would have been surprised had anyone told her they kept tabs on Lucas and that they knew exactly what he’d been doing since she’d left him. She tried not to think of him at all.
She had loved him deeply and completely. He had loved her in return. Whatever she had questioned—and she’d had many questions—she had never doubted that he loved her. That’s why his behavior had been so hard to understand. He had just drifted away, following his parents and Alana, almost like a sleepwalker.
They had been happy together at first, she and Lucas. They had led a simple life, largely because they hadn’t had enough time or money for anything complicated. They had both been university students, living in a dumpy little apartment within walking distance of the campus. Others in the complex had “partied hearty,” staying up late, carrying on. But Lucas and Rachel had lived quietly. Sunsets had been nice for them. Ice cream on Saturday mornings had been nice. Spending Sundays in bed, or hurrying to make morning classes because lovemaking had gone into overtime—that had been nice, too. Grocery shopping and laundry duties had been times to spend together, not chores. Music had always been there; they’d enjoyed dancing, even when it was just the two of them in the kitchen. Especially when it was only the two of them in the kitchen. They’d laughed together, they’d had private jokes. They’d been in love, but it had been more than that. They had matched each other. And there had always been a sense of a future together.
Rachel had believed she knew Lucas, knew who he really was, right to his core. Even when things had begun falling apart, she had been able to see the person he was. Deep inside. Down to his soul. Just as he had been able to see hers.
Maybe we were too young, Rachel considered, swishing the dregs of her tomato soup. She’d only been nineteen, Lucas, twenty, when they’d married. Too young was a possibility. It was a major objection offered by Lucas’s parents. But that, Rachel knew, was only because it was a socially acceptable thing to say. The real problem was that Rachel was not, and could never be, what the Neumans wanted for their son’s wife. Specifically, she was not Alana Winston—a woman who had been groomed for just that role. Or for a role just like it, anyway. And she’d had her sights set on Lucas for a long time.
Alana Winston was everything Rachel was not. Most importantly, in the Neumans’ opinion, her pedigree was impeccable. Rachel’s was not. After all, Rachel’s mother was Hispanic. She had been born in Mexico, and happily acknowledged that she had as much family living on the American side of the border as on the Mexican side. She spoke Spanish and she’d taught Rachel and her brother to speak Spanish, as well. Her father, a white man, had done nothing to discourage their ethnic tendencies—he even seemed proud of them. As far as the Neumans were concerned, that was nearly worse than the existence of the ethnicity in the first place.
To Arnold and Sophie Neuman, it didn’t matter that Rachel’s parents, Michael and Gloria Shannon, were well-educated, hard-working, caring individuals. In fact, that they had to work was another negative as far as the Neumans were concerned. Gloria was a teacher with a preference for teaching kindergarten. Michael was a veterinarian. Perhaps the Neumans would have been sufficiently impressed had he been a doctor who treated humans, rather than animals. But he wasn’t, so it was a moot point.
As for their opinion of Rachel, nothing could win her an objective audience with them. Not her natural beauty. Not her quiet intelligence. Not her zest for life. Not her gentle competence, her genuine compassion or inner strength—the very qualities sustaining her as a single mother and as head pediatric nurse.
They held inflexible ideas about her correct place in society and it wasn’t as Lucas’s wife. She was suitable mistress material.
Alana, as Lucas’s wife, would have understood a mistress. She’d been raised to understand that.
According to the Neumans, as a minority, Rachel should have been appreciative of such a desirable position. The Neumans had tried very hard to instruct Rachel on her “proper place.” Rachel had rejected their reasoning, had found their demands unacceptable. Yet she had felt pressure to somehow get along with them. They were her in-laws after all.
Lucas had never understood why Rachel didn’t want to be around his parents. He’d been confident that if she’d spend time with them, she’d come to like them. She just needed to give them a chance. If she would do that, he had said, his parents would come around and like her, too. Lucas did not understand prejudice, having never been on the receiving end of it. Rachel had been incapable of making him understand, had eventually quit trying.
Eventually Rachel had quietly tried to avoid Lucas’s parents more and more, whenever possible. To manage this, she had begun to withdraw from the social life she shared with Lucas. She had hoped to nourish their private life. Except that their private life, their relationship, had begun to disintegrate slowly, bit by bit.
“Well, I’m not withdrawing now,” she stated, clattering her spoon into her now-empty soup mug. “This isn’t about me, about whether or not I’m comfortable. This is about Michaela. And if that makes Lucas uncomfortable, well, that will make two of us. It’s about time.”
Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. Answering its summons, Rachel found herself confronted by the dazzling smile and click of beaded braids that accompanied Tanisha Davis everywhere she went.
“Hey, there,” Tanisha said in greeting.
“Hey,” Rachel answered. “What brings you here?”
“Are you kidding?” Tanisha’s eyebrows descended in mock disapproval as she breezed into Rachel’s home. “I’ve been in this house lately, more than you I might add, and I know what the food supply looks like.” Holding up a grocery bag that Rachel hadn’t noticed, Tanisha continued, “I’ve brought tostada stuff. It’s quick and it will be better than anything lurking in this house. And you a nurse.” Tanisha tsk-tsked at Rachel. “You should know better. When food starts to come back to life, when it can move all by itself—you really shouldn’t be eating it. It’s a basic rule.”
Rachel laughed and followed her friend into the kitchen, acknowledging that Tanisha spoke the truth. Or very nearly the truth, anyway.
Within minutes, busily filled with chopping vegetables and warming refried beans, the table was spread. Rachel couldn’t help noticing how much more appetizing this meal was than her tomato soup had been. Not to mention that being with Tanisha always relaxed Rachel, since she knew she could drop her guard and be herself.
Of course, Rachel thought, smiling to herself, the person who can fool Tanisha has not been born, so there’s really no point in trying to be anything less than open with her.
“Why are you home today?” Rachel asked, conversation rolling naturally and comfortably between them.
“Oh, well, it’s my weekend, you know,” Tanisha answered.
Tanisha, in order to avoid working off-shifts, had elected to take a schedule with rotating weekends. Therefore, rather than a Saturday-Sunday weekend, she sometimes had other combinations. In this case, it looked like Tuesday-Wednesday.
“And Vanessa is with Wayne?”
“Yeah,” Tanisha agreed, nodding her head, her beads rustling in her hair. “I have to admit, once we worked it out, he’s pretty sympathetic about the weekend time. He has alternating shifts, too, so we try to give Vanessa time with each of us on our weekends, but we try to give each other a free weekend now and then. We’ve been able to reduce day-care time for Vanessa, which is great. Not that it was easy to get it worked out.” Tanisha was shaking her head vehemently now, lending emphasis to her words, the beads increasing
