I woke excited to tell Rachel what I’d found out about her mother. At least I think it was that. It had been a while since I’d looked forward to seeing any woman, engaged or not.
I got to the house early, even though I’d stopped and picked up a couple of lattes. As I pulled up, Rachel’s red Honda Accord was already there, idling in front of the mailbox. When she saw me she turned off her car and got out. She was also carrying coffee cups. She laughed when she saw me. “Looks like we’ll be well caffeinated.”
We made our way into the house and took our beverages into the kitchen.
“I didn’t know what you liked to drink,” Rachel said, taking off her jacket. She was dressed in denim jeans and a black V-necked tee that accentuated her petite yet curvaceous form. “So I got you something sweet, their signature hot chocolate, and something bitter, the caffè misto. You pick first. I can go either way.”
“Sweet or bitter. That ought to be an easy choice.” I took the caffè. As I looked at her, I thought she was even more gorgeous than I remembered. “I got us a couple of pumpkin spice lattes.”
“Perfect. We can drink them all. Then work much faster.”
“Before we start, I need to tell you something. You’d better sit down.”
“That is so cliché,” she said, sitting down. She looked anxious. “Is it something bad? Did I do something wrong?”
I thought her second question was kind of telling. “No. I have good news. The elderly lady I told you about remembered your mother.”
Rachel screamed. Then she came around the table and hugged me. When we parted, she looked me in the eyes. “What did she say?”
“She said a few months before my brother died, there was a young pregnant woman who came to stay with us.”
“Did she know her name?”
“No,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
The excitement left her face. “Then I still have nothing.”
“But she said my father would.”
“You said that’s a dead end.”
“It was. But she gave me my father’s contact information. He lives in Mesa, Arizona.” I took a deep breath. “I’m thinking of driving to Arizona,” I said. “Maybe it’s time I confronted him. I’ll ask him about your mother as well.”
“Thank you.” She looked down a moment, then blurted out, “May I go with you?”
I looked at her in surprise. “You want to go with me to Arizona?”
“I’d like to talk to your father in person.”
“Will your fiancé be okay with that?”
She frowned. “Yeah, I’ll need to talk to him about it. He won’t be happy.”
“You’ve been looking for your mother for half your life. Why wouldn’t he be happy for you?”
“Because I told him that I would be back by today. He’s not exactly spontaneous. And he has a work social he wanted me to help cook for.” She breathed out in exasperation. “I’ll talk to him. In the meantime, we have a lot of work to do. Come on.” She grabbed a coffee and took it into the front room.
The room looked less daunting with someone helping me. A few minutes after we started working, Rachel said, “That is such a beautiful piano. Is it really a Steinway?”
I nodded. “It’s a pearl in this oyster. My mother’s uncle left it to her when he died. I was really young when she got it, so I don’t remember life without it.”
“Can you play it?”
“A little,” I said. “I used to be pretty good.”
“Play me something.”
“All right.” I sat down on the bench and began to play James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain.” When I finished, I turned around on the bench. “Well?”
“That was beautiful,” she said. “I love that song.”
“Like you,” she said.
We went back to work.
I came across three boxes filled with piano music, most of which I remembered. I dusted off the boxes and stacked them by the piano to send home with the instrument.
I found some more vinyl albums of my parents that I had grown up with. The soundtracks to South Pacific and Camelot, Herb Alpert’s Whipped Cream and Other Delights; the picture of the girl on the cover had wrought havoc on my potent teenage male hormones. I lifted the Herb Alpert album to show Rachel. “Ever seen this? The cover is pretty iconic.”
She shook her head. “She’s pretty. Can we play it?”
“Yes we can.” I put on the album, and the sound of brass filled the room.
“This music makes me happy,” she said.
I looked at the simple joy on her face and also smiled.
Around one, Rachel drove to a nearby deli to get us something for lunch. I was able to fill three more trash bags by the time she got back. I saw her walking up to the door and I opened it for her.
“Thank you,” she said, walking in. She carried the food to the kitchen table. “Sorry that took so long. There was a long line. I also got us a couple of Cokes,” she said, handing me a bottle.
We sat down at the table. When I looked up, Rachel had her head bowed in prayer. A moment later she looked up and smiled at me.
“Do you always pray?” I asked.
“I always give thanks,” she said.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d prayed.
We both started eating. A minute later Rachel said, “So, I called Brandon while I was waiting in line at the deli.”
“And?”
“He wasn’t happy.” She groaned lightly. “Actually, that’s putting it mildly. He was livid. He tried to talk me out of it.”
“Because of me?”
“No. He didn’t want me to be gone any longer. And he was worried about the cost of gas.”
“He was worried about the gas money but not about you driving to Arizona with another man?”
She looked at me sheepishly. “I didn’t tell him about you.”
“Okay, so he was worried about gas money but not about you driving alone to another state.”
“He cares,” she said. “Men just aren’t expressive like that.”
“Don’t pin that on us,” I said. “Most men are highly protective.”
“If it was you, would you have been upset?”
“If it was me, I would have gone with you.”
She breathed out softly. “Well, we’re going. I’ll deal with the fallout later. I shouldn’t have called him. It’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission.” She frowned. “The thing is, I’m really easy for him to manipulate, because I feel guilty a lot. I feel guilty about everything. It’s like this crushing weight on me. I can’t even take the last cookie on the plate without feeling guilty.” She shook her head. “Brandon doesn’t feel guilt very much. I once asked him why he didn’t feel guilty like I did and he just laughed.”
“Are you sure you want to go?”
“I feel like I need to. And I feel like I can’t let him stop me from doing this. If I missed this opportunity, I might not forgive myself. I might not forgive him. I can’t be sure that I wouldn’t always resent him. And that wouldn’t be good for our marriage.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” I said. “So, it will take about nine hours from here. If we leave by noon, we could make it by night.”
“We could leave earlier.”
“I would, except I can’t leave until after the piano movers come; but we’ll leave right after.”