“I’ve been sick,” she croaked. “But I’m getting better.” Her body, intent on acting the traitor through the whole scene, was suddenly overcome by a convulsive shiver. Since she now wore both jackets over her shoulders like capes, she reached to clutch them closer.

  Lee smirked.

  “Lee.”

  “What?”

  “Leeeeeeeee,” She waited for him to look at her again. When he did, she smiled. “I’m glad you came back.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “I’m not back.”

  A loud voice spoke from directly behind Rachel. She squawked and practically jumped out of her skin.

  Alice stepped from the shadows where she’d been lurking, waiting for her cue to go onstage. “Oh, no,” Alice said in her Agatha Turnweed voice as she stepped into the lights, “‘Tis no time for that now!”

  Rachel pulled her jackets closer and lifted her chin. She turned on her heel and stomped away from Lee, determined to act like a professional.

  Just how long Alice had been lurking backstage and precisely what she’d overheard worried Rachel. At least Alice was a new student, and therefore presumably less invested in analyzing Rachel’s interactions with Lee. Thank goodness it was Alice who’d overheard them instead of Jessica Potts or Shayla or—heaven forbid—Chris.

  Rachel re-appropriated her playbook from Sharon and resumed oversight of the play, although her heart really wasn’t in it. She kept one eye on the kids and one eye on Lee.

  He spent only twenty minutes conferring with the set crew. On his way out, he walked past Rachel and Sharon. Although he kept his eyes on the back of the darkened auditorium, he paused next to her and whispered, “Are you ready?”

  “Ready for what?” Rachel asked without looking up from her script.

  But Sharon stood, blinking and adjusting her clothes with twitchy fingers.

  Lee shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking.

  “See you later, Miss Cooper,” Sharon whispered, pausing to lean down and smile directly into Rachel’s face. She gave Rachel a covert thumbs-up. “Feel better!”

  Her heels clicked cheerily against the floor as she followed Lee up the aisle.

  12

  Rachel braced one elbow against Lynn’s countertop and propped her head against her fist. “So I guess Lee and Sharon are dating now.”

  “Rachel, go home. You should be in bed.”

  “I don’t want to go home.” Rachel pulled the double-jackets tighter. “It’s quieter here.”

  Lynn raised her eyebrows over the sound of Ethan playing a video game in the next room, yelling at his character to “jump higher!”

  “You don’t know my neighbors,” Rachel said darkly. “If it’s not the music, it’s the shouting. If it’s not the shouting, it’s the flushing toilets. If it’s not all of that, it’s the spiders.” She placed her forehead directly against the countertop, reveling in the coolness against her flushed face. “Why is my life like this?”

  “You could move,” Lynn observed.

  “I’m never moving again.”

  Lynn tsked. “Why don’t you sleep here tonight? I could make you a nice bed on the sofa, and you can have dinner with us. I’ll make Ethan go to bed early so you can get some sleep.”

  “What would I wear to work tomorrow?” Rachel spoke into the countertop, her voice plaintive.

  “What you’re wearing now. You can wear some of my pajamas and I’ll wash it while you’re asleep.”

  “I have to go to the gym in the morning. We have an early workout.”

  “Text Ann and Donovan that you’re going to skip.”

  “I shouldn’t skip. I’ve missed so many workouts since I’ve been back that Coach Donovan is ready to fire me.”

  “Rachel, you’re sick.”

  “I’m better.”

  “You don’t look it.”

  There followed a long pause. “What are you having for dinner?” Rachel finally asked.

  “What do you want?”

  Another long pause. “Soup.”

  “Then we’re having soup.”

  ~*~

  Rachel enjoyed the longest and deepest sleep she’d had since school started. In the morning, she sat alongside Ethan at the kitchen counter, enjoying a hot bowl of oatmeal. Snug in Lynn’s second-hand pajamas and fuzzy bathrobe, she felt warm and refreshed.

  “Living alone stinks,” she told Ethan.

  “But you get to watch all the TV you want.” He knocked his feet rhythmically against the rungs of the bar stool.

  “I don’t really watch TV.”

  Ethan’s mouth fell open, displaying gobbets of half-mashed oatmeal. “Why not?”

  Rachel shrugged. “I’m never home to watch it. I get up early and go to the gym before work, and I’m at work late because of play practice. And then your mom has me running with her a few nights a week. There’s just no time. And even when I am home, I read a book or something.” She took a swallow of coffee. “But sometimes I watch the news. Or a BBC miniseries, or a History Channel documentary. It’s not like I don’t watch anything,” she assured him. “I’m not a complete savage.”

  Ethan laughed, dribbling oatmeal.

  She handed him a napkin. “Wipe your chin.”

  He set down the napkin and wiped his chin on the sleeve of his shirt. “Are you going to live with us now?”

  “How would you feel about that?”

  “Well,” he considered, swilling milk, “it wouldn’t be too bad. You wouldn’t hog the TV.”

  “Here’s to that.” Rachel raised her coffee mug.

  Lynn walked into the kitchen, flapping out Rachel’s freshly-dried work clothes. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Like a baby. You?”

  “Meh,” Lynn made a so-so gesture with her hand. Over Ethan’s head, she mouthed the words hot flashes. She then cleared her throat and clapped her hands. “Hurry up, you two. You’re going to be late.”

  “Yes, Mom,” they chorused in unison.

  ~*~

  “You look better,” Chris told Rachel as he strolled into the classroom and flopped into his seat.

  “I feel better.”

  “Good, because yesterday I learned practically nothing.”

  “That’s not entirely my fault.”

  Chris laughed. He wrapped his hands around the front of the desk and leaned forward in his chair, rocking it up on two legs. “I am excited about what we’re talking about today. I have a lot to say.”

  Shayla flicked his ear as she sashayed to her seat. “When do you not have a lot to say?” she sniffed.

  Chris looked as if he were strangling on an inappropriate comeback.

  “Shayla,” Rachel said in her most Miss Cooperish tone, “please keep your hands to yourself.”

  Just as the bell rang, Alice and Jessica Potts entered the classroom together.

  Since Rachel assumed they would rather eat road kill than spend voluntary time in one another’s company, she assumed their arrival was coincidental. “Good morning, ladies,” she greeted them, pitching her greeting in such a way to warn them of their near-tardiness.

  Jessica flashed her a bright, false smile.

  Alice only nodded, but she made eye contact with Rachel this time. Progress.

  Rachel cleared her throat and addressed the class. “The order of the day is to review what we did yesterday, because I have no idea what I said. Once that’s done, we’ll start Act III of Much Ado.”

  Shayla shot up a hand. “But we didn’t even finish Act II yet!”

  “I told you that I don’t remember what happened yesterday.” Rachel calmly flipped through her plan book. “It says here that I want us to start Act III today, so start Act III we shall. After all, the show must go on.”

  Ryan squinted up at her. “Is that from Shakespeare?”

  “If it’s not,” Rachel said, “I’m sure he would approve of the sentiment.” She took a sip of her Sneaky Coffee and opened her script. “Act II ends with Benedick getting tricked into thinking that Beatrice is in love with him. And we did discuss the last scene, because I remember Chris treating us to his own rendition of Balthasar’s song.”

  “Hey, nonny nonny!” Chris sang in high falsetto.

  Rachel allowed her eyes to flutter closed dramatically. “I was hoping that was the fever talking.”

  “Nope.” Chris smirked. “All natural talent.”

  “It was all very surreal.”

  “You’re welcome.” Chris spread his hands and turned sideways in his seat to address the class. “You’re all very welcome.”

  Groans greeted this, along with entreaties that he never sing anything ever again.

  “But I worked on an alternate melody!” he protested. “Hey, nonny nonny!—”

  “Not this morning,” Rachel interrupted, prompting sighs of relief.

  “Don’t worry.” Chris assured the class with a wink, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m sure there’ll be another chance to hear me in concert. So…sigh no more, ladies. Sigh no more.”

  At the back of the room, Alice watched with a smile. It was a little smile, one that just curled the edges of her mouth. It was slight, but Rachel noticed.

  What’s more, Rachel was fairly certain that Chris had noticed too. He turned forward, working hard to suppress his own smile—not his usual cocky smirk, but a pleased little grin.

  ~*~

  By the time Rachel had arrived home from play practice, changed her clothes, gobbled some crackers, strapped on her new knee and ankle braces, and whipped her explosion of curls into a messy ball on top of her head, Lynn was already waiting outside.

  “You can do it,” she called as Rachel walked toward her, stiff-legged and sluggish from her long afternoon of sitting in the second row of the auditorium shouting at the drama cast through her car-dismissal megaphone.

  Lynn squinted at the sky. “If we don’t get started now, the sun will go down on us.”

  “I wish it would,” Rachel muttered, joining Lynn in some stretching.

  “What was that?” Lynn asked, and Rachel felt instantly guilty. She was the worst person in the world. Here Lynn was, taking time out of her family life to do something to benefit Rachel, and all she could do was complain. Granted, she never actually asked to participate in this so-called “fun run,” and Alex and Ethan were most likely happy to chow down fast food without Lynn there to worry over their daily protein intake and lecture them about saturated fats.

  “Nothing,” Rachel said, attempting to bend in half to stretch her calf muscles.

  “Try to put your face right between your knees,” Lynn advised her.

  “OK.” Not likely.

  Lynn straightened and breathed deeply. “Let’s go.” She broke into a light jog, Rachel chugging along beside her. “How’s the right leg?”

  “Better than my digestive system,” Rachel puffed, winded after only a few steps. “I don’t think I’ve had normal functions since last week.”

  Keeping her speed steady, Lynn twisted sideways to peer at Rachel. “Are you sure you should be bouncing around like this?”

  “All’s been quiet on the digestive front since early this morning, and I’ve only eaten crackers and broth today.” Rachel shrugged. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

  “Rachel, that’s not good—”

  “Believe me, I know—”

  “You need proteins, nutrients—”

  “—fatty acids and enzymes and stuff. I know.”

  Lynn slowed their pace. “You probably shouldn’t be running.”

  “Do I get to call this running now?” Rachel huffed with hope in her voice.

  “Well, jogging.” Lynn slowed to a walk, but Rachel grabbed her arm and pulled, still shuffling along. “If I’m going to do this,” she said, “I’m going to do it.”

  “Rachel…”

  “No,” Rachel said. “You don’t get it. I’ve been failing at everything lately. I may not like this, but I need to do it.” Her stomach gurgled ominously.

  Lynn heard it. Her gaze snapped to Rachel’s in alarm. “Except perhaps we’d better start running that way,” Lynn said, turning them around and gesturing back toward Rachel’s.

  “Best idea I’ve heard yet,” Rachel panted, “except I’m afraid of what will happen if I run too hard.”

  “So slow down!”

  “I’m also afraid of what will happen if I slow down.” Rachel’s voice had taken on a panicked tone that would have been amusing had they not both been so worried about what might happen next.

  In the end, disaster was averted, but just barely. Lynn decreed no more training until Rachel was fully recovered, forbidding her from running until next week at the earliest.

  “That means two weeks off, back-to-back,” Rachel called from behind the bathroom door, where she remained ensconced in sheer relief.

  “Better to start fresh after a break than wear yourself out before you’ve even had a chance to make any progress,” Lynn called back.

  The upstairs neighbor’s music kicked on.

  “What is that racket?” Lynn’s voice came drifting through the bathroom door.

  “That’s my neighbor’s version of a lullaby.”

  ~*~

  The next morning, Rachel arrived at work to find an e-mail from Yolanda Martinez lurking in her in-box. At her earliest convenience, she was to stop by Administration. Since the message did not end with an assurance that Rachel wasn’t in trouble, she spent the morning quietly stewing.

  What had she done—or not done? As far as she could remember, she’d committed no unpardonable teaching sins. She’d been arriving on time, prepping for her classes, grading her papers, answering parent e-mails, and keeping the play rehearsals on track. She had all her ducks in a row.

  Perhaps she was being called in for her annual performance evaluation. No, it seemed too early in the year for that. Besides, those were typically administered after official classroom observations. Perhaps, she thought in a flight of fancy, Ms. Martinez was calling her in for a commendation. Given Rachel’s track record so far this year, that didn’t seem likely.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t catch Yolanda in her office during lunch.

  “She’s stepped out for a while,” Yolanda’s assistant, Mrs. Strang, informed Rachel. Her face gave nothing away. “You can always catch her after school, though.”

  “I have drama rehearsal after school.”

  Mrs. Strang made a note. “OK.” She nodded. “No problem. Ms. Martinez will find you.”

  Of that, Rachel had no doubt.

  13

  Mid-way through afternoon rehearsal, as Rachel shouted through the megaphone for poor Todd Perkins to speak up, for goodness’ sake, so that the audience would not have to be left in suspense for the rest of their lives, she noticed a hush blanket the room—a hush that could mean only one thing.

  Yolanda Martinez had entered the building.

  Rachel risked a glance over her shoulder and there she stood, hovering just behind her. Slim and straight in a crisp navy suit, Yolanda gazed over the top of Rachel’s head and smiled benignly at the cast.

  She sat next to Rachel and tucked a sprig of dark hair behind her ear with one slim, dark hand. “By all means, don’t let me interrupt. You’re all doing wonderfully.”

  Onstage, the cast shuffled awkwardly.

  Rachel barked the next line through her megaphone, startling Todd so badly that he hopped sideways and stepped on Shayla’s foot.

  Once the cast had resumed their rhythm, Ms. Martinez leaned forward and spoke to Rachel. “Miss Cooper, I heard you stopped by.”

  “I got your e-mail.” A silence passed, during which Rachel waited for Yolanda to relieve her suffering.

  Meanwhile, things had gone awry onstage. Since Yolanda didn’t seem intent on keeping their conversation flowing freely, Rachel lifted her megaphone to bark at Chris. “Slow down, Sir Rodger! Nobody will understand you when you run your lines together like that!”

  “I understand that you’ve enlisted Lee Martin to help you build the set,” Yolanda commented in Rachel’s ear.

  Rachel coughed in surprise. The megaphone squealed. Onstage, the cast covered their ears and glared at her. “Carry on,” she barked, as if the interruption had been their fault.

  Lee? That’s what Yolanda wanted to talk to her about?

  Well, why not. Everything else in her life was about Lee. Rachel gathered her scrambled wits and turned to peer at Yolanda. “Yes,” she said. “He drew up the plans.”

  “I see,” murmured Yolanda.

  A silence passed.

  Rachel remembered her time in the interrogation room with Detective Smith, back when she thought the Memento Killer might be after her. How he’d responded to her statements in monosyllables, causing her to talk to cover up the long silences, saying all sorts of things that she hadn’t planned to say. Thanks to him, Rachel had already learned her lesson the hard way. She felt determined to volunteer nothing to Yolanda that wasn’t being asked directly. Not that she thought Yolanda was interrogating her.

  Not exactly.

  “I didn’t see Lee Martin’s name on the list of volunteers that you turned in for approval last week,” Yolanda told Rachel.

  Rachel relaxed in her seat, relieved. An oversight on her part. Was that all? “Oh,” she said. “Well, since he’s Lee, and he used to work here, I figured he’d be approved, so I didn’t bother listing him. I mean, he’s had the background checks and everything. I’m assuming. Since he was on staff and everything.”

  “Miss Cooper, I don’t just ask for lists of volunteers to ensure that they’re not a danger to the students and teachers. I also want to ensure that each volunteer is a good fit for the task. That they’ll be more of a help than a hindrance to any project.”

  Rachel felt her eyebrows drawing together. “But he’s Lee,” she said simply.

  Yolanda nodded. “Lee Martin is a wonderful artist and a good designer. I even approved his add-ons to the set, although I think they seem a bit excessive. I trust his judgment.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “May I speak frankly?”

  Did Yolanda Martinez ever speak any other way? “Of course.”

  “It’s not Lee that I don’t trust.”

 

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