Beautiful Mistake(60)

She hadn’t taken a breath yet. Run-on sentences were one of her tells when she was nervous. I interrupted, “Rachel?”

“What?”

“You’re babbling. I don’t care if your sister is an addict. I wouldn’t even care if you’re sister wasn’t in recovery. I’m not going to judge her. I’m coming to dinner because you wanted me to come. Do you still want me to join you?”

“Yes.”

I reached over and took her hand, bringing it to cover the gear shifter beneath my own. “Okay then.”

From my peripheral vision, I saw her shoulders relax a bit. She looked out the window, seeming lost in thought, and then turned to me.

“She lost custody of her son because of her addiction.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“She only gets to see him twice a week—supervised visitation. Her ex-husband left her a few years ago and took her son with him.”

“Her son? It’s not her ex-husband’s child.”

“No. It’s a long story. But she had Adam when she was young.”

I squeezed her hand beneath mine. “Shit happens, Rach. Addiction is tough.” God knows I knew that first hand after Liam.

“I know. I just wanted to tell you that.”

“Thank you for sharing with me.”

Even though I meant it when I said I had no judgment of her sister—I had definitely visualized her as something different. I’d expected an addict to open the door for us when we arrived—thin and unkempt, in a small apartment, maybe bad teeth. But the woman who greeted us was nothing like that. She was an older version of Rachel. Healthy and smiling, she welcomed me into her home with a hug.

“It’s so nice to meet you. My sister’s told me absolutely nothing about you.”

Rachel laughed. “Ignore her. She tends to be a wiseass.”

“So you two have a lot in common then, along with your looks.”

Riley shut the door behind us, grinning from ear to ear. “I like him already.”

The apartment’s entrance led into the kitchen, so we stood around talking for a while as Riley checked on the dinner she had in the oven. It had been hot as hell in class today, so I’d guzzled a few extra bottles of water while lecturing and needed to relieve myself.

“Excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”

Riley was stirring a pot at the stove and pointed down the hall. “Sure. Through the living room, down the hall, first door on the left. I basically live in a railroad car, so you can’t miss it.”

I noticed a wall full of frames, similar to what Rachel had in her apartment, but didn’t stop to look before going to the bathroom. On the way back, I noticed most of the pictures were of the same little blond boy at various stages of growing up. Assuming it was Riley’s son, Adam, I didn’t want to stop and call attention to it, in case speaking about him was difficult.

I’d almost made it past the picture-lined hall when a small photo caught my eye. It was of two little girls standing in the grass—the younger girl was probably three or four, and the older was maybe eight or nine, but it was definitely Rachel and her sister.

I stopped and zoomed in on the younger girl. The photo was old and grainy, but something about it set off an alarm inside of me. My posture straightened as I stared.

“She always insisted on making her own ponytail. It was always crooked, but she was adamant that she had to do it herself.” Riley joined me at the wall of photos and handed me a glass. “It’s iced tea.”

I took it without moving my eyes. There was something so familiar about the picture. Of course, it would be familiar to me considering Rachel hadn’t changed all that much—but it was more than that. My eyes darted all over the wall.

“Do you have other pictures of the two of you?”

Rachel joined us. “You asked to see a picture of me when I was little the other day.” She bumped my shoulder playfully. “If Riley is going to show you embarrassing pictures, I better get to see some pictures of you when you were little.”

I think I nodded, but I couldn’t be sure. My mind was still too focused on Rachel’s little face in the picture. After a minute, Riley returned with an album.

“Come on, I’ll show you how chunky my sister was when she was a baby. Our mom used to like to take pictures of her naked while she gave her a bath in the sink. Rachel had dimples, but not on her face.”

The three of us sat down together on the couch, a sister on either side of me, and Riley began to flip through an old photo album. She pointed to a photo, which I assumed was Riley holding a newborn Rachel. “I hated her when Mom brought her home. She stole all my attention.”

Rachel chided, “My mother told her to keep small objects away from me because I could choke, and she used to flick pennies at the bassinet.”

“I did not.” Riley turned to me and winked. “It was quarters. Those were too big for her to really choke on anyway.”

I attempted to seem interested, but something gnawed at me. I knew what it was, but figured it was my imagination running wild. Still, I couldn’t seem to let it go. Riley flipped through most of the album—in almost all of the pictures Rachel was very young.

“There aren’t too many pictures of us after Rachel was about five or six. That’s when our mom got sick.”