Family at Stake. Molly O'Keefe
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on purpose—and her breath caught at the zing that raced along her skin.
Touch me. Touch me. Touch me.
If she opened her mouth, she was sure those words would come pouring out like sand.
“Look what your brother gave me today” Mac dug into his own bag and pulled out a small piece of wood.
Her vision blurred with hot tears.
She wished she could pretend there was no Jesse, no little brother she was being forced to leave behind. Maybe then it wouldn’t feel as if she was drowning all the time.
She picked up the piece of avocado wood that Jesse had whittled into a four-inch-high tree with branches and roots using his twenty-year-old Swiss Army knife.
She ran her thumb along the ridges and the veins in the leaves and felt her heart breaking.
“It’s amazing,” Mac whispered. “I mean, the kid is eleven. What eleven-year-old can do that?”
Rachel shrugged and handed it back to him. “He’s something,” she whispered.
“Rachel—” Mac’s tone was soft and sympathetic, and the hand that cupped her shoulder burned her to the bone. An ugly mix of emotions inside of her—a seething, poisonous combination—tried to leak out.
Don’t ruin this night. It’s my last night. Don’t cry. Don’t, Rachel. She pressed down all the impotent anger and raging sadness and turned a bright smile to her old friend.
“Hey, I brought something.” She remembered what she had pilfered from the back of the fridge. Since she was leaving tomorrow she didn’t need to worry about her father finding out and losing his mind. She rummaged in her backpack. “It’s probably warm by now,” she muttered, and pulled out the bottle of champagne she’d wrapped in towels to keep cool. “Ta-da!”
“Wow, champagne,” Mac nodded. “Awesome. Since we’re not having graduation parties—”
“Who needs crappy cake when you can have lukewarm champagne, huh?” she asked. She knew just how sad this was, which was why they had to joke about it. All of their classmates were having parties with volleyball nets set up in the backyard and coolers of pop and beer. But Rachel’s and Mac’s parents just couldn’t get it together to put a special dinner on the table to celebrate their kids’ achievements.
“Mom always says it’s supposed to be for a special occasion, but the dumb bottle’s been sitting in the back of the fridge forever.” There’s no such thing as a special occasion at my house, she thought, and fumbled with the top of the bottle. “How am I supposed to open this dumb thing?”
“Let me have that,” Mac said, and tore off the foil. He stuck his thumbs under the cork, and his arm, pressed against hers, flexed, the veins that had suddenly appeared in his forearms strained against his skin. Rachel swallowed hard, swamped with new painful feelings.
“How do you know how to do this?” she asked. Maybe he and Margaret had champagne.
“Cary Grant,” he muttered, preoccupied with the bottle.
The cork popped and the spray shot all over their feet. Rachel screamed and jerked her sandals out of the way. Mac took a giant swig, catching most of the foam.
“Perfect,” he said, and wiped his mouth. His eyes were sparkly and filled with fun and they made her drunk enough. She didn’t need champagne. He handed her the bottle and Rachel took it, all too aware that she was pressing the glass that had been on his mouth against her lips.
The champagne fizzed, sweet and cool down her throat. It was perfect.
“So?” He bent his knees and slung his long arms around them. He looked up at the stars and she knew he was searching out the Big Dipper and Cassiopeia. He always looked for those first. Gotta get my bearings, he’d say.
Rachel took another gulp of the fizzy booze.
“Tomorrow, huh?”
“Yeah.” She handed him the bottle.
“I can still give you a ride. San Luis Obispo isn’t that far.”
“Right, like The Jerk is going to give you the car.”
“Screw him,” he muttered, kicking at a rock that shot off the ledge. Rachel heard it clatter to the bottom. He took a long pull from the champagne bottle. She filled her lungs with as much air as possible and promised this would be the last time she tried.
“Come with me,” she said in a rush.
“Rach—”
“You’ve got awesome grades—”
“And zero money.” He rolled his head against the rock. “We’ve talked about this like a dozen times.”
“I’m going early so I can get a job. You can get a job, too. We can bag groceries, or work with a landscaper. You’d like that. Working with the…” She trailed off. She knew begging wasn’t doing any good. She had gotten the scholarship and he hadn’t even applied. Even bagging groceries wouldn’t make enough to cover books.
And Mac wasn’t going to leave his mom, not while she was married to The Jerk.
Rachel nodded and took another swig of the champagne before handing it back to him. What am I going to do without you? she thought, staring up at the sky. The world suddenly loomed too large without Mac beside her. All the spaces inside of her that she thought would be filled with excitement and hope and joy about college were vacant. Empty. All she felt was an anguished longing for her best friend and a sickening wish that things were different.
“It would be stupid to ask you to stay, huh?” he whispered, and her eyes flew to his in surprise. “I mean you—”
“I can’t, Mac,” she breathed, wondering what brought this on. “He kicked me out. He said after I graduated he—”
“He didn’t want to see you,” Mac finished, nodding. “I know.” He drank some more from the bottle. She watched the shifting muscles in his throat as he swallowed. They were about three-quarters through the champagne and he’d had most of it.
Must be why he’s saying such crazy things, she thought. Stay? What would I do?
“We can get married,” he said, and, for a moment, Rachel thought she was dreaming. “That way you could stay.” He looked at her, his blond hair gleaming white in the moonlight. His face was so handsome to her, so full and real and tight with a want that her body answered.
Heady, reckless desire bloomed in her.
“Married?” she breathed, unsure of what she thought or felt past the solid thumping of her heart.
Mac put down the bottle and turned toward her, and Rachel was caught by the expression on his face. That was why she couldn’t stand to meet his eyes these days, because everything he felt about her was right there.
“I…ah…I love you.” He swallowed hard. “I mean, you are my best—”
Rachel didn’t know why she did it. To stop him from saying such things, or to stop herself from answering with promises that she might not be able to keep. She didn’t know but she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his.
She closed her eyes tight and listened to him gasp.
Please, please, please. She didn’t know what she was asking for, but there was some nameless ache in her that had to be met. I need you. I’ve always needed you. What will I do without you?
“Rachel, what are you going to do?” He pulled away from her and the cold air between them felt like a knife against her skin. “I can’t do this if you’re just going to leave….”
“I’ll stay,” she lied, knowing she couldn’t, but she couldn’t let him walk away from her right now.
“Rach—” His