed sanctuary, this town gave me a home. When my pregnancy turned dangerous, they cared for me. I wasn't the late Danny Benson's girlfriend here, or the crazy psycho who invented the health database. I wasn't Rachel Montgomery. I was just plain old Katie Smith, the girl who got off at the wrong bus stop."

"Four years ago, when Daniel died, you were an anonymous lab girl at Marbury & Benson. Working to create Level 12. And no one but you even knew what the hell that was. Now Level 12 is coordinating a database that provides health benefits all over the world. You can bleach your hair, wear sunglasses, and wear baggy clothes, but it will never change who you are."

"I'm working on Level 14 now," Rachel mentioned.

"What?"

"It's unfocused. Probably years away from stabilization. I've been submitting reports to Harvard."

"What will it do?"

"It's too soon to say."

"When did this start? Is it why the numbers have come back?"

"It's a long story," Rachel said.

"We have a long drive home," Pamela insisted.

* * * * * *

Chapter Two

Back to the Past

Three years before Pamela Benson found her adopted daughter hiding in the mountains, there was a celebration in the offices of Marbury & Benson. The launch of World Health Database had been a spectacular success. The projected IPO was running in the billions, and financial markets had taken note. Champagne was being served. Mrs. Lincoln, Pamela's executive secretary, had brought streamers and helium-filled balloons. A hundred employees lollygagged at their desks or loitered in the assembly room. Some were playing guitars and beating drums.

It was March 12th. The last day WHD would be headquartered in the Mitchell Building. The company would still be near Marina del Rey, though housed in a larger complex.

"How are you doing?" Sheila asked, sitting next to Rachel in her partially dismantled laboratory. The monitors were turned off, the mainframes shut down. A cardboard box held Rachel's personal items.

"Melancholy," Rachel replied.

Rachel was twenty-five now, a touch over five feet two inches tall, and very shapely, with long brunette hair and big brown eyes. Sheila Marbury, her friend and business partner, was now in her early thirties. She was seven inches taller, her coal black hair worn short, with high cheekbones and a small nose. Sheila's dark green eyes were sometimes compared to a panther on the prowl.

"This is where you did it," Sheila mused. "This is where you developed a matrix that will cure diseases all over the world. They should hang a plaque. Hell, they should make this whole floor a museum."

"Level 12 doesn't cure diseases," Rachel corrected. "It alerts physicians to the threats of diseases and provides sustainable remedies before the illnesses manifest."

"Rach, it's a major breakthrough. It's going to change the world."

"Yes, the program will make a difference," Rachel admitted.

"Then why are you sad?"

"Daniel built this laboratory for me. Right after I dropped out of Harvard. He had no clue what I was trying to do. Even I wasn't sure. Now the matrix is becoming operational, and Daniel is dead."

"He loved you, honey. He wanted this for you."

"I know."

"I miss him, too. I was his girlfriend for five years, you know," Sheila recalled. "I was also his best friend."

"He called you the smartest woman he'd ever known."

"Danny had good insight into people, judging by the woman he wanted to marry."

"Yes, I still don't understand that. He didn't need to propose."

"He most definitely did," Sheila disagreed. "You just don't understand men as well as you think."

"I've been pretty my whole life. I know what a wolf looks like."

"This move is a good thing. More space for the mainframes. Double the work force. We'll have a theater for presentations and a hall for meetings. There's even a childcare center for the employees."

"I know it's better. It's just that everything's going to change now. Everything is always changing. Sometimes, I just ... it doesn't ..."

Sheila noticed Rachel begin to drift. Her eyes glazed. This was rarer now than it had once been, but still a concern. Sheila shifted directly in front of her, took Rachel's hands, and looked into her eyes.

"Rachel, this is Sheba. I'm here for you. Rachel. Rachel?"

Rachel gradually came back. Her eyes turned brighter.

"I'm okay. I think. But thank you."

"You're taking your medication, aren't you?"

"Yes, I haven't forgotten."

"Let's find you a glass of wine. Johnny and Billy are here. We're going to have dancing."

"I like dancing," Rachel said, slowly rising from her chair.

Rory was glad to see Rachel being drawn from her lab. She spent too much time there. Too many years there. Her brothers rushed to say hello, making Rachel smile. It was such a beautiful smile. Shy and gentle.

"Rach looks tired," Rory said, entering her mother's executive office.

"This is a big day for her," Pamela said. "Organizations from all over the world are requesting updates about the program. I'm so proud of her."

Rory wasn't much older than Rachel, though taller and bigger boned, with shaggy red hair and insightful hazel eyes.

"After we got back from Aspen, Rachel went into the system again, saying the matrix needed adjustments," Rory complained. "How long was she in the machine this time? Lost in that maze of symbols."

"It was intense. It took longer than usual for Dr. Belcher and I to draw her out of the haze."

"Mom, this isn't good for her," Rory insisted. "Dr. Keller says she could get lost in the numbers someday. Not be able to find her way back."

"Dr. Keller says a lot of things. He wants her in Geneva where he can study her. Like a science experiment."

"Rachel would never tolerate that, but she can't keep going back into the matrix. She's done her share. More than her share."

"Sweetie, I don't know how to stop her," Pamela said. "She's on her medication. Attends psychotherapy. At least when she's in her lab, she has focus."

"She needs a hobby. Or a guy."

"A guy?"

"Rachel seemed happy when she and Dad-- Well, you know," Rory said. "His attentions took her mind off the constant calculations."

"I've tried to make her go on dates. Nice boys, too, with good families. Nothing ever comes of it."

"Rachel doesn't need a boy. She needs a man," Rory encouraged.

"Are you an expert on men now?" Pamela asked with a provoking smile.

"I was, before I came out," Rory remembered.

"What's this about finding a man for her?" Pamela asked.

"I know the numbers in Rachel's brain are always seeking to take control," Rory replied. "But when she was intimate with Dad, the numbers went away. The excitement flushed her with oxytocins."

Pamela went to the window, looking down at the yacht harbor while sipping a Pina Colada. A light wind blew hundreds of colorful pennants. Lunch crowds filled the restaurants.

"Bloggers still make fun of Rachel because Daniel died after tying her up," Pamela recalled. "Some of the jokes are just awful. But it's more complicated than that. Those games were therapeutic for Rachel. It allowed her to trust someone. Completely. After the way her parents abused her, and others betrayed her, Rachel has always struggled with trust. Do you remember what a mess she was when we first met her?"

"It was terrible. In that tiny rat-infested apartment on 14th Street. Delusions. Pneumonia. She wanted to die."

"She's come so far this last year," Pamela said. "But these oxytocins you're talking about? I'm sure they don't come without trust, and Rachel doesn't have that right now."

"She does with you," Rory insisted. "And with me."

"I don't want to sleep with her," Pamela said, turning around and giving Rory the eye.

"Okay, I admit that I had a bit of a thing for her, which you know. Rachel and I have talked about it. But she's my sister now. And my best friend. And I have a girlfriend."

"I'm open to suggestions, Ro. But it's not like we can buy her a boyfriend," Pamela said.

* * * * * *

Rachel was in her kitchen at Canby Place making a large vat of beef stew. A dozen empty jars were nearby, ready to be filled for the Rescue Mission. She wanted to go back to work, but Pamela had locked her lab. Probably for the best. Calculations continued to swirl through her head, never leaving her alone. Except when she was cooking. Especially breakfast. Cooking helped keep the numbers away.

The security signal flashed, announcing someone at the entry arch. And then the heavy steel gate opened. Only a few people had access to the twelve-acre estate on a Palos Verdes hilltop. Rachel nibbled on a piece of peppered cheese and ran for the driveway.

"Rory!" Rachel said, rushing to hug her. "How did the exams go?"

"They went great. I'll soon be an official registered nurse."

"That's so terrific. How is Donna?"

"Donna just won another track meet. She says hello."

"She's a nice girl. You're lucky to have someone so special," Rachel said.

"How are you? Mom says redesigning the interactive launch protocol stressed you out."

"I suppose. It's not that the projects are hard, but the focus is so intense that there's an emptiness that follows. Do you want dinner? I can open a bottle of wine."

Rory entered the rambling ranch house. Most of her father's masculine décor, football and racing cars, had been replaced by the kitschy porcelain statues that Rachel liked. Dutch children with umbrellas. Chinese bobbleheads. Ceramic puppies. Framed embroidery decorated the walls. Photos of family filled the fireplace mantle. It felt homey.

"Where's Martha?" Rory asked.

"I gave her the week off. Martha deserves a real life, not hovering over me all the time. It's not like I can't clean my own house."

"Don't get mad, I was just asking. I'm sure Martha doesn't consider you a burden."

"Even if I am?"

"Honey, you aren't a burden. Just a handful," Rory said, smiling to provoke her. Rachel lowered her head.

"I don't deserve you," Rachel sighed.

The huge house ran slightly downhill. From the foyer, Rory saw the kitchen, dining room and western-style saloon rising up a level to her left. Straight ahead was a spacious sunken living room. Bigger than Rachel's entire apartment on 14th Street had been. To the right was a long string of opulent bedrooms, offices, a library, and a gym. There was even a Roman spa and a billiard parlor. Rachel led Rory up to the kitchen.

"Tuna salad?" Rachel offered.

"I see you're finally putting meat on those skinny bones," Rory observed.

"I swim every morning. And I eat what I'm supposed to or Mom goes nuts."

"It's nice that she does that, isn't it?"

"It's real nice," Rachel said, her eyes growing misty.

"Okay, none of that," Rory said. "What you need is fun. Fun and excitement."

"I hear Netflix is making a new Pride and Prejudice movie."

"You can do better than watching movies."

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

"You're a very physical creature, aren't you? Isn't that what attracted you to Dad? He was very physical, too."

"He got me out of my doldrums," Rachel wistfully agreed.

"When was the last time you dated?"

"Dated? Heck, I don't know. It's been awhile."

"Did anything happen?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did you get between the sheets?"

"Oh, gosh, no. I don't even remember kissing."

"I've been thinking of a surprise for you. Would you like an unplanned rendezvous?" Rory asked.

"A rendezvous?"

"A date. With a happy ending," Rory explained, seeing Rachel's shocked expression. "No, no, no. Not with me, silly girl. I have a friend."

"I don't know. I've never been good at dating."

"This wouldn't be a date. Not exactly."

Rachel looked confused. The security panel activated. Rory jumped up and signaled the gate open.

"Don't worry. I've given this a lot of thought," Rory said.

Rory went out to the atrium where she could see the parking circle, taking Rachel with her. A white pick-up truck stopped next to Rory's red Maserati.

"Who is that?" Rachel asked, seeing a tall good-looking man walking in their direction. He seemed to be in his early thirties, with clear blue eyes, a square jaw, a stubbled blond beard, and a Marine haircut. Rachel noticed a U. S. Navy tattoo on his left forearm. He stopped before them with a smile, cool and curious.

"Rachel, this is my good friend, Thomas Harper. I call him Tommy," Rory introduced. "I've known Tommy for a few years now. Tommy, this is my sister, Rachel Marbury. I know there are questions, but let's hold off a bit."

They went back in the house and up the ramp to the dining area. Rory opened a bottle of cabernet. She poured glasses for herself and Rachel. She looked toward Tom.

"Just water, Ro," he said in a deep voice.

"So let me explain something," Rory said. "Tomorrow is July 1st, Rachel's twenty-sixth birthday, even though she tries to keep it secret by telling people her birthday is July 4th."

"I don't tell them that. I just let them believe it," Rachel said.

"Why?" Tom asked.

"People are so busy with fireworks on the 4th of July, they leave me alone," she replied.

"Well, I'm not leaving you alone. I have a birthday present for you," Rory insisted.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Rory was having a good time. She saw Tom found Rachel attractive, and why not? She was a beauty with a small round face, high cheekbones, and a pert nose. Rachel's heart was beating faster, her breath a little short.

"Let's go for a walk," Rory invited, taking Rachel out on the patio. It was a warm summer night. They sat down on the pool decking with their feet in the cool water.

"Okay, this is how it is," Rory said. "Tommy has a day job, but he moonlights as an escort. I've hired him to relieve the stress you've been feeling."

"What kind of escort?" Rachel asked.

"He engages with little old widow women, helping them feel young and wanted again," Rory explained.

"You hired a male prostitute? Do you really think I'm that pathetic?"

"He's not a sex worker. There's no sex involved unless that's what you want. But he is a big handsome guy, and you need R&R, honey. Something exciting. Uncomplicated."

Rachel looked into the house through the sliding glass doors. He seemed like a pleasant fellow, with broad shoulders and powerful arms. Such men can be intimidating. She hadn't slept with a new acquaintance in many years. Not since her freshman year at Harvard. A decision that hadn't turned out well. Rory noticed Rachel hesitating, which was expected.

"Am I wrong? Wouldn't a night of romance relax you? Get your head out of that maze?"

"I haven't been with a man since your father died."

"What do you think of Tommy?"

"He's gorgeous."

"Do you trust me?" Rory pressed.

"Yes."

"No, really. Do you trust me?"

"I totally trust you. I love you."

"Then trust me on this."

Rachel stood up, glancing at the half-moon. Mr. Harper was sitting patiently at the dining table.

"I'm paying Tommy to spend the evening with you whether anything happens or not, so he won't lose his fee," Rory said. "It's your call. But if you want this, it will be okay. I promise."

Rachel stared into the dining room again. He was a marvelous looking man. And she didn't want to disappoint Rory after all the trouble she'd gone to.

"Can I talk to him first?" Rachel asked.

"You can talk to him after. This should be an adventure."

Rachel suspected Rory was right about that. The mystery already had her intrigued. But was she brave enough? Or foolish enough?

"How would it work?"

"You don't need to do anything. Just go along for the ride."

Rachel went back in the house, taking a seat across from Tom. Her head was down, the long hair nearly covering her face. Her hands were in her lap.

"Well? Do you need more time to think about it?" Rory persisted.

Rachel shook her head.

"Then you'll give this a try?" Rory confirmed.

Rachel nodded.

"Mr. Harper, do you have any questions?" Rory asked.

"No, Ro, I understand what you meant now," Tom said.

When Rachel briefly looked up, he had trouble not getting lost in those big brown eyes. Her dark brown hair was luscious. The modest makeup suited her well.

"Okay, kids. Remember, whatever you decide is fine with me. Just because I've put a lot of time, energy, and tears into this shouldn't matter."

Rachel smiled. "No pressure, huh?"

"Call me later," Rory said, picking up her purse and heading for the door. A moment later, she was gone.

"Awkward?" Tom asked.

"Ro can be a character," Rachel replied.

"I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. If you want, we can tell Ro we fooled around but not really do anything. I'll make an excuse not to take her money."

To his surprise, Rachel suddenly leaned forward, staring deeply into his eyes. Tom felt the gaze. Penetrating. Analytical. She seemed detached for a moment, studying him with a strange intensity. A sensation so powerful it had a physical presence. And then she was back. Had her eyes changed color? For a brief moment, they seemed grayer than brown. Probably an illusion of the lighting, but disturbing.

"I'll return in a minute," Rachel said, going down the hall toward her bedroom. Tom got Rory on his phone.

"Ro, I'm not sure I can do this," he whispered.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Is your sister okay? I just saw the weirdest thing in her eyes."

"Oh, she does that sometimes. Don't let it worry you."

"She's really pretty. Like, beyond pretty. A lot more than I expected."

"Is that a problem? Being with a pretty girl?"

"When you first asked me about this, I thought your sister was just a spoiled rich girl looking for a cheap thrill. I'd give her some hugs and squeezes, and then make my excuses to leave."

"Tommy, you are not cheap. That's a big check I wrote you."

"I don't mean that. There's more to her than I thought. And she's a little scary."

"Do you think Rachel's an ax murderer? She weighs all of ninety-eight pounds."

"Come on, don't make jokes."

"Thomas Harper, I didn't pick you at random. I'm reluctant to say too much, but I wasn't kidding about this being a therapy session. You are a kind, thoughtful, sensitive guy, and Rachel needs a man who can make her forget her troubles. Can you do that? For me?"

"I can try."

"Don't let me down. Don't let Rachel down."

Rory hung up. She had expected resistance from Rachel. Any woman would have doubts, which is why she played the sister card. Tom was harder to understand. Rachel was awesomely cute, and so modest she didn't even know it. What guy wouldn't want that?

Tom remained at the dining table wishing he could have a drink. But he wanted a clear head. Rachel returned a few minutes later. She had put on very light red lipstick, added a bit of color to her cheeks, and wore a frilly yellow dress.

"How does this work?" she asked.

"Let's sit on the couch and cuddle a bit. See where our comfort level is," Tom suggested.

"And if we find ourselves comfortable?"

* * * * * *

Two hours later, in the master bedroom, Rachel rolled over on her side with a sigh. Tom fetched water for both of them.

"Are you okay?" Tom asked, still catching his breath.

Rachel almost smiled, drinking the water slowly. She was out of breath, too. She looked into his eyes, saw the concern, and nodded.

"I hope I wasn't too rough," Tom said, climbing back into bed. They weren't wearing pajamas.

This time Rachel did smile, as if she thought that was funny.

"Let's get you a bath," Tom said, scooping her in his arms.

Rachel didn't resist, though he suspected she could. He carried her into the spa where the Roman tub was filled with hot soapy water. Rachel sat patiently on the edge, shaking out her hair, and slowly slid in.

"It feels good," Rachel sighed, the first words she'd spoken since they had finished. She seemed calm, her modesty temporarily set aside. She began washing her hair. Tom climbed in to help.

"You're a strong woman. No one would guess it by looking at you."

Rachel seemed to enjoy the compliment, but didn't say anything. She saw Tom was still worried.

"Somebody did their homework. Was it you or Ro?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You aren't a professional. At least, not with someone like me. You were careful. Trying not to overstep. I appreciate that."

"But?"

"I'm not fragile. Or a princess."

"Ro did the groundwork. I talked to some friends," Tom said.

"I've had it rougher. But I'm glad it wasn't tonight."

"With Danny Benson? He had quite the reputation."

"We shouldn't gossip about the dead."

"Are you going to tell me?" Tom finally pressed.

"Tell you what?"

"What this was all about? With your looks, you can have any guy you want."

"It's complicated."

"Everything is complicated. That's not an answer."

"I have personality quirks."

"Ro says you're a little eccentric, but a great person. What man wouldn't see that?"

"Most of them," Rachel answered.

She stood up, the soapy water running off her body. Tom was awestruck. She had shapely breasts that were neither too big nor too small, a slender waist, and long legs. He wondered why a woman as smart and beautiful as Rachel was so cynical. She must have been hurt very badly.

"Was this good for you?" he dared to ask.

"Yes, you were great. Is this a business or a hobby?"

"Ro has an exaggerated idea of my escort service. Mostly I just hold hands, listen, and give encouragement. Sometimes I attend events so the ladies won't have to go alone. This is the first time I've ended up in the sack with a client."

Rachel got out of the tub. Tom wrapped a towel around her, enjoying her sleek, firm skin. She had been a swimmer in school. A hiker. The athleticism showed. Rachel dropped the towel on the floor and got up on her toes, hooking her arms around his neck. She pulled herself up for a kiss, slowly and with passion. It left him gasping.

"You are so bold. What happened to the wallflower?" Tom said.

"Oxytocin. I'll be engaged for a few days."

"Engaged?"

"I won't fall into a haze if the numbers are weak."

"I'm not following."

"Let me guess. You're going to school. A psych major?"

"Yes. Working on my graduate degree."

"Heard of dissociative disorder?"

"Rare. Kind of serious."

"It's why Ro wanted this for me. The endorphins boost my adrenalin."

"Have you considered bobsledding?" Tom asked.

"Too cold. And I don't like the odds in Russian Roulette."

"Let me get you something to wear," he offered, reluctantly disengaging.

"Such a gentlemen," Rachel said.

Tom found his T-shirt and slacks, then dressed Rachel in cotton pajamas and fluffy slippers with embroidered puppies on them. He used a dryer on her wavy hair, brushing it.

"You're not what I expected," Tom said.

"Which was?"

"A snooty rich girl. I've seen you on TV a few times, hobnobbing with movie stars."

Rachel laughed at his remark. And at him. He noticed the sassy look in her eyes and wanted to tear the pajamas back off. The bedroom was only forty feet away.

"I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks in Palmdale," Rachel said. "If a generous professor hadn't gotten me a scholarship, I'd still be out in the desert cooking for Melvin's Eatery. Currently, I work in a computer lab, usually by myself. I don't have a press agent, so people can think whatever they want. Are you ready for dinner?"

"Take-out?"

"Are you a meat-eater or vegetarian?"

"Meat-eater. We cavemen are meat eaters."

"Cavemen?"

"That's what Rory said you needed."

Rachel parked him at the dining table on the upper level with the cabernet and started cooking. He watched her in the kitchen. Somewhere she had found porterhouse steaks, moving back and forth from the grill and stove, methodically making several dishes. Her brow furrowed on occasion, but she seemed happy. Almost dancing. Tom's offers of help were curtly rejected.

"You seemed scared tonight. At first," Tom said.

"Ro said I would be safe."

"You put a lot of trust in her."

Rachel reduced the flame on the stove and stood in the kitchen doorway. The pixyish smile turned serious.

"I wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for Rory. I wouldn't have financial security if not for her kindness. I wouldn't have a mother who I love. I owe Ro everything. If she asks for my trust, I give it. Without hesitation."

Rachel brought two plates into the dining room. Steak, roasted red potatoes and peppered green beans. Tom thought it smelled wonderful. Rachel took a seat and lowered her head.

"Dear Lord, thank you for this meal, for our health, and for our families. Amen," she whispered. "Okay, you can eat now."

"My God, this is great," Tom said, tasting a few slow bites before chowing down. "How did you do this?"

"Exact ingredients, in exactly the right order, at exactly the right temperature, for a specified amount of time," Rachel said like a drill sergeant. Tom thought she was joking, until realizing she wasn't.

"You can't make much of a living romancing snotty rich girls. What do you do in real life? Are you still in the Navy?"

"Ten years was enough. Joined when I was eighteen, left three years ago. I'm still in the Reserve."

"Kill lots of bad guys?"

"I was medical support. We saw some rough times, but killing patients was discouraged."

Rachel laughed, her eyes lighting up. It was a charming laugh. Warm and sincere. Tom thought it was probably something she didn't do often enough.

"I'm working as a security guard now. Concerts. Special events. When I'm not in class at UCLA. That's where I met Ro."

"I suspected you might be smarter than you look," Rachel said.

"How smart are you?" Tom asked.

"What do you mean?"

"It's fairly obvious, and from what Ro tells me, you're something of a prodigy."

"I have a gift for mathematics. Sometimes that's good. Most of the time it isn't."

"Everyone knows you're the driving force behind WHD. What do you do there?"

"I was a matrix designer. I'm semi-retired now. Sort of."

"Websites? That sort of thing?"

"Something like that," Rachel answered.

* * * * * *

Rory was in her Santa Monica Heights apartment overlooking the Pacific Ocean, lounging in a hot tub while drinking an expensive white wine. The phone rang.

"Ro? Ro, is that you?"

"Yes, Tommy. How did it go?"

"Fuck you. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on."

"Heavens to Betsy, Tom, I don't know what you mean?"

"Your sister. You ruined me for every other woman, and you knew it would happen. Didn't you? Didn't you?"

"Have you been drinking?"

"Yes, I'm back home and I'm drinking. Why would you do that?"

"I love my sister, and I know what she needs. It's you. If that's inconvenient, too bad. You know how we rich, spoiled brats are. Willing to do anything to get what we want. How did the night go? How is Rachel doing?"

"By the end of the evening, she was dancing around the kitchen making the best steak I ever had. Using ingredients in the exact right order, in the right proportions, at the proper temperature, for a specified time. She was humming songs and quoting Jane Austin."

Rory laughed. "That's Rachel all right."

Tom heard more than a laugh. There was a pause, and then a sigh of relief.

"This wasn't a slam dunk, was it?" Tom asked.

"No, I was worried. Rachel reacts in odd ways sometimes."

"Like when it's obvious that she's really smart, but appears clueless? Like when she looks so fragile, then proves she's tough as nails? Like when she looks at you under those shy brows, and then smiles big enough to break your heart? Do you have any idea how gut-wrenching that is?"

"Actually, I do."

"I don't know if I'll ever see her again. She's way out of my league, but I'm giving you your check back."

"I don't want that. Rachel wouldn't want that, either."

"No, Rachel would tell me to keep the money even if she didn't have enough to buy soup. There's not a mercenary bone in her body."

"You know a lot about her bones now, do you?"

"God help me."

"You can say you're out of her league if you want to, but I can promise, Rachel is thinking you're out of her league. If there's a drop of vanity in her, I've never seen it."

"Ro, what am I going to do?"

"Do you want to see her again?"

"Yes. I want that a lot."

"Then go with your heart. Rachel will see through anything else."

"I dug myself into a bad hole. Really bad. Toward the end, when I was leaving, I gave her my card. Said the next time would be for free. How stupid was that? I can't believe I did that, but I was so nervous. She was staring up at me with those big, beautiful eyes and all I could think of was carrying her back into the bedroom."

"Rachel isn't some rich girl you need to impress. She grew up dirt poor. Worked her way through high school. Lived paycheck-to-paycheck for years to pay her mother's medical bills. And when my father left her all that money in his will, she didn't want to take it. You're a smart Navy guy working his way through college. In Rachel's world, I can't think of a better resume."

"Any suggestions?"

"Mom's been teaching Rach to play golf. It's an executive thing. Why don't you show up on Sunday and caddy for her? You know how to play golf, don't you?"

"I'm pretty good, actually."

"I'll get you a pass to the club. Then you can give her all kinds of helpful advice. Help improve her swing. Rachel would like that, she's somewhat of an athlete."

"You don't need to tell me how athletic she is."

* * * * * *

"Hi, Ro," Rachel said, opening the front door. "You're up early for a Sunday."

"Thought we'd go to the Royal Titans and play a round of golf. If you're up for it?" Rory suggested.

"Had breakfast?" Rachel asked.

"Not yet."

Rachel led her back to the kitchen, having Rory sit on a stool while she made cheese omelets. Rory knew better than to ask if Rachel wanted help. She had coffee. Rachel drank tea.

"I'd love to play, but I need to go to church first," Rachel said.

"Church? When did you start going to church?"

"I went all the time when I was a little girl. Until my father was beating me so bad on Saturday nights that the bruises were showing on Sunday mornings."

"Are you still a Baptist?"

"I've been going to the First Baptist Church on Moccasin Lane. They're letting me sing in the choir."

Rory sensed Rachel's excitement. She was more animated than usual. Her movements had more energy.

"Don't you always say you're a scientist? That only numbers are real?"

"Yes, that's true."

"And you go to church?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"No reason. No reason I can think of. I'll go with you if you want company."

"You're a Presbyterian."

"I only go to church for weddings and funerals. Being a Baptist for one morning isn't going to kill me. It won't embarrass you to be seen with me, will it?"

"Why would I be embarrassed?"

"I was awful notorious during my party girl days. A favorite of the paparazzi. There are still websites dedicated to my indiscretions."

"You're my sister, Ro. I'd never go anyplace you couldn't go."

"Okay, so tell me about last night. Tell me everything. Did he make you--"

"Rory!"

"You are such a prude. But you liked him, didn't you?"

"Yes, he was very nice. Maybe a little too nice."

"What do you mean?"

"Tom said you wanted to find a caveman for me. For a caveman, he's kind of tame."

"Okay, maybe you're not such a prude."

"Don't get me wrong. It was good," Rachel said, refreshing Rory's coffee.

"Mom will be here in a few minutes. She wants to talk with you."

"We talk every day."

"This is different. Something important," Rory explained.

"It's not bad, is it?"

"No, sweetie, it's nothing bad."

Rachel started to wash dishes in the sink, looking nervous. Rory was sorry she had said anything. It never took much to put Rachel on edge.

"I'm going for a quick swim," Rachel decided. Rory realized she wasn't in a haze, but seemed to have a lot on her mind.

Rachel changed into a black one-piece bathing suit and dove in the water, swimming from end to end like she had in high school. She wasn't the fastest swimmer, but she was a strong swimmer. Steady. Relentless. She got out when more guests arrived, wrapping herself in a thick bathrobe.

"Good morning, honey," Pamela said, giving her a hug. Big Bob McLane was with her, dressed casually for the warm weather.

"Good morning, Mother," Rachel said, getting misty.

Pamela took a tissue from her purse, dabbing the tears.

"You can't keep crying every time you call me mother," Pamela chastised.

"Yes, I can," Rachel replied.

"You look engaged."

"I made breakfast for Rory. And ... yes, no hazes this morning."

"That's wonderful. You just keep getting better and better."

"I have a family now. It makes all the difference."

Now Pamela began to tear up. Rachel took a tissue from Pamela's purse.

"Bob and I need to speak with you. It's very important. Should we go inside?" Pamela asked.

"Tell me here," Rachel said, her small hands clenching into fists. Rory made Rachel sit down at the picnic table.

"You leave for Harvard in September, but you haven't been specific about your plans," Pamela said.

"I only need one semester to finish my degree," Rachel responded. "Classes end in December."

"You're not going alone," Pamela insisted.

"What do you mean?" Rachel asked.

"I'm going with you," McLane announced in his gruff Detroit accent.

"No, you can't. Your family is here. Your daughters are here," Rachel objected.

"Marissa is at Stanford now. On a science scholarship. Because of you. Aliyah is living in the dorms at USC. They won't miss me if I'm gone for a few months."

"What about your wife?"

"Sheryl has accepted a posting with WHD. In Japan. She'll be there until Christmas, so you have no excuses," McLane responded.

"I asked Bob to do this for us," Pamela said. "Rory thinks it's important, too. You aren't an anonymous lab girl anymore."

"I wish people would stop calling me that. I haven't been an anonymous lab girl since Daniel died, and we all remember why," Rachel insisted.

"The bloggers have been letting that go," Pamela said. "You need to let it go, too."

"If you come with me to Harvard, Mr. McLane, what are you going to do all day? Follow me around campus? Carry my books? Sit in the back of classrooms while some boring professor talks about differential forms?"

"Yes, that's what I'm going to do. And I'll have my tablet with me to stay on top of my consulting work."

"And if some guy gets fresh with me in the cafeteria, you'll beat the crap out of him?" Rachel asked.

"Of course I will," McLane confirmed.

"Well, I guess that's all right, then," Rachel conceded.

"Then you won't object?" Pamela asked.

"Would it do me any good if I did?" Rachel answered.

"No," Pamela replied.

"We leave September 3rd. I'd hoped for a nice little loft near the river, but John is finding an apartment for me in Cambridge."

"I found a suite for you across the street from the university," Pamela said. "Top floor, two bedrooms, two baths, a big kitchen, and a study. Bob will have the unit next to you."

"The rent must cost a fortune," Rachel said in shock.

"I bought the building. It's an investment," Pamela explained.

"I can't let you do that."

"Sweetie, you may be one of the smartest people in the world, but you know nothing about money. You also don't know much about people. You live in a much bigger world now, and I'm going to make sure you're safe. Are we communicating?"

"Yes, Mother," Rachel agreed. "Will Mr. McLane's apartment be big enough for his daughters to visit? They can stay with me if it isn't."

"I'll make sure of it," Pamela promised.

"Okay, then. I need to get ready for church," Rachel said, going in the house.

"I love that little girl so much," McLane said. "Who else would think of my daughters first?"

"It's her strength, and her weakness," Pamela said. "I know she understands men. She's been pretty her whole life and learned how to deal with wolves. It takes her time to see the ulterior motives in others. Her good heart gets in the way."

"She can always scan them," McLane said with a laugh.

"Rachel claims her ability to scan people is a myth. Something Rory made up," Pamela replied.

"It's no myth. I've seen her do it," Rory protested.

"Whatever it is, she's done it to Rory, and Billy, Oliver, and Sheila, too," Pamela said. "But she's never done it to me. I wonder if she's afraid of what she might see?"

"Rachel sees the mother who loves her. That's all she needs to see," Rory answered.

* * * * * *

What is this with Rachel "scanning" people? Maybe it's a real thing, or maybe it's just her way of asserting her intuition. What does she see? We don't really know. It's fun. Let's not overthink it.