Beautiful Mistake(61)

“Rachel told me. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Riley nodded. “Thank you. The two years after she died, before we moved in with the Martins, weren’t good times we wanted to capture in photos anyway.”

“I didn’t realize you hadn’t moved in with your aunt and uncle right away after your mother died. Did you live in foster care or something?”

Rachel and Riley looked at each other. There was a silent exchange before Rachel spoke.

“No. We lived with our stepfather after Mom died.”

I looked at Rachel. “I thought you said your mother didn’t remarry.”

Riley looked between the two of us and closed the photo album. “We both like to pretend he never existed.” She stood. “I’m going to check my sauce.”

After Riley was gone, Rachel took my hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie to you. It’s just…my sister’s right. It’s easier to pretend there was no Benny.” She spoke softly. “He wasn’t a nice guy.”

Benny.

Fucking Benny.

The name hit me like a blow to the gut.

I wasn’t sure I was going to make it through dinner. I kept sneaking looks at Rachel, and every time I did, I saw the little girl from the confessional. It was goddamn clear as day now, even though I hadn’t seen it at all before. Suddenly I couldn’t get the one clear look at her I’d stolen across the length of the church all those years ago out of my head. Whenever I looked at her, I was staring right into her sweet little ten-year-old face.

Willing myself to snap out of the fog, I finally noticed Rachel looking at me with concern. Abruptly, I pulled back from the table and stood.

“Excuse me for a moment.”

I went back to the bathroom and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Beads of sweat had formed on my forehead and top lip. I’d never had a panic attack, but I was sure this was exactly what one felt like. My heart ricocheted against the wall of my chest, and the simple act of breathing was an effort. I bent over the sink and focused on inhaling and exhaling for a few minutes before splashing water on my face.

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been locked in the bathroom, but when I emerged, Rachel waited for me in the hall.

“Are you okay?” Her hand went to my clammy forehead. “You don’t look so good.”

“Actually, I’m not. I don’t feel so well. It started in class today, and I thought it was the heat, but it must be some sort of a virus.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. What can I do? Do you want some ginger ale or a cool rag? Maybe you should lie down on the couch for a while.”

“I’m okay. But I think I should go.”

“Oh. Okay. I understand. Let me just tell Riley, and I’ll grab my purse.”

“No,” I said, probably a little too quickly.

“No?”

“You should stay. I don’t want to ruin your evening. Is your sister able to drive you home?”

“I guess so…”

“I’m sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow in class, alright?”

“Yes, okay.”

While her words said everything was fine, Rachel’s face conveyed a whole different story. I wasn’t sure she was even buying my sick act, but I needed to get the hell out of here.

After a quick apology and goodbye to Riley, I was out the door. Feeling off-kilter, I questioned whether it was a good idea to get behind the wheel. When I arrived home, I realized it had definitely been a bad idea. I didn’t remember driving from Rachel’s sister’s place to mine.

I poured myself a stiff drink and paced back and forth for a while, remembering the last time I’d seen the little girl from the church—the day I’d followed her home. After everything that happened, my parents had sprung into action to protect me—calling in favors from everyone and anyone, local politicians and police. So much of what went down that day was a blur by now—except one thing. I’d lied to the little girl I now knew as Rachel for months, instead of doing what I could to get her out of that hell as soon as possible.





Rachel



After ten minutes, the class was getting antsy. I texted Caine, then decided I’d better start the lecture or the students would begin leaving any minute. There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. He still hadn’t responded to the text I’d sent last night when I got home from my sister’s—even though I could see he’d read it.

I lectured for a while and then took a break to play the class a few pieces we would analyze. As the music filled the room, I checked my phone from behind the podium. Nothing. Yet the text about class had also been read.

At first, I’d been concerned that Caine had gotten much sicker, maybe had even gone to the hospital or something. But if he was able to read my texts, why wouldn’t he be able to respond?

After about an hour of the ninety-minute lecture, I was so distracted, I cut the class early. Caine wouldn’t be happy about it, but that wasn’t my immediate concern. Anxious, I dialed his number before the classroom had even emptied. It rang once and went to voicemail.

When a cell is turned off, it goes immediately to voicemail. When someone is unable to answer it, it rings a bunch of times before dropping to voicemail. But when it goes to voicemail after one ring, the recipient is hitting ignore. What the hell?