Damage Done (10 page)

After they’d said goodbye, he watched near the fence as she
prepared to start the course. She mounted the large red horse like she was
performing in the ballet, the sleek black outfit and black leather boots were
ebony against her alabaster skin. She’d worn a tiny gold pin on the lapel of
her jacket, a horseshoe with a flower inside, the petals made with diamonds.
Her long brown hair came down in waves around her shoulders, and she’d reached
up with her tightly gloved hands to tuck it neatly into her helmet before
kicking her horse into a trot.

She owned the course, rounding the turns with precision,
then picking up speed and bringing her horse over each obstacle with ease, no
hesitation, like they'd known what each other was thinking. She'd seemed so
fragile and lonely standing in the stable earlier, but watching her then, she’d
been strong and talented, confident and beautiful.

He hadn't wanted to leave, he'd wanted to stay and talk to
her again, but his mother was ready to go and he had to beg to watch Rachel
finish the course. He held his breath when she approached each obstacle,
arrogance on her face and in how she handled her horse.

For weeks afterward Dylan felt his stomach turn and his
face grow hot whenever he thought of her. He wondered if she'd looked for him
when she finished, if she'd thought of him afterward like he'd thought of her.

Then he walked into class on the first day of school, and
there she’d been again. He hadn't even slowed to consider her reaction, or what
other people may have thought, there'd been none of the bumbling adolescent
weirdness that any normal kid his age should have felt over talking to a girl.
He hadn't even worried that she'd be rude to him again. He just needed to be
close to her. And when he took the seat next to hers, she blushed before he
even opened his mouth to say hello.

"Hey, it's the pussycat," he smiled, his stomach
filling with butterflies, and when she finally smiled back, Dylan swore he felt
the world around him shift in a crazy mystical way.

She’d changed him then in some small imperceivable way,
she’d become a piece of him then, a wedge in his life he could never unburden.

The article hadn’t been out a week, and she’d already covered
the expenses for the gala and then some, so despite spending almost every
waking moment reliving the two run-ins she’d had with Dylan over the last six
days, Rachel felt pretty good. She was behind her desk early the morning after
she'd met with Nancy and Edward, eager to start planning how to spend all that
money. Lauren sat on the couch flipping through her books, asking her
occasionally if she preferred Cinderella to Sleeping Beauty, or Ariel to
Jasmine.

There were fifteen tabs pulled up on her internet browser,
but she needed Jake to get in so they could argue over floral arrangements and
whether to bring in a swing band or the string quartet they'd used last year.
Rachel was in the mood to do something more upbeat, but Jake was unpredictable.
They had six nice restaurants lined up to donate food in exchange for the free
publicity and tax write-offs, she wanted six more. The invitations had to be
printed and mailed out within a few days, she was already too far behind.
Rachel’s excitement faded as she skimmed over the list of things they had left
to do.

She shut her laptop. She'd been so anxious since the game,
and she hadn't spent any real quality time with either of her kids in weeks,
which was why she'd brought Lauren into the office with her that morning.
Rachel looked over at her now and thought how she'd always sworn never to let
work take priority over her kids.

"Hey! Monkey love! Wanna go get our toenails
painted?"

Lauren perked up, "Let me find my flower purse! I'm
getting hot pink, Mommy, what are you getting?"

"I'm thinking- hot pink!"

She squealed in delight and ran out to find her little
purse.

***

What a terrible idea.

The nail salon was filled with people they knew, a few
ladies who played tennis with her mother, one of Sarah's bitch friends whose
son played football with Caleb, and Richard Crane's wife, the one who'd seen
her race out of their store the day before, probably telling her husband they
shouldn't fill her prescriptions anymore.

But there was no getting around it, Lauren was too excited
and they'd made it through the front door, they were committed. Rachel put on
her game face and exchanged pleasantries with those who looked up from their
cell phones and magazines to offer, "Hey Rachel," and "Look how
pretty that baby is, I love her hair, did you perm it?"

She choked back disgust, wishing she had the courage to
snicker out loud.

No, I didn't perm my toddler's hair, you idiot.

"No, Ms. Liddy, Lauren came out with those curls,
aren't they sweet?"

She'd been conditioned since birth to play nicely with
these hags, but it wasn't just that. She needed to be friendly so she could hit
them up for donations. Her mother's friends never failed to try and outdo one
another at the gala every year.

 “Anything for the less fortunate,” they’d condescend.

The reigning Queens of Mean had excused Rachel’s social
ineptitude twenty years ago, but they'd alienate her in a heartbeat if she were
deliberately rude to them, and then Savannah would never let her hear the end
of it.

She picked over the nail polish to find the right shade,
something suited for fall. Lauren was already pushing her hot pink selection
towards the tiny woman who'd started to fill the pedicure tub designed
especially for little girls.

"So, Rachel, how's Kenneth?” Regina Carlisle asked, “I
heard that boy from Ellis isn't going to make it, they say he's on life support
and his momma won't let them turn it off."

Regina was on the Board of Directors for ReachingOut, and
unlike the rest of Savannah’s friends who’d turned bitchiness into a fine art,
she’d never developed a taste for the rules of their game. Savannah made a
whole slew of new girlfriends after she’d married Jameson, and Regina was the
only one who never cared to sugarcoat her insults or say something she didn’t
mean.

And she never took long to get around to business. When her
mother had given Rachel the money to start ReachingOut, Regina was the first to
jump on board to help. Rachel always liked her. Savannah and her friends liked
Regina, too, but Rachel suspected they liked her husband’s money more.

"Well, Ms. Regina, Kenneth is okay, but I really don't
know anything about the boy. You've probably heard more than we have. I think
Kenneth is just trying to adjust, it's never easy, especially when it’s a kid.
I’m sure he's just eager to put it behind him."

It was pointless to try and shut down the topic of
conversation, but she figured she would try anyway. She lowered her feet into
the hot water and played with the massage buttons on her chair, wishing she'd
taken a Valium before they walked in. She couldn't pull one out now and take it
in front of Harrison Township's Gossip Squad or tomorrow she’d be answering
calls from people offering their condolences on her pending trip to rehab. And
then Savannah would show up with a team of interventionists and a nanny to take
care of the kids. Rachel prayed they’d quickly get distracted by something else
and change the subject.

"I tell you what,” Mrs. Hughes began, “When I heard
his momma was ready to sue the school, I nearly died. Can you imagine? As if
it's the school's fault that little boy got hurt playing football? He could've
gotten hurt no matter what school he was playing at. If you're worried about
getting hurt, you just don't play the game. I sure hope that boy's daddy talks
her out of it, I don't think the school district could afford a messy lawsuit
like that, and I think my husband might have a stroke if they raise our taxes
again to pay for it."

When she finished, she looked to her friends for
affirmation, like she'd just explained the theory of relativity.

"You know, that boy's daddy is from here,” Liddy
Johnson said, “He lives in Houston now. His momma was that Indian girl,
remember her? The one who ran that nursery on the old Orange Highway. Hilda
over at the Castle Cafe' said he was here yesterday talking to somebody at the
school, promising he wasn't gonna let his wife file the lawsuit. Can you imagine?
Talking about lawsuits and money at a time like this? She probably doesn’t even
care her little boy is so sick, she just sees dollar signs. It’s a good thing
his daddy has some sense."

All the old ladies nodded their heads in unison. Rachel’s
hands filled with pins and needles.

"Well, I don’t blame her!” Regina yelled over her
friends, “She can be upset about her son and still want the school to make sure
something like that never happens again. But let me tell you something, if my
husband tried to tell me what to do like that when my baby was laying in a
coma, I’d have his balls so far down his throat, he’d choke!”

“Now, Regina,” Caroline Hughes interrupted, “You know that
young girl isn’t gonna let her husband keep her from suing if that’s what she
wants to do,” and then looking to Rachel, “All you young girls are so much more
independent than we ever were, isn’t that right, Rachel?”

“No, that’s not it at all, Caroline,” Liddy said, “These
girls just let their men run all over them, and I for one, don’t care in this
case, because if she’s worried about suing somebody when her child is in the
hospital, then she needs somebody telling her what to do.”

“No, I’m right, Liddy. Aren’t I, Rachel?” Caroline asked
her again, “Women your age don’t let their husbands tell them what they can or
cannot do, do they? You’re all a lot more independent than we ever were, or do
you just appear to be so on the surface?”

Regina jumped back in, “It takes a special kind of female
to keep her husband in line and still give him the impression he's in charge.
That's something these young girls don't know much about, besides, these new
generations think it's fashionable to let their husband's boss them around, or
to sit around and do nothing with their lives. And after how hard we all worked
to help them get out of the kitchen and go to school and do things however they
wanted to do things, and now they just run around with their heads up their
asses and think their only job is to slut it up and make babies. Then they
wonder why nobody respects them.”

Rachel tuned them out then, her mind stuck on repeat,
replaying what Liddy Johnson had said.

You know, that boy's daddy is from here. He lives in
Houston now. His momma was that Indian girl, remember her? The one who ran that
nursery over on the old Orange Highway.

Rachel did the math for the thousandth time, he was too old
to be Dylan's son. The rumor mongers had gotten it wrong somewhere.

But it was Dylan's mother who owned that nursery.
Genevieve. Ginny, that's what everyone called her, and Rachel had choked up at
the mention of her. Her eyes started to burn, the water bubbling over her feet
like acid, burning her skin. She reached down and popped the rubber band on her
wrist, looking over at Lauren as she chattered away with the woman painting her
nails.

That's why he was in Crane's yesterday, he'd been at the
school. That was Dylan’s wife kicking him on the football field that night.
Michael had to be his son, or his stepson.

What must he be dealing with right now? A child on life
support? And Kenneth had tried to save him.

Dylan's son.

She popped her rubber band again.

She wouldn’t have wished something like this on anyone. But
she hated him even more now. He'd destroyed her, and then he’d gone off and had
another family with some other woman. What right did he have showing back up,
and acting like nothing had happened when she'd seen him in the pharmacy? Like
he hadn't abandoned her when she'd needed him the most?

She'd faced her own tragic loss alone. He didn’t deserve
her sympathy.

"You alright there, Rachel? You want some water,
honey?" Regina asked, leaning over from her spa chair and touching her
arm.

"No, thank you, I'm fine. The water is just a little
hot."

"Oh, Ms. Rachel, I'm sorry," her nail tech
apologized and started to empty the tub.

The blue water swirling down the drain made her dizzy. She
closed her eyes and tried to forget. It was getting harder to push it away, his
face kept coming back to her, the smell of him. The stupid jasmine from Ginny's
nursery. His hands running through his hair, his hand reaching for her elbow.

She leaned over and puked all over the white ceramic tile.

***

Ginny’s nursery, it was always full of jasmine, irises,
hydrangeas and begonias. Their warm home sat just behind the nursery, nestled
in the pine trees. It was the first place she'd gone after she came home from
the hospital. Jameson drove her, Savannah had refused, and Rachel wept when
they’d pulled up to the abandoned nursery and empty house.

“Rachel, why are you shaking?” Ginny had asked her more
than once, “Hugs are supposed to make you feel better, not worse.”

Ginny was the first woman to show Rachel what it meant to
be affectionate to her children, insisting on hugging her every time she came
over. It took her two years to feel comfortable with all of the hugs and kisses
going on in Ginny’s house, but once she did, she never took it for granted.
When Savannah had been too upset, it was Ginny who'd talked with Rachel for
hours after having to put Icarus down, and it was Ginny who held her while she
cried after her father left.

“Compassion isn’t something you feel,” Ginny said,
“Compassion is something you give.”

Dylan's mother was a quiet woman with a gentle face, her
makeup always in vogue, a stark contrast to the long hair and bohemian chic
style she'd loved. During the afternoons, especially as things grew more
difficult between her parents, when the drinking had become unbearable, Rachel
sometimes rode her bike to visit Dylan while he worked after school. Ginny
would wipe her dirty hands in the folds of her long, brightly colored skirts
and apologize before pulling her in close for a hug.