People suffering from PTSD require a program of structure and predictability and lots of time to restore their sense of security and stability.
—ONLINE HELP GUIDE
Rachel’s making my favorite roast chicken casserole for dinner.
I’m not wild about having dinner with the chief, but I can’t resist chicken casserole and it beats leftovers or pizza. I’m going as is, but Victor wants to change clothes. I wait at the bottom of the stairs while he goes up to his room.
My gaze drifts over to the credenza and the pile of Victor’s mail that continues to accumulate. Underneath it all is the FedEx envelope. My heart pounds as I grasp the corner and pull it out from under the stack of mail. I turn it over.
It’s still sealed.
I press it between my palms as if I could squeeze the words out through the cardboard. When I hear Victor start down the stairs I stash the envelope back underneath the mail pile.
The chief’s house is only about a fifteen-minute drive from our house. Victor and I ride in silence. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I’m becoming a little obsessed with that envelope. Why hasn’t he opened it?
Why wouldn’t someone open an envelope?
There are only two reasons I can think of.
One: They know what’s inside and don’t need to look.
Or two: They don’t know what’s inside and they’re afraid to look.
I glance at Victor. He is not someone who scares easily. He’s relaxed and driving casually. He detects my stare and gives me a smile but doesn’t feel the need to talk.
I admire that. He’s not one of those people who needs to fill every silence.
Sometimes it’s nice to be with someone but alone with your thoughts.
Rachel answers the door when we ring the bell and shows us into the house. The chief’s house is newer and more formal than ours, but it’s still comfortable. He’s sitting in the living room in a recliner, reading the paper. Rachel has changed out of her work clothes and it looks like she’s wearing one of the chief’s white dress shirts over a pair of slender black pants. The sleeves are rolled up and her hair is pulled up with some clips. There’s an adorable smudge of flour on her cheek. And I swear there’s another kind of glow about her.
My Rachel. The rock of my life, who was always there for everything. That Rachel always had an anxious edge about her. I’ll admit this Rachel is new. I’ve never seen her this content, and it’s really sweet.
I bury the pang of guilt that rises in my chest as a reminder that if she hadn’t rescued me, she probably would have been this Rachel all along. But then I think, well, at least she and the chief get to be open about their relationship now. Finding out about her secret boyfriend was definitely the best thing to come out of suspecting him of being a murderer.
“Your timing is perfect,” Rachel says. “I just put dinner on the table.”
Rachel leads us to a dining room off the kitchen. The room features a long, formal table and matching hutch. There are paintings on the wall of sailing ships being tossed by giant waves. In contrast to the violent ocean scenery, the table is set with a pale pink tablecloth and matching napkins. A short vase of pure white roses sits in the center of the table.
This is an awfully formal setting for chicken casserole.
The chief takes a seat at the head of the table. Rachel sits to his right and Victor to his left. I choose the seat next to Victor.
The casserole and a large, fresh salad are laid out in front of us. My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I skipped lunch too. Victor dives right in, ladling scoops of casserole onto his plate. My hand hovers over the salad server when …
“I’m not sure I can wait for dessert,” the chief says, taking Rachel’s hand in his and patting it with his other hand. His expression is giddy and his gaze lingers on her.
She shakes her head, stifling a giggle. “Not now, Charles. They’re hungry.”
“They can eat while we talk.” He’s obviously bursting with some news.
“Really, I think we should—” Rachel chokes up, the words sticking in her throat.
Victor and I side-eye each other. He clearly doesn’t have any more of a clue than I do.
“I think we’re missing something here,” Victor whispers.
“I don’t care,” I say. “There’s no way I’m skipping dinner for dessert. Rachel’s roasted chicken thingy is amazing and I’m starving.”
Rachel pinches her lips together and her eyes well up. She fans her face with her hand.
The chief takes Rachel’s hand again.
At the last second I see it. Something that wasn’t there this morning.
“I just asked this gorgeous woman to marry me!” he blurts out.
Rachel pulls her hand away from his and self-consciously displays a sparkling diamond ring on the ring finger of her left hand.
“I said yes,” she says, somewhat shyly.
“We’re getting married,” they both say at the same time.
I’m stunned. My jaw drops open. Maybe I should have been cued to this, but I wasn’t. This is the very last thing I ever thought would happen. And it’s not that Rachel doesn’t deserve it.
I glance at Victor. He’s stunned too. But he recovers more quickly. He leaps to his feet and offers his hand to the chief.
“Wow. A wedding,” Victor says. “That’s terrific. Congratulations. Sis, you’ll make a beautiful bride.”
“Thank you. Thank you,” Rachel says. “It was a complete surprise.”
Her gaze is moving past Victor and toward me and I know this means I need to say something. Something nice. And I need to say it now.
But there’s one overwhelming, pounding, singular thought, and the minute Rachel looks at me it blurts out of my mouth.
“What about me?”
Everything stops. Silence crashes in around us.
No one speaks.
The earth stops spinning.
I blink and try to focus on my eyelashes because I’m afraid to look anywhere else. My lower eyelids are full of water.
“Oh, Erin…” Rachel’s voice is low and sorrowful. She glances back at the chief. “I wanted to tell you first. Alone. Just the two of us. Because that is how we do things. I’m sorry. This just—I don’t know—got away from me. I—it was a complete surprise. But you know—”
I can’t take it. I can’t go through another “you’re the moon and the stars” pep talk. Not here, in front of Victor and the chief. I know she loves me. I do. I know I’m cared for. My life is good. I get all of that.
I even get why she didn’t tell me one-on-one, just the two of us, like everything between us has always been for my whole life.
It’s because it’s not just the two of us anymore.