Rachel From the Edge

Rachel From the Edge Pt. 05

by G. Lawrence

Pamela confronts her ex-husband's slave girl

The Benson family's business interests were threatened when billionaire Danny Benson scandalously died in coitus with his tied-up girlfriend. Ex-wife Pamela Benson, angry and resentful, has been persecuting the young woman in the press, who nearly died of pneumonia. Now a new strategy has become necessary. By the way, a lot of Rachel From the Edge revolves around a wealthy family, their finances, relations with the media, and Rachel's cutting-edge inventions. Readers with no interests in these subjects may wish to search elsewhere. All characters are over 18 years old.

* * * * * *

Chapter Five

CHOCOLATE CUPCAKES

"Sweetie, are you awake?" Rory said, creeping into the darkened bedroom. "I have soup."

"Thank you, I'm not hungry," Rachel whispered, curled up on the far side of the bed.

"I can make you eat," Rory said, turning on the bedside lamp.

Rachel sat up, scooting against the headboard. She had gotten some sleep, but not a lot. She always seemed scared when someone entered the room.

"You can eat more. I know you can," Rory said, feeding her by hand. "Dr. Bellows says you're getting better."

Rachel looked up in surprise. And disappointment. Rory noticed.

"Why wouldn't you want to get better? Oh, wait. Wait a goddamn minute! Are you kidding me? If you die, your mother gets your life insurance? Is that what this is all about?"

Rachel closed her eyes. When she looked down, her long dark brown hair covered her face. Rory thought she might start crying again.

"Honey, your mother is doing fine, and you're improving. You better come up with another plan. As Grandpa Marbury used to say, that dog won't hunt."

"Your mother showed up at such a bad time. If it wasn't for that stupid will, no one would have thought twice about me."

"You can't mean that?"

"Your father is the only one who ever cared for me, and I killed him."

Rory leaned back in shock.

"That's crazy. Is this because of what those bloggers wrote?"

"They weren't the only ones."

"I don't care what any of those fuckers say. You did not kill my father. He was only sixty-two. A vigorous man accustomed to getting whatever he wanted."

Rory was tempted to say that her father had taken advantage of her, but quickly backed off. Rachel's love for Daniel was the only thing keeping her afloat.

"I have something for you," Rory said, producing a small black jewelry box.

Rachel hesitantly took it, struggling to open the lid. Her fingers were too weak. Rory helped. It was the antique engagement ring recovered from her mother.

"This isn't mine. It should be yours," Rachel said, trying to give it back. Rory wiped the tears running down Rachel's face.

"It was found in your house. Dad was going to give it to you."

"It's not my house. Or my money. I'm not stealing from Daniel's children!"

Rachel wasn't just crying now, she was sobbing, making it hard to breathe. She started coughing again. Rory noticed Rachel's hands wrapped tightly around the jewelry box, her fingers turning red.

"Take it easy, honey. Slow, steady breaths," Rory said, holding her shoulders. After a few minutes, Rachel finally calmed down.

"May I put it on?" Rachel asked. "I promise not to let anyone see me wear it."

Rory took the ring out of the box, a platinum band with a simple yet elegant diamond setting. Rachel's hands were shaking so badly Rory had to put the ring on for her.

"If I had accepted him, that first time, would he still be alive?" Rachel asked.

"God made his heart stop. Nothing you could have done would change that."

"The doctor said he was okay."

"What? When?"

"Two months ago. I got worried. Daniel went to the doctor and had a letter saying everything was good."

"The doctor gave him a letter? To show you?"

"Yes. It's on his desk at Canby Place."

"Do you mind if I visit Canby Place? Take a look around?"

"It's your house," Rachel said.

"I have something to tell you. About something bad I did. I hope you'll forgive me."

"I'll forgive you anything, Ro. I'd be dead if not for you."

"While you were sick, I sort of snooped on your private stuff."

"I know you saw some pictures, but I don't know how. They were destroyed."

"Yeah, about that. It wasn't just a few photos. Your box with the videos never made it to the incinerator."

Rachel needed a moment to think, and then caught her breath. "Oh my God," she whispered. "You saw ...? Saw ...?"

"Way too much, to tell you the truth. Along with your bank accounts, letters, college papers. I haven't read your diary yet."

Rachel was quiet. Rory couldn't tell what she was thinking, and feared confessing had been a mistake. Rachel stopped crying.

"Are you going to put the videos on the internet?" Rachel asked.

"What? Hell no! Who do you think I am?"

Rachel smiled.

"You're teasing me, aren't you? You made a joke?"

"Yes," Rachel admitted, dipping her head.

Rory thought it was too bad Rachel was so ill. And not gay. She could easily fall in love with her if things were different.

"Then you aren't mad?" Rory asked.

"I may be uncomfortable, but I won't question anything you do."

"I showed Mom the burglar video. The part where you told Dad you loved him, not the last part. She needed to see it. To know how it really was between you. I think she wants to apologize."

"She doesn't need to apologize. She didn't say anything I wasn't already thinking."

"Mom was wrong. And you're wrong. When my brother gets here, we're going to work this out. You'll like Johnny. He's a good man, and a good lawyer."

"Yes, I know," Rachel said.

"You know Johnny?"

"I haven't met him, but Daniel talked about him all the time. John, and you, and William. He talked about the good grades you got in school. Well, the good grades John got. He was interested in the jobs you were getting. People you were dating. He was very proud of you becoming a nurse."

"It never occurred to me that you guys talked about that stuff."

"He loved you all so much."

"That part in the video, about you not marrying him because of the kids. What was that all about?"

"Oh, that wasn't anything."

"I think it was. Were you afraid marrying Dad would cause problems with his children?"

"Wouldn't it? You and I are almost the same age. John is four years older. What would you think about your father marrying his sex slave?"

"Were you his sex slave?"

"No, it wasn't like that. But now everyone thinks it was."

"Maybe you shouldn't worry so much about what other people think. When I came out, Mom didn't like it. Sometimes you just need to be yourself."

"I don't even know who that is. I'm not sure I ever did. My whole life, I've just been blown from one storm to the next."

"You'll find your way. Just hang in there."

"I'll eat a little more soup, if that's okay?"

Rory smiled and jumped up, rushing to the kitchen. It was the first time Rachel had asked her for food. The first time she'd asked her for anything.

* * * * * *

"Good, you're finally out of bed on your own," Rory said, looking up from the musty old living room couch. She was surrounded by textbooks and her laptop. Her open suitcase and bedding were stacked against the wall.

"I need to stretch my legs," Rachel said, slowly walking into the kitchen. "I'm making tea. Do you want anything?"

"I can do that," Rory said, starting to get up.

"It's better if I do."

Rachel made two cups of Earl Grey and returned to the living room, sitting on the floor at Rory's feet. She offered a slice of black sourdough bread she'd baked herself, adding small bits of peppered butter. Rory was surprised how good it tasted.

"You have a lot of studying to catch up on," Rachel observed.

"Can't become a registered nurse without studying."

"Do you need the money?"

"No, honey. I have more money than God. I just want to be a good nurse."

"Will you have a specialty?"

"I considered trauma care, but there's too much blood. Recent experience leads me to think I'd be better at children's medicine."

"I'm sorry to be so much trouble. But you can go back to your classes now. I'll be okay."

"Think I'll stick around a while longer."

"You don't need to."

"You're not ready to fly alone yet. Another few days, maybe."

Rachel sighed, wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, and laid her head against the couch, pawing at the books lying on the floor.

"Where do you live, when you're not camping in my apartment?"

"I share a suite with two girls in North University Park. Sort of a small penthouse. We take several of the same classes."

"That must be fun. Do you go out a lot?"

"We don't party as much as we did. Our schedules are busy these days between school and training shifts at the medical center."

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Not at the moment. Did you live in the dorms at Harvard?"

"No, I was too weird for roommates. I supplemented my scholarship by cooking part-time at a bistro in Little Italy. It allowed me to rent a loft overlooking Copp's Hill. It was nice."

"Too weird?"

"I'm not good at making friends. But I bet you have hundreds."

"Don't mind saying, I'm quite popular. I got around during my party girl days. Which you probably know if you read the blogs."

"I tend to mind my own business," Rachel softly answered.

Rachel picked up a textbook, leafing through the pages while pausing for the diagrams. She put it down a few minutes later.

"Not much here on genetic modification," she said.

"Hospitals usually address more immediate needs. Have you studied medicine?"

"Only a little," Rachel said, picking up another book.

"Are you able to remember any of that?"

"Any of what?"

"Those textbooks."

"Most of it. Context and application take a little longer."

"Do you have an eidetic memory?"

"It works a little different than that, but it's essentially the same thing."

Rory picked up the book Rachel had flipped through. "What's in chapter four?" she asked.

"What page?" Rachel replied. Rory flipped the pages.

"Page 125."

"Properly applying an IV for blood transfusions," Rachel answered. "The drawing isn't to scale."

"That's right," Rory said, closing the book. "You're a genius, aren't you? That's what your professors at Harvard were saying in that box I found."

Rachel lowered her head, the hair nearly covering her face as she read a pamphlet on women's health. Rory realized she wasn't going to answer the question.

"Rach, there's nothing wrong with a woman being smart. Even if it does make some men uncomfortable."

"Proverbs 11:2."

"Not up on that one."

"When pride comes, then comes disgrace. With humility comes wisdom."

"You don't seem to have any trouble being humble."

"I'm introverted. It's not the same."

"Sometimes you don't seem so introverted."

"Your father worked very hard with me. He encouraged me to speak up. To not be afraid all the time. He said I could do good things if I was willing to engage more. I miss him so much."

Rachel turned away, tears suddenly running down her face. Her shoulders were shaking. Rory set the laptop aside and sat down next to her, offering a hug.

"Where's your ring, honey?" Rory asked, going through Rachel's robe pocket. It was easy to find.

"I miss him, too," Rory said, slipping the ring on Rachel's finger. "You go ahead and cry. Get it out."

Rachel did cry, but quietly, and only for a few minutes. There were no tissues in the living room, so she dried her eyes with her pajama sleeve.

"You have studying to do. I'll go back to bed," Rachel said, trying to get up. Her legs were weak. She had to pull herself up on the couch.

"If you're not too tired, would you help with my homework?"

"Really? You'd let me help?"

"I would appreciate it," Rory encouraged.

Rory was surprised, and delighted, by Rachel's sudden smile. It was so grateful. Genuine. She knew Rachel could be secretive, but there was nothing insincere about her.

"I'll make more tea," Rachel offered.

* * * * * *

"I am so nervous," Rachel said, sitting in a wheelchair wrapped in blankets. The late September day was cool with a brisk wind coming up from the ocean.

"Bad memories?" Rory asked, pushing her toward the house. Rachel heard birds chirping in the trees and noticed squirrels getting ready for winter. The rose gardens surrounding the parking circle were recently trimmed.

"No, no bad memories. I just don't know if I should be here."

"We've been through all this. If Canby Place isn't yours, then it's part mine, so we have a right to be here. And I'm tired of sleeping on your lumpy old couch and peeing in your tiny bathroom. Now I can have my own bedroom and my own bathroom."

"I'm sorry to be so difficult," Rachel said.

Rory spun the wheelchair around, kneeling to look her in the eyes.

"Sorry? You want sorry? Like every other thoughtless puke in America, I bought into that slave girl bullshit. I let my mother run roughshod over you. You almost died. And the whole time, you're just this sweet little thing crying your heart out for my father. That's what I feel sorry about. Can you match that?"

Rachel tucked in her chin, covering her face with a blanket.

"Okay, don't start crying. I know you're grateful. Sometimes all you have to do is say thank you."

"Thank you," Rachel softly replied. Then she looked up with big, misty eyes, getting Rory's full attention. "Thank you."

"That's more like it," Rory said.

"Would it be okay if I walk in?" Rachel asked.

"Think you can walk that far?"

"The last time I was here, they rolled me out on a gurney. I'd rather walk."

Rory helped Rachel from the chair. A squat, silver-haired matron came out to help.

"You remember Dad's housekeeper don't you? Mrs. Hemmings?"

"Of course, though I wasn't here during the week very often," Rachel explained.

"Mostly weekends. Which is why Mr. Benson didn't have me working weekends," Martha said, her gravelly voice marked by a Southern accent. "He wanted you all to himself. His great love."

"Love?" Rachel said.

"I worked for Mr. Benson for fifteen years, and he was never happier than those last two," Martha said. "He'd run around the house like a little boy. Rachel this and Rachel that. Talking about some new breakthrough you'd done at work. Saying how beautiful you are. And you are, though we've got to get the meat back on your bones."

"I have to start attending classes again," Rory said. "Martha and I will be sharing nursing duties until you're better."

"I'm okay," Rachel said, walking slowly while Rory and Martha held her elbows. Her knees were weak. Martha gripped harder to prevent Rachel from falling.

"I see you still have a sense of humor," Martha mocked.

They passed through the sunlit atrium decorated with ancient Greek statues, most of them nymphs, and entered the foyer through heavy oak doors. Before them was the sunken living room, three times the size of Rachel's entire apartment, with long ochre couches and a giant tree-stump coffee table. Rachel remembered laying on the floor near the fireplace watching Pride & Prejudice on the big screen TV. Daniel had spanked her for saying the lines before the actors did. She had cooked in the sumptuous kitchen dozens of times. Mostly breakfast.

They went down the hall to the right, passing five spacious guest rooms, each with its own bath. They saw a marble spa with a Roman tub. A billiard room, exercise room, and a library filled with sports souvenirs. There weren't many books. The maid's quarters appeared off a narrow hall on the left, the butler's quarters down a hall to the right. They paused before Daniel's luxurious bedroom at the end of the corridor, with its king-size bed, mahogany furniture, and grand windows.

"No, not here. My room is over there," Rachel said, pointing to the right.

"Sweetie, what are you talking about?" Rory asked.

"I didn't sleep in Daniel's room when I visited. I had my own room."

Rachel turned down a long hall and entered the butler's quarters. Not a large room, but plenty of storage space. Rory noticed several dresses hanging in the closet. They looked like Rachel's size.

"Dad wouldn't let you sleep with him?" Rory asked.

"Miss Benson, is that really any of our affair?" Martha said.

Rory thought it was. She looked at Rachel.

"Sometimes I thrash around," Rachel explained.

She crawled on the bed, groaning with relief. Martha wasted no time getting her into pajamas and under a quilt.

"Darling, you need anything, just push that button," Martha said, pointing to the intercom. "Let's give the little lady some rest."

Rory paused before leaving, quietly watching from the door. Rachel was lying with her back turned, as she always did. Once Rachel thought everyone was gone, she drew the small jewelry box from her robe pocket, took out the engagement ring, and gently put it on her finger, pressing it close to her face. A minute later, she was asleep.

"Spying on the child?" Martha whispered.

"Just making sure she's okay," Rory replied.

They went back to the foyer and up a ramp to the north wing of the house. The kitchen was large enough for several cooks to work at the same time, the racks filled with shining pots and pans. The stainless-steel stove, ovens and refrigerators sparkled like new. The long counters were made of polished Baltic granite, the floor laid with Moso bamboo. Rory found a tall stool at the counter while Martha made coffee.

"What do you really know about her?" Rory asked.

"Miss Montgomery? I know more than anyone thinks. More than she knows I know. But I would never say anything to embarrass her. What do you know?"

"Everything a computer and a video can tell me. Which is a lot. But she's always so afraid to talk. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. I'm beginning to love Rachel like the damaged little sister I never had."

"She'll get better. At least, as better as she was."

"What does that mean? What was wrong with her before?"

"Well, you know. Like what they said about her at Harvard."

"That story about her being expelled from Harvard is bullshit! The Lupe Manners Network invented that lie to--"

"Hell no, honey, nothing like that. I thought you knew."

"Okay, this is getting cryptic. What's the deal?"

"Rachel is one of these ... strange, gifted types. Your father said she's like Mozart, or Clara Schumann, or even Einstein. She thinks about math all the time. She mumbles equations in her sleep."

"Rach said something about numbers never leaving her alone."

"It's more than that. Your father said she'd stop in the middle of something and start thinking about formulas, shutting everyone out. She can be rude when she's interrupted. These things going on in her head make it hard for her to communicate."

"That would explain a lot. She's a savant."

"No, dear, there was never any of that master-servant nonsense going on around here."

"No, not servant. Savant. It means--"

Martha lowered her wire-frame eyeglasses, smiling.

"Okay, you got me," Rory said.

"Miss Benson, you don't work in my profession for thirty years without learning a lot about people. Every aspect of them. Rachel is a great kid, she just needs to get out of her own way."

"That might be good advice for all of us. Are you coming to the funeral?"

"I'd like to, but someone needs to watch Rachel."

"Rachel can come, too."

"And be the center of a media circus? I don't think so," Martha warned.

"I hadn't thought about that. You're right, it would be bad."

"We'll be fine here. If they broadcast it, I'll keep her away from the television."

"Johnny is flying in this afternoon. He wants to meet Rachel, and maybe stay for dinner. We might be seeing my Mom this evening."

"I can whip something up. Ravioli. Arroz con pollo."