MY FATE FOR YOURS

Chapter 10- RACHEL

Rachel

I love Arnaud’s house, I really do—well, as much as you can love an ostentatious home that isn’t yours. I just hate taking care of it. The place hasn’t been used since his mom, Beth, was here last, and that was more than five years ago. Or right about five years, since I think she left her husband back in the city and was using the place.

The pale yellow siding is perfect because we had it painted last year. There’s a bank account Mom uses that isn’t exactly ours, and Mom won’t give details, but I do know we don’t have to come up with the money to keep it fixed up. The wrap around porch has the same furniture it always does. I dusted it off good back in January, and I’m not about to start that process again. I sneezed about a thousand times while smacking the dust out of the outdoor pillows.

The shutters are classic white, and the lace curtains hang in the windows. They’re probably the only thing I’d change in the farmhouse style home. Even the shutters are perfect.

I step inside and the orange candles Mom burned last time we were here still have a lingering scent. I kick off my shoes wondering again how this place could just be left empty. Void of people to enjoy it. Parquet wood floors and a kitchen that would make a chef drool.

Someday, this family will decide to come home and they’ll have an immaculate place just sitting here, waiting for them. Maybe when I get home I’ll go through Mom’s paperwork again and try to find an address or something. This guy seriously needs a talking to. Or a bloody nose to match Tobin’s. Just as frustration begins to boil over, I walk through the nearly empty living room onto the back porch and sit on the swing.

One of the gutters is hanging down where it shouldn’t, so I’ll need to find some handyman who can fix it. Hopefully it’s a fix and not a replacement. Just another thing on my to-do list.

I have a million places to be and a million more things to think about, but instead I close my eyes in the hot evening breeze and pretend this place is mine.

***

“Mama, are you sure?” I ask for the millionth time. It’s one thing to crash at Carl’s for a night when I know our neighbor or her nurse will help her into bed. It’s an entirely different thing to leave for three days on purpose.

“Rachella,” Mom says quietly. “Come sit.”

I let out a short sigh because she only uses my full name when she’s really serious about something. “What’s up, Mama?”

“You need this break more than anyone I know. Enjoy it. Love it. Okay?” She takes my face in her hands and kisses my cheek. “Don’t let me feel guilty that you didn’t take this chance because of your old Mama.”

I nod before pulling in a breath and standing. “Call if you need anything, okay?”

“Promise, baby girl. Go have fun.” Mom gives me one last wave as I step out of the house, my bag slung over my shoulder and my enormous first aid kit in my hand. One thing I’ve learned from hanging with Traive and Eamon is that the first aid kid needs to be a practical doctor’s office.

***

I’m not sure what makes me do it, but I park my decrepit little Honda in front of Delia Gentry’s mansion. She’d snort if I called it a mansion in front of her—she always tried to be humble and fit in with the rest of us, even if she wasn’t much like us at all, but there’s no other word for all the homes on this street.

Her lawn is perfectly manicured. The hedges trimmed, the flower beds weeded. All of this even though they haven’t been back since her dad was offered a Senate seat when our then current state senator stepped down. No one was surprised when he took it, but I am a little surprised she hasn’t come back at all. Not even once.

Delia and I have hung out more times that I can count, but that doesn’t mean I know her well. She ran with our group once she and Tobin hooked up, and I’d consider her a friend, but I don’t have much in common with her. I don’t know Tobin the way I should for being so close to his brother. We all hang out, but I have Traive and Leslie and Kelly… I’m not sure why it’s different. I do wish I knew why Tobin is so devoted. Devoted almost to the point of insanity, and Eamon can’t last more than a few dates. What’s different? Same great parents. Same worn house filled with good cooking and great parents. But Eamon is his own special brand of crazy-- doing stunts Tobin would never try, but Tobin’s willing to put his heart out there in a way his brother can’t imagine doing.

It’s stupid to be here because I’m really looking for answers about Eamon from Tobin and Delia that I don’t know how to get. Sitting in front of her house definitely won’t do it.

And it hits me as I drive away—Delia’s family are those kind of people, too. People like Arnaud. People that live in worlds of such excess, that they have an entire extra house, being kept by someone else, waiting for their return. Who knew the problem would be so rampant in a place as small as Crawford. I hate that I think so much about money. I hate that the lack of it is ruling my thoughts lately. I’ve got to try to relax and enjoy this weekend, with the people that I wouldn’t trade for any amount of money.