19

Detective Smith arrived in the auditorium accompanied by Yolanda’s assistant, Mrs. Strang. She walked him straight up to Rachel. “Detective Smith to see you, Miss Cooper.” She kept her voice strangely stiff and professional.

Rachel could have hugged her for her matter-of-fact delivery. Just before she turned to go, however, she widened her eyes to saucer proportions, pointed at Detective Smith’s back, and mouthed Oh, wow. She offered Rachel an encouraging thumbs-up as she backed quietly away.

Feeling her face ignite, Rachel fanned herself with her script and prayed none of the students noticed.

“Don’t mind me,” Detective Smith said quietly, sitting down a full seat away from her and facing forward, eyes scanning the stage. “I’m just here to observe.”

Rachel clutched her megaphone, for the first time ever feeling ridiculous for using it. He would think she was crazy.

Then again, he probably thought that already.

Belatedly, she realized that dialogue onstage had lapsed. The students were now staring out at her owlishly, hands upraised against the floodlights.

“Candice!” Rachel barked the name of her stage manager through the megaphone. Everyone jumped, including, she noticed out of the corner of her eye, Detective Smith. Perversely, this relaxed her. “Get them back on track.”

While Candice fumbled with her playbook, Rachel sighed into the megaphone, the reverb causing a squeal. “Never mind. We’ve lost the rhythm anyway. Pick it up at the top of the scene, everyone.”

Sighs resounded as the cast re-set themselves onstage.

“Miss Cooper?” Shayla pointed at Detective Smith. “Who’s that?”

“A talent scout.”

“Really?” Shayla’s eyes rounded. She leaned forward and squinted, attempting a better view.

“Of course not really,” Rachel scoffed. “And it’s a good thing too, because I doubt he’d be impressed with what he’s seeing right now.”

~*~

“I’m impressed,” Detective Smith told Rachel at the end of rehearsal as the cast filtered offstage and made their way toward the exits, calling to each other to wait up and letting the auditorium doors slam behind them.

Chris threw Rachel and Detective Smith a deeply suspicious look on his way out. Candice cut the floodlights, threw on the house lights, and called goodnight to Rachel, leaving the two of them sitting together in the hush.

She turned, and Detective Smith was afforded his first full view of her face.

“What happened?”

“I walked into a door.”

“Really?”

“I wish.” She touched her bruised face self-consciously. “The truth is way more embarrassing.”

He regarded her quietly, his expression unreadable.

“I fell offstage.” She waited for him to laugh. Instead, she found herself blushing under his serious gaze. “Yesterday, right in the middle of rehearsal. It was really embarrassing.”

He tilted his head to the side and leaned forward for a better look. “Did you land directly on your face?”

Rachel snort-laughed in surprise. Her laugh set off a chain-reaction of pain, leaving her clutching involuntarily at her ribs and uncrossing her leg to relieve pressure on her torso. She winced as her damaged toe touched the ground, and the wince made her groan and press a hand against her side. Her laugh had turned to a wheeze, which turned into a groan. Even through the pain, she could feel her face glowing like a heat lamp.

Detective Smith leaned back and lifted his hands, palms out. “What’s happening right now?”

“I’m coming undone.” She released another choking laugh. The muscle under one eye began to twitch while the other eye watered. She must look deranged, and she braced herself for his reaction.

Then his eyes crinkled up in the corners, just the way that she liked. Oh, my.

He has a good face, she thought. While it wasn’t exactly handsome or immediately striking, something about his calm stillness drew her in. And he had nice eyes—a clear, clean grey that reminded her of cloudy days at the beach.

She was staring, and he was letting her.

“You’re a wreck,” he observed. “But we’ll see what we can do to put you back together.”

Somewhere along the line, Rachel had lost the thread of the conversation. “What?”

“What?” he asked back.

Now he was definitely laughing at her. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“I told you. I came to observe.”

“The students or me?”

He stood and looked down at her, eyes crinkling. “I can multitask.”

Rachel remained seated. She’d been hoping he’d leave before she had to stand up and reveal the extent of her injuries. “And what did your observations tell you?”

“That you have an obvious command over these kids. That you have a gift for bringing out their best. And most importantly, that none of them were exhibiting any obvious symptoms of emotional distress that I could discern at this time.”

“They were acting the whole time.”

He nodded. “I thought of that. To really get anything, I’d need to observe them in an ordinary environment. Like in class. In the halls. At lunch. That sort of thing.”

“I wish you could see them the way I see them. Well, not exactly like I see them, because apparently I don’t really see them. You know what I mean.”

He folded his arms. “Don’t beat yourself up. We all have different skill sets.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She was on edge for a backhanded compliment.

“I mean that I couldn’t have done what you just did—control all of those kids without even getting out of your seat. Most of the time, you did it without even saying anything. Just by clearing your throat. Or having the right expression on your face at just the right moment, as if you knew ahead of time which kid was going to look at you just when. It’s really remarkable.”

“It’s nice to know that I’m good at something.”

His eyes were serious. “You didn’t strike me as the type to wallow in self-doubt.”

If he only knew.

“I told you before that I’m not good at reading people,” she reminded him. “That puts me at a real disadvantage in situations like this.” She gestured backstage, toward the graffiti.

“We can’t all be good at everything,” he said easily. “It’s like your pastor said last Sunday—that’s why in the Body of Christ, we all need each other.”

Her pastor had said that? This was news to her. Rachel blinked hard as she processed this thought, then smiled, hoping he didn’t notice.

“Now are you going to get up, or am I going to have to carry you?” He reached out a hand.

~*~

“And then he walked me to my classroom and out to my car,” Rachel told Lynn as she leaned across Lynn’s countertop to reach her afternoon coffee. “He told me that the best time for him to come by and observe them would be during lunch in the cafeteria. He said he’d call Yolanda tomorrow and set it up. Apparently he and Yolanda have been in touch about this already.” She chewed a hangnail on her thumb.

“Rachel. I think this might be it.”

“What do you mean—it?”

“Detective Smith. He’s making his move!”

Rachel’s stomach turned a backflip, but she shook her head, keeping her face placid. “I think he’s just like this. You told me men like to problem solve. That’s probably just what he’s doing.”

But it was no use. Lynn was practically gushing. “No, think about it. You wouldn’t go out to dinner with him, so he’s found a way to have lunch with you. On your terms.”

“First of all, I don’t even eat lunch with the students in the cafeteria, so he won’t be having lunch with me. He’ll be eating by himself. Or worse—he’ll probably have to eat with Yolanda. Police officer or not, I have a hard time believing she’s just going to give him free reign of the school. That’s not her style. Second, it’s a school cafeteria. Even if I were eating with him, I can’t think of a less romantic setting.”

“But he’ll see you. Something’s better than nothing.” Lynn stirred an abundance of cream into her coffee.

“I think he’s just trying to save a life at this point.” Rachel slurped her coffee and stared across the kitchen. “He may have been attracted to me when we met, but now…”

“Now?”

“My life is messy.” Rachel shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “Everything that happens to me is ridiculous. I just can’t imagine anybody wanting to be part of this.”

“Ann and I want to be part of it. So does Call-Me-Matt.”

Rachel waved this aside. “You and Ann have already been part of it for so long that you’ve lost objectivity. And Call-Me-Matt knows nothing about me, not really. He’s just attracted to all of this.” She gestured from the top of her bruised head to the tip of her smashed toe. “Heaven help him.”

Lynn fluffed her hair from her forehead, looking thoughtful. “You know, Alex and I knew nothing about each other when we got married. I mean, we did. A little. But we really didn’t.”

“That’s very helpful, Lynn, thank you.”

Lynn ignored the sarcasm. She set down her coffee and spoke with deliberation. “Rachel, listen. Even though you already know this about yourself, I think you tend to forget. You have a tendency to oversimplify your view of people—to think you’ve gotten them figured out right away based on just a few details and then hold to that opinion, no matter what facts the circumstances may reveal later.”

Rachel sucked in a breath to defend herself, but Lynn held up a hand. “It’s one of the things I admire about you, actually. Your firmness. When you’re in the right, you’re absolutely unshakeable, and that makes you good at your job and good at working with teenagers. I think they must find your strength intimidating. But in your friendships and other relationships…well, let’s just say—and let me use a language you understand here—your inflexibility is likely to be your fatal flaw.”

Rachel nodded slowly, processing. Her hamartia—her one, tragic flaw—the vital character weakness that would be her undoing. She pictured Hamlet wrestling with Laertes over Ophelia’s grave. Doctor Faustus making his deal with the devil. Othello staring down at Desdemona, whispering, “Put out the light.” Lynn had indeed spoken her language.

“You have a point,” she admitted. “I don’t like it, but you definitely have it.”

“And now you have it too.” Lynn set down her coffee and reached for the cup of ice water that she always seemed to keep handy these days. She fanned herself with one graceful hand while she lifted the cup to her mouth with the other. “What you do with it is up to you.”

~*~

Rachel woke in the middle of the night. For a moment, she couldn’t tell what was wrong. Perhaps her pain meds had worn off. But no—she didn’t feel especially pained. In fact, she still basked in the warm, fuzzy afterglow of her evening pill. Her brain was wrapped in a fluffy blanket and her body floated gently on a breeze.

Then she grasped three important facts. First, she’d fallen asleep before silencing her phone. Second, it was currently vibrating, rhythmically working its way toward the edge of her nightstand. Third, Lee’s picture filled the screen—burly, bristled, beloved.

She groped through the mists, nearly rolling out of bed as she flailed for the phone. Even through the drugged haze, she felt pain stabbing her ribs.

“Hello?” she slurred.

“I need you to come pick me up,” Lee said, his words clipped. “If you can.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s late—or, early. Rachel. Are you awake? I need you to come pick me up. Can you do it? I’m at the corner of Federal and Palmetto Place.”

“Federal and Palmetto Place…?” The wheels ground slowly. “Wait—you’re at Walmart?” she sat up, groaning as her head spun. “I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

“I don’t have time to draw you a plot diagram. If you can’t come pick me up, that’s fine—just say so and I’ll call someone else.”

“Wait there,” Rachel said, fumbling with the covers. “Here I come.”