2

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Rachel had objected to Lynn. Nevertheless, she’d located her TV, manhandled it into place, and made sure it was plugged in before the eleven o’clock news. Sure enough, the station re-aired the story from the afternoon just as Lynn had predicted.

Rachel stared at the clean lines of Detective Ian Smith’s profile as he answered questions about a recent string of burglaries. She wondered if he even remembered giving her his personal number at the end of last school year. He hadn’t been the most swoon-worthy man ever to hit on Rachel, or even the most compelling, but something about him had stuck with her. The calm voice. The cool gray eyes. The steady ways. It was no wonder the police department had chosen him as their representative to the local media. He seemed so honest and trustworthy.

His charms had obviously appealed to Lynn. Ever since Rachel had come back from her summer road trip, she’d been urging her to call him.

“I don’t have a reason to call him,” Rachel always objected.

“He gave you his card and told you to call him. I’d say that’s reason enough.”

Not reason enough for Rachel.

Detective Ian Smith was a man. Not like Lee, the man-child, who remained devoted to Rachel no matter what and always bent to her needs and whims. Detective Ian Smith was a genuine, grown-up man—with an important job, a good reputation, heavy responsibilities, and a full schedule. A man who solved serious crimes and gave professional interviews on the evening news. He didn’t have time for aimless calls from spinster English teachers with inflexible ankles and spider apartments.

Not that Rachel planned to call him, or even wanted to. Not necessarily.

Are you watching? Lynn texted.

Are YOU? Rachel texted back.

Lynn sent back a cartoon smiley face with two giant hearts for eyes.

Rachel groaned, silenced her phone, turned off the TV, stretched, and limped off to bed, pulling the covers directly over her face.

~*~

Morning came early to the Royal Palm Villas. Doors slammed. Children ran up and down sidewalks. Dogs barked. Cars seemingly without mufflers revved in the parking lot. Wives yelled at husbands, husbands yelled back, and children hollered for them to shut up. Rachel didn’t think she’d ever have to set an alarm clock again.

Although by rights this should have been her first day back at early-morning workouts, Rachel had decided to skip in favor of spending extra time getting ready for the first day of school. Though Ann had stated that a good workout would offer the best physical and emotional preparation, Rachel’s hatred of feeling rushed—coupled with her fear that something was bound to go wrong and keep her from being on time for the first day—demanded that she skip workout in order to spend more time fretting about getting to school on time.

At 6:15, Ann texted her: Great workout. All the punches. All the kicks. All the sweats. Happy first day.

Rachel texted back: On third coffee. Ankle popping every step, but feeling ready for the first day. What could go wrong?

Rachel slid into her parking space and eyed the empty spot next to hers, the space where Lee’s rattletrap usually sat.

Today, Rachel faced the reality of a school year without Lee. No Lee to follow her down the hall or carry in her bag or go on impromptu coffee runs. No Lee to mock her stiff ankle or question her wardrobe choices. No Lee to both infuriate and charm her all at once.

Rachel wondered if Lee’s new job required him to dress in something other than frayed khakis, a rumpled shirt, and that silly fisherman’s vest. She wished she’d taken the time to get together with him before school started, but the week between getting home from the trip and starting school had been hectic with moving. Until this moment, it hadn’t occurred to her that she actually wouldn’t see him every day. Rachel fished in her bag for her phone, briefly considering sending him a text.

Someone tapped on the driver’s side window, and Rachel jumped, bobbling her phone and bonking her head against the headrest. She slammed a hand over her chest as her feet jerked against the floorboards. A jolt of discomfort shot up her right leg as her stiff ankle bent against its will.

“Sorry!” came a contrite, bird-like voice, muffled through the pane of glass. “I didn’t mean to scare you!” Of course she hadn’t. Sharon Day was as incapable of malice as Rachel was of turning cartwheels. Miss Day stood half bent over to peer at Rachel, tiny wisps of golden hair curling slightly in the early-morning humidity. “Did you spill your coffee?”

Rachel rolled down her window. “No, it was in the cup holder. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to say good morning and wish you a happy first day.” Sharon fluttered her eyelashes. “And also see if you needed anything carried in, because I know Lee’s not here to help you.”

Rachel let out a long breath through her nostrils and concentrated on taking Sharon’s comments at face value. Surely she was just being nice, not implying that Rachel was old, infirm, and incapable of carrying her own lunch and teacher’s bag into her classroom. Remember, Rachel. You’re going to stop assuming things about people’s motives.

“I’m actually walking quite well these days.” Rachel shot Sharon a smile. “I’m not using a cane or anything. So I think I can handle carrying everything myself.”

A tiny line appeared between Sharon’s perfectly-sculpted eyebrows. “Oh, OK. Sorry to bother you, Miss Cooper. I’ll see you at afternoon pickup.” She stepped back from Rachel’s car in a half-bow, as if she were a lowly serf backing away from an imperial ruler.

“Wait,” Rachel sighed. “There’s a box of books in the trunk that you can carry in for me.” She’d been planning to send Chris or one of the other boys out for the box later in the day, but with Lee’s admonition at the end of last school year that she should give Sharon Day a chance and Lynn’s assertion that Rachel never asked for help still ringing in the back of her mind, she knew better than to pass up this golden opportunity.

While Rachel angled herself out of the car, trying to keep most of her weight on her left leg, Sharon lifted the box from the trunk. As they walked down the hall, Sharon chatting nervously about her schedule, a wave of first-day jitters rose in Rachel’s chest. These weren’t nervous jitters, but jitters of excited anticipation. As much as she dreaded school starting every fall, she also loved it: the all-encompassing absorption of the work, the drama of the students, and the daily thrum of teenage energy. Nothing else compared.

Rachel may not have been good at most aspects of adult life—but this? She was good at this.

At the end of the hall, she pulled the key from the band around her wrist and let herself into her classroom, flipping on the overhead florescent lights with one hand while reaching to push a twist of red curls from her face with the other.

A new year had arrived. A year full of as-yet-unknown stories, secrets, and challenges. A year in which Rachel could demonstrate to Ann, Lynn, and Lee that she’d learned from the mistakes of the past. A year in which she could turn everything around.

This year she would be more patient and less sarcastic. She would listen more and talk less. She would be a better friend, a better sister, and a better co-worker. She would be kinder and less judgmental. She would give Sharon Day a chance.

Through it all, she would never admit to anyone how much she missed Lee.

~*~

Chris strutted into the room looking like a rooster in the hen house. As one of only two males taking Rachel’s first-period English class this semester, he basically was one. He stopped in the doorway to tower over Rachel in mock surprise, waggling his bushy dark eyebrows.

“Miss Cooper, did you shrink over the summer?” His eyes glowed as he looked down on the top of her curly head from a lofty new height.

Shayla hip checked him as she pushed past, rolling her eyes. “Here he goes,” she groaned.

Rachel laughed. “We can all see how much you grew, Chris. No need to be so smug about it.”

“Who’s smug?” He plopped into a desk directly in front of her podium. Given his new stature, she’d be hard-pressed to see around him.

“Did you have a nice summer?” Though Rachel hated clichés, some questions couldn’t be avoided. “I’m sure you did something exciting.”

“You know me so well.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head, the new breadth of his shoulders straining against his uniform shirt. “I spent a month rock climbing with my uncle in Yosemite.” He dropped his hands onto his desk and rolled his shoulders. “We even did a little free climbing.”

A new girl appeared in the doorway, and Chris stopped boasting.

Quiet as a leaf blown on a breeze, the dark-haired girl slipped into the classroom and ghosted to the back, where she slid into the seat furthest from Rachel’s podium. Since there was only one unfamiliar name on Rachel’s roster for this class, she assumed this must be the transfer student, Alice Claythorne.

Ever since seeing the list of students on the roll for first period, she’d been looking forward to this class. This particular group, made up largely of students who had populated last year’s fourth-period English class, had a lot of gifted students and high achievers. She had high hopes for them.

Before the opening bell even had time to ring, Rachel had seen from her mental roll call that all of her students were present. She clicked the classroom door shut and after quickly introducing herself and going over some basic expectations and classroom procedures for the sake of the one new student in the class, she took a deep, happy breath, and began the lesson.

“Pull out your copies of Much Ado about Nothing,” she said, her voice starchy with teacherish glee, “and let’s see where Shakespeare takes us this semester.”

Chris moaned as he riffled the pages of his script. “Please tell me that this one has less stabbing.”

“I thought the stabbings were your favorite parts of Romeo and Juliet.” Rachel arched one eyebrow.

“The sword fights, yes. The pointless stabbings, no.”

“Can a stabbing ever really be pointless?” Rachel deadpanned.

Chris snorted.

The new girl in the back lifted her head, her eyes temporarily sharpening, taking in Rachel’s face. The minute her eyes caught Rachel’s, she dropped her gaze to the open script. This she placed directly in the center of her desk, smoothing the edges until everything was perfectly square.

“There is a bit of pointlessness in Much Ado,” Rachel conceded. “At least, there are things that seem pointless to the audience or are intended to be pointless by the characters themselves. But then later, in light of developments within the story, these things take on meaning. But I’m getting ahead of the lesson.”

Chris turned partially sideways in his desk as if commiserating with the entire class. “Miss Cooper, when are you ever not getting ahead of the lesson?”

“Don’t get sassy,” she told him. Rachel perched lightly on the edge of her bar stool, left leg braced against the floor, right leg swinging lightly. No use putting her inflexible ankle through more work than absolutely necessary. Not until everything was back in working order.

~*~

Nearly everything about Rachel’s day ran smoothly—everything but afternoon car pickup. At the beginning of dismissal, Rachel and Sharon arrived at their posts to face automotive chaos. Somehow, parallel lines had formed, and cars now jockeyed for position. Rachel tromped down the field with her megaphone, muttering to herself.

It was always something.

“Hey, Miss Cooper, you walking real good!” called Mr. Suarez, rolling down the window of his rusted-out minivan to scan Rachel up and down. “But you limping a little still.” He scratched his chin. “Two months and you still limp?”

Rachel shrugged. “I skipped physical therapy. Apparently it wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

Mr. Suarez shook his head, frowning. “You needa stretch it out.” He gestured toward her bad leg. “My son, he break his ankle playing futbol, and after he get cast off, I make him lay down e’ry night on the floor, an’ I stretch him out. You want me to do same for you, you let me know.”

Goodness.

From halfway back the line came an impatient honk. Mr. Suarez turned around at the wheel and gave the driver a smile and a thumbs-up before winking at Rachel and pulling forward.

Back in the classroom after car line, Rachel found a text waiting from Lee.

Happy first day—meet for coffee at The Drip—4:00?

Rachel leaned back in her chair and studied the ceiling. She might as well face the inevitable. At least today she would have the first day of school to dissect with Lee, in case the conversation veered into awkward territory.

Rachel had mentored Lee through high school, shepherded him through college, and coached him through his first few years in the classroom. Up until last year, he’d been her favorite sounding board and best work ally. But then by leaving her a series of anonymous gifts—gifts which she’d mistaken as a serial killer’s calling cards—Lee had opened a door of possibility between them that Rachel would rather have left shut.

Honestly, Rachel had been happy to learn that she had not, in fact, been stalked by the Memento Killer and that the presents being left for her anonymously had instead come from someone who knew and loved her.

Like, loved her.

Maybe her life would have been easier if the gifts had, in fact, been from the killer.

The first thing Rachel noticed about Lee was that he’d begun to grow back his beard. Not yet having had time to reach epic status, it sprouted in every direction, leaving the bottom half of his head looking as if he were currently being attacked by an angry hedgehog.

The second thing she noticed about Lee was that Sharon Day was sitting beside him. Right beside him. Rachel’s eyebrows hit her hairline.

As the front door to The Drip shut behind her, Lee’s blue eyes snapped to meet hers. For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then, from behind his clunky brown frames, Lee tipped her the tiniest of winks.

Rachel felt something small and shriveled in her stomach begin to open. The corners of her lips lifted. By the time Sharon looked up, blinking rapidly, Rachel had gotten her expression under control.

“I got your drink already,” Lee called, waving Rachel over.

Of course he had. Her heart warmed at the thought. Not that it meant anything. He’d probably bought Sharon’s as well.

“Now that you’re making more money than we are, you must feel that you have to show it off,” Rachel said primly as she perched on the edge of the plush chair across from Lee and Sharon Day.

Sharon’s eyebrows zoomed together at this comment, but Lee lifted an easy hand to wave her comments away.

“Don’t worry about what she says,” Lee told Sharon. “She never means any of it. I keep telling you.”

“Lee would lead you never to believe me,” Rachel said.

Sharon fidgeted.

Rachel smiled at Sharon—a warm, genuine smile that showed just the right amount of teeth.

Sharon’s foot began swinging in a less frantic rhythm and Lee collapsed back against his chair, a slump of wrinkled plaid and khaki.

Sharon and Rachel filled Lee in on their first day of school—including Mr. Showalter’s accidental release of an entire class of students a full ten minutes before the end of the class period—and Lee brought them up to speed on his new job.

“Two days a week I get to work from home,” he told them, swilling the dregs of his coffee and smacking his lips behind his beard. “Today was actually one of those days.”

Rachel crossed one leg over the other and folded her arms. “You’re telling us that this morning when we were showing up for the pre-first-day staff huddle, you were at home drinking coffee?”

“I was probably still asleep.”

“You’re the worst.”

Lee laughed.

Sharon pushed a lock of blonde hair from her forehead and glanced back and forth between the two of them. “I have to go.” Her eyelids fluttered rapidly as she made eye contact with Lee. “I have an appointment later.”

“A date?” Rachel’s voice was light but her eyes were sharp.

Sharon blushed scarlet. “No.” She risked a sideways glance at Lee. “Something else.”

“Have fun,” Lee said. He rested his hand lightly on Sharon’s shoulder for a moment. His gaze followed her as she walked away, her heels clicking lightly against the floor.

A year ago, Rachel wouldn’t even have waited until Sharon was out the door before she jumped on Lee and demanded an explanation. She would have torn into Lee’s business like a lion into a wounded gazelle.

But this was not the Rachel of one year ago. This was a new Rachel. An older Rachel. A wiser Rachel. She uncrossed her legs and re-crossed them the other way, wondering if Lee had noticed the maturity of The New Rachel.

Then the silence stretched too long.

It seemed that the air was pregnant with all the questions she wasn’t asking. The silence thickened. This was excruciating.

Let Lee break the silence if he liked. Or not. Either way, she wouldn’t be the one to speak first. She would go down to her grave in silence.

“Looks like you got some sun on your trip.” Lee looked her up and down, his gaze lingering on her formerly collapsible right ankle. “How’s the foot?”

“It’s on the mend, but it’s still not very flexible yet.” Rachel rotated her foot at a tiny angle, trying not to grimace at the stiffness. “It’s getting better. That’s what matters.”

“You’re walking like you have a peg leg. I thought you’d be all healed up by now.”

“Apparently this is what happens when you skip your physical therapy after not having walked for two months. And also, according to my doctor, this is what happens when you decide to break a bone once you’re in your mid-thirties.”

Lee snorted. “There’s nothing wrong with you that a little exercise and a few nutrition supplements wouldn’t fix.”

Rachel crossed her arms. “Look who’s suddenly a health guru.”

Lee rummaged in the pocket of his khaki cargo pants and produced a small brown bottle, which he tossed across the table toward her. It rattled through the air. She snatched at it with an awkward grab and missed. It landed in her lap. Silica, read the label. Guaranteed potency.

“What is this?” Rachel picked the bottle up with two fingers and held it at arm’s length.

“Silica.”

“I can see that.”

Lee scratched his chin and glared at her. “Then why did you ask?”

Rachel took a deep breath and let it out loudly through flared nostrils.

“OK. I know what it is. Now tell me why.”

Lee shrugged. “I got it at the health store. It’s supposed to aid in strong bone growth. Also fingernails and hair, so you’d better watch out.” He gestured vaguely toward Rachel’s flyaway explosion of red curls. “And you don’t need to worry about paying me back. I can afford things like this now that I’m a career professional basically rolling in dough.”

“What were you doing in a health food store?”

Lee closed his eyes. “Buying you some silica.” He spoke as if to a small child. “I read about it online and thought that if you took it, it might help to reinforce your frail bones. But if you don’t want it, that’s fine. I can take it back.”

She set the silica on the table and placed her hands on either side of it, palms flat. “Lee.”

Lee ran his hands down the sides of his beard and looked up wearily through his thick glasses. “I thought I might as well give it to you face-to face this time. Just to be on the safe side.”

The crumpled thing inside Rachel twisted back into a ball. During the ensuing silence, she flipped through various responses, discarding all of them as either incendiary or idiotic.

“Lee,” she began again, but he was already standing.

“I actually have to go.”

“Fine,” Rachel said, taken somewhat aback, “but will I see you—”

“I don’t know. This week is sort of busy.”

“OK, well—”

“I’m glad you’re back, though.” He looked away from her, gazing through the window toward the parking lot.

“Me, too. Thanks for this.” She rattled the bottle of silica at him. “Really. I’ll start taking it today.”

“You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.”

“Lee.”

“Take it. Don’t take it. Whatever. It’s fine.”

“Lee.”

“What?”

“Let’s do this again soon.”

~*~

“And then he left,” Rachel told Ann later over the phone. She flopped sideways onto her loveseat, slipping her feet from her shoes and curling into a ball. “He left without walking me to my car or anything.”

“Why would he need to walk you to your car?”

“He doesn’t need to walk me to my car. He just always does. It’s a Lee Thing.”

“Well, things are different now. You don’t work together any more. And, oh yes, you’ve rejected his declaration of love.”

“I haven’t rejected his declaration of love. He never even made one.”

“He as good as made one, and you know it. So you ran away from the situation for the whole summer, he started dating Sharon Day, and here we are having this conversation.”

“He’s dating Sharon Day?” Rachel sat up. “You know that for sure?”

Ann snorted. “You’re telling me that you didn’t ask him yourself?”

“No.” She flopped back down. “And I’m not going to.”

“Here we go.”

“I mean it.” Rachel yawned. “I’m not asking.” She rolled sideways and propped the phone against the side of her face.

“You’re going to ask.”

“I’m not.”

“I have to go. Spencer just pooped in the wash rack, and now I have to clean it up.”

Rachel sincerely hoped that Spencer was a horse. “We’re done discussing this.”

“Sure we are.” Ann hung up.

Rachel didn’t bother taking the phone away from her face. She wanted dinner, but she thought she might die if she had to stand up. Unfortunately, now that Ann lived across town, the chances of her walking through the door later tonight and offering to cook bacon and eggs rested right at zero percent.

Rachel dozed until the upstairs neighbor cranked his music. A twitch of wakefulness jolted pain straight up from her ankle, and her legs smacked against the armrest of the loveseat. The phone fell from her face as she rolled sideways and stood, shambling slowly out to the kitchen in search of food before bed. Her head throbbed in time with the music.

~*~

By the third day of school, Rachel had taken to nursing a cup of coffee during first period just to help her keep on top of things. Although drinking coffee during class wasn’t strictly prohibited, Rachel made sure to house her mug behind a pile of textbooks. That way it would be out of the direct line of sight of anyone peeking through the small pane of glass in her classroom door.

Not that she suspected Yolanda Martinez of spying on her. As school administrator, Yolanda would not begrudge Rachel a cup of coffee during first period. At least, Rachel didn’t think she would. It just seemed safer not to test her theory.

“So this Don John character,” Chris said, eyeing Rachel narrowly as she sipped her Sneaky Coffee and placed the mug very precisely behind the stack of books. “What’s his deal? Why does he hate everybody all the time?” He rhythmically tapped his copy of Much Ado About Nothing against the side of his desk, his thumb holding his place in Act I.

“Well, that’s complicated. I’m sure you’re going to figure it out as we go along. The main thing to understand for now is that Don John’s the villain. He’s going to do all that he can to mess everybody else up.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty clear.” Shayla ran her finger down the text until she’d found the lines she wanted. As she quoted Don John, she adopted a dark, sinister voice. “…though I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man, it must not be denied but I am a plain-dealing villain.”

Chris leaned back in his seat and stretched his long legs into the aisle, crossing them at the ankles. “A man after my own heart.”

“Seriously?” Shayla looked at Chris as if he were something smelly she’d found in her gym bag. “The villain is the man after your own heart?”

He smirked. “I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man.”

Shayla snorted. “OK, well, yeah. That much is true.”

“If you two are done…?” Rachel quirked her eyebrows at them.

Shayla shrugged. “I just think it’s weird that Chris likes the villain, the character who basically says that he hates everybody and wants nobody to be happy.”

“Where does he say that?” Chris half turned to look at Shayla. Rachel noticed his gaze flit to the back of the room to rest briefly on the new girl.

Alice Claythorne, staring down at her open playbook as if it held the secrets to the universe, did not appear to notice.

Interesting.

Shayla thumbed through Act I. “I don’t know. But I remember getting that from the reading.”

“Funny,” said Chris. “I didn’t get that at all.”

Sensing an argument that could go on forever, Rachel intervened. “Don John has already stated he wants to ruin things between the first set of lovers, Claudio and Hero.” Rachel flipped through her script until she found the spot she wanted. “Look at the end of the scene between Don John and Borachio: ‘Come, come let us thither. This may prove food to my displeasure. That young start-up hath all the glory of my overthrow. If I can cross him any way, I bless myself every way…’ and so forth.”

Over in the far row, Jessica Potts blew a puff of air upward through her bangs and cleared her throat. This wasn’t an I-have-phlegm-in-my-throat sort of sound. It was an I-have-something-to-say-and-everyone-should-listen sound. The sort of throat-clear typical of Jessica Potts.

Rachel had never had Jessica Potts in a class before, but that didn’t matter. Having a class with Jessica Potts wasn’t necessary to know her. Straight-A student, cheerleader, student body treasurer, forensics champ, and all-star mathlete—she plowed through high school like a ship under full sail, leaving a string of broken hearts in her wake.

“I think,” Jessica Potts said, “that once you read the entire play, you’ll have no trouble putting these problems into perspective.”

Rachel reached for her coffee. In the short time between back-to-school night and the first day of school, Jessica Potts’s mother had already e-mailed her twice regarding the semester’s syllabus. Now Rachel knew why. Had Jessica already read the entire play?

Chris uncrossed his feet and swiveled to face Jessica. “We only had to read Act I last night.”

Jessica Potts sniffed. Not a disdainful sniff, but a sniff nonetheless.

Rachel expected her to make some sort of further comment—to say that she’d seen the movie, or perhaps had even starred in a community theatre version last summer. This was, after all, Jessica Potts. Anything was possible. But she offered nothing more than that one snooty sniff.

Chris’s bushy eyebrows pulled together to form a solid V. He scowled across the classroom, gloriously offended.

“Well,” Rachel said, dragging the lesson back on track. “What does everybody think of the lovers? So far we have two sets: Benedick and Beatrice, plus Claudio and Hero.”

“How are Benedick and Beatrice lovers?” Ryan scoffed from the corner of the room. “They hate each other.”

“Oh, you sweet, summer child.” Rachel smiled with a tender sigh. “So young, so innocent.”

“So clueless,” Shalya muttered.

“Look in the first few scenes,” Rachel told the class, “and you’ll see plenty of hints that Benedick and Beatrice knew each other before the action of the play starts. It’s clear that they have a history.”

Chris slanted a sly smile at Rachel. “Like you and Mr. Martin.”

Rachel regarded him blandly. She lifted her mug of Sneaky Coffee and took a long, noisy slurp without breaking eye contact. As was usually the case when the students hounded her about the nature of her relationship with Lee, she allowed no reaction. She had learned long ago that to say anything at all—even in denial—only fanned the flames.

She noted that Alice Claythorne lifted her gaze and risked a peek to gauge Rachel’s reaction. Just before Alice moved her attention back to her playbook, she let it rest for just a moment on the back of Chris’s head.

~*~

The next day, Rachel posted the drama tryouts sign-up on the outside of her classroom door. After first period, she checked the list and saw that Chris and the quiet new girl were among the first to sign up. At the very top of the list, however, in bold capitals, was Jessica Potts.