Rachel (Songs of Submission #5.5)(4)

He smirked, because he knew the kinder tone and change of subject must have come for one reason. He and I had come to blows after Rachel’s accident, and I’d taken a handful of pills. Mom didn’t let us alone in the same room if she could avoid it. Over the past seven years, she’d run a pretty tight interference. I had to admire her aversion to conflict. It had kept her in a state of blissful, drunken ignorance that my sisters and I had sworn to protect until death.

Dad took the opportunity to clap me on the back just as the string quartet started warming up.

“No worries, son. No worries. It was just business. Can’t win at it and make friends, too.”

I smiled, not mentioning the tens of millions in payoff money that had drained him to the point where only shady deals kept him afloat. Nope. It was all smiles when Mom reached us. Dad put his arm around her and I made it a point to shake his hand like a gentleman so she would enjoy the rest of the evening.

“Jonny! Come over here?”

“Come on!”

“This is perfect!”

It was the sound of a gaggle of sisters. Four rushed up in green dresses and varying shades of strawberry chignon. Margie, Sheila, Leanne, and Theresa. Their voices became a cheering chatter.

“You have to see the hypnotist.”

“He’s going to relax you.”

“You’re too tense.”

“A teepee and a wigwam!”

“It’ll only take a second.”

The drink was taken from my hand and I felt myself being pulled to a guy in a fedora and handlebar moustache sitting by one of our chaise lounges.

“Hang on, hang on…” I held my hands up in surrender.

“What?”

“It’s fun!”

“Chicken.”

“Bok bok bok.”

They were beautiful, each one of my older sisters. A huge pain in my ass, each in a different way, but all precious. And annoying.

“I need to use the restroom. If he relaxes me too much I’m going to have a problem, if you know what I mean. That’s all.”

Margie, the oldest and most practical, who didn’t believe in anything but money and death, took charge, spinning me by my shoulders. “Go. Then you’re back here or we’re dragging you out for a crystal cleansing.”

I walked to the house, making a point of not looking at the stunning brunette plucking her viola. Not easy. She had the kind of face one stared at. But I glanced over, and there was Dad, talking to her, leaning over in a way that seemed respectful and dignified, getting her comfortable. I wondered if he did it to spite me, then remembered he simply and shamelessly liked f**king girls too young to drink legally. It had nothing to do with me. Which meant I’d be unable to get him away from her. I couldn’t say, ‘Okay Dad, you’re right, high school girls are hot. Now can you step away?’ because then he’d take her to bed for sure. I couldn’t try and cut in or he’d make a light hearted competition of our pursuit. And I couldn’t cross-check him through the windows or I’d ruin my own party, and I’d have to explain to my fiancée why I was protecting the honor of an underage girl I’d only glanced at.

I got past them and into the house. I needed another drink, but my excuse to Margie had been real. On the way to the hall bathroom, I spotted the pianist from the quartet. A blonde with faded acne and an odd, melancholy confidence.

“Excuse me,” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Your friend? On the viola?”

“Monica?”

“Tell her no flirting with the guests or hosts. Understand?”

Her look went from offense to curiosity, as she craned her neck to see past the sitting room windows. The set up for the quartet was just about visible.

“Oh, crap.”

“I’m serious.”

“She’s not like that really,” her words ran together. “I mean she’s just started seeing my brother, but she’s not a flirt like that at all. She’s barely even friendly.”

Caught between the desire to know more and the desire to run away, I simply walked quickly and rudely down the hall before I heard another word about that woman.

Girl.

***

I never let myself truly fall for Rachel. I’d always felt bad about that. I’d trapped her, protecting myself from that moment I’d see her and my father in the same room. Unfortunately, all that guarded emotion didn’t pay off. At Sheila’s party, Rachel had shown up with Theresa, and Dad was still there. When I saw them together, I felt like my spine was being ripped out. She was giving him what-for with her finger extended and mouth demanding something through gritted teeth and intense, burning eyes.

He took whatever verbal abuse she was dishing out with the serious air of a guy who didn’t give a shit. This man was impossible to understand unless you saw him work a room, his uncanny appeal, the way he didn’t look like a fifty year-old man in a party full of kids. The way he melted into any situation. The magnetism I never understood was illustrated over and over again, even as he refused advances when Mom was around, and always left open a maybe as soon as she turned her back.

As I got closer to them, I got disproportionately angry. Rachel wasn’t supposed to be there. That was the rule, and it was in place because seeing her in the vicinity of my father made me consider patricide with a cold, collected calm that scared me.