Rachel's Family

The joy I used to feel when I approached Rachel's house had become tempered by a sense of unease.  I still looked forward to her warm, passionate greetings, but the frequent uproars involving her children made me uncomfortable.  I parked my car in the driveway near the front door, rang the doorbell, and waited for a response.

"Hi Scott, what's up?" I asked when he opened the door.

"Not much," he said, making eye contact with me briefly, before looking down at the floor.  His voice was barely audible, but at least he said something.  Once again, I was staring at his mop of brown hair and a cowlick that was never tamed.

"Have you won at Talladega?"  I asked.  His obsession with computer racing car games forced Rachel to lock up his computer at ten p.m.

"A couple of times," he said.    He muttered, "Gotta go," reached for the control knob on his electric wheelchair, and headed for his room. 

Seven words were almost a conversation with him.  After six weeks, I was still more familiar with the back of Scott's head than I was with his face.  Today’s meeting was an improvement from our first few meetings, when the eleven-year-old boy put his head down, quickly turned his wheelchair around, and headed out of the room without saying a word or looking at me.  When this happened, I asked Rachel if I had done something wrong.  She told me it wasn't anything I'd done, but that Scott was self-conscious about being in a wheelchair.

"Back for more?" asked Rachel as she walked up to me. Her shoulder length auburn hair framed a face dominated by expressive green eyes.

"More of you is what I want," I said.

Rachel wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me passionately.  She ran her fingers up my back while she pressed her body against mine.  I became aroused and once again experienced the sexual brain fog Rachel induced in me.  It was a wonderful narcotic, but I wasn't sure if it was the best basis for a relationship.

"I managed to exchange more than a few words with Scott," I said when I came up for air.  "I think I'm making some progress with him."

"You are, but it will be some time before he'll be comfortable with you," she said.

"I plan to be around for awhile, so maybe we'll become friends." 

"Thank you," she said. 

We were still hugging, when Susan, Rachel's seventeen-year-old daughter, burst through the front door and walked swiftly to within a few feet of us.  It was the only way she entered a room; her high energy level kept her in constant motion.  The bangs of Susan's copper-red hair covered most of her forehead, in what I took to be the fashion in her high school.  When not talking, Susan kept her mouth tightly closed in an effort to hide the braces she detested.  She had lovely blue eyes and a nice nose and would be attractive once the braces were removed.

"Hi Mom, sorry I'm late," Susan said.  "It wasn't my fault.  Mr. Johnson wasn't satisfied with the rehearsal and made us go through the scenes two more times."  She glanced at me with her lips pursed and said, "Oh, hello."  I was the outsider who was competition for her mother's affection. 

Rachel brushed a strand of hair from Susan's forehead and said, "Its okay.  Dinner is in the oven and Scott says he wants to eat at 6:30 p.m.  Steve and I are going out to eat, then to Brennan's Pub to listen to a bluegrass group.  We won't be home until midnight."  Rachel always made sure Susan always knew exactly when and where she was because a portion of her attention was always devoted to Scott.

"I can take care of everything, don't worry, have a good time," Susan said. "Brad may come over later in the evening." 

Rachel glowered at Susan because she thought Brad was encouraging her to smoke marijuana.  "If Brad comes over, there will be no smoking of any kind," Rachel said strongly. 

"Fine," Susan said sarcastically and left the room.  Susan's main tactic was to agree with her mother, and then do whatever she pleased.  Rachel would then counter by taking away some of Susan's privileges in their continuing power struggle.  There were times when the tension between them permeated the air like a fine gray mist obscuring the light.  At other times, they were the best of friends, acting as if they never exchanged a harsh word.

"I need a few minutes to shower and dress." Rachel turned and went to her room.

Earlier, when I parked in Rachel's driveway, I saw several kids and their dads, playing football in the green space across the street.  As usual, I was wearing khakis and cross trainers, so I was dressed to play ball.

I strolled out the front door, crossed the street, and approached the men and boys playing football.  A tall, broad shouldered, man, with Bob stitched on his Hewlett-Packard baseball jacket, came over and introduced himself, and then the other fathers.  One of the dads encouraged his son to throw the football to me.  I caught the ball and noted its smaller size, making it easier for the young boys to grasp.

Several boys waved their arms urging me to throw the ball to them.  I threw a twenty-yard pass to one of the larger boys.  After I played catch for a half-an-hour, my arm was warmed up, and I decided to throw one long pass.  "Bobby, go long," I shouted to one of the older boys pointing to where I wanted him to run.  I brought the ball behind my ear and snapped a throw almost like I did when I was twenty years younger.  The ball rose in a tight spiral and came down in Bobby's outstretched hands almost fifty yards away.

"Did you ever play quarterback?"  a boy asked me.

"A long time ago," I said.  I was still a kid at heart, and I loved to play ball at every opportunity, even if an aching knee limited me to two sets of tennis.

The setting sun reminded me it was time to go back to Rachel's house.  When I walked in the front door no one was around, so I went into the bathroom and washed up.  I was sitting in the foyer reading the newspaper, when I heard Rachel arguing with Scott.  Rachel's voice grew louder as the conversation went on.

When Rachel walked out of Scott's room she was frowning, but tried to smile when she saw me.  She was wearing an attractive matching set of purple slacks and pullover. 

"You look lovely,” I said.

"Thank you."  Rachel blushed; it was difficult for her to accept complements.  "I hope you managed to keep yourself occupied."

"I kept out of trouble." 

"Are you ready to go?" she asked testily.  The stress Rachel experienced in taking care of Scott's many medical and emotional needs stoked a volcano of emotion within her that required periodic ventilations to prevent a major explosion. 

“Yessum."  It was my interpretation of a line I heard in the movie, "Driving Miss Daisy." 

Rachel looked at me sternly, but I stood steadfast under her heated gaze.  Finally she relented and gave me a half smile.  We walked out to my car holding hands.  This signaled a shift for Rachel from a twenty-four -hour a day mother to a forty-three-year-old woman with her lover. 

We sat in companionable silence while we drove across town to the "Good Earth Restaurant," the latest addition to the array of health food restaurants in Centennial.  I thought of our first meeting at Chili's, where I nervously stood inside the entrance when Rachel walked into the restaurant.  She recognized me by my tan leather coat and smiled.  I was struck by her long auburn hair cascading onto her shoulders.  She had a short straight nose and full red lips.  I was drawn to her green eyes that sparkled when she smiled.

After we were seated, we spent several hours sharing the stories of our lives.  My life was not without pain, but the story Rachel told me that night affected me deeply.  Though she admitted that she was not without fault in the conflict with her ex-husband, I was appalled that he left his family at the moment of their greatest need. 

It had started on a Saturday morning when Scott escaped his father's attention and tripped over a rusty metal bar that cut deeply into both of his shins.  The visit to the emergency room, and several stitches in each leg solved the medical crisis; a deep dish of ice cream calmed Scott's emotional state.  Unfortunately, an infection developed in both legs and turned into a rapidly spreading cellulitis.  This time, the emergency room physicians were far less sanguine about Scott's medical condition.

Maximum doses of the latest antibiotics failed to halt the spreading infection.  Emergency surgery to save his legs was successful, but at a loss of sufficient muscle mass that he would never walk again.  Rachel was devastated when she heard this and excoriated her husband for his negligence.  Later, when she calmed down and apologized, he had emotionally withdrawn from her and his children. 

A week later, Rachel awoke to find her husband gone, without a note or any explanation.  Two months passed before he called to tell her he was never coming back.  When Rachel shared this news with her children, Scott said nothing and Susan went to her room and stayed there for three days.  This was the first time Rachel mentioned Susan in her story about Scott's tragedy.  I wondered who cared for Susan while Rachel cared for Scott.

Rachel described the events without any apparent emotion, though her eyes were inwardly focused.  I reached out and held her hand, and she gave me a little smile.  Only then did she allow some tears to come, but she quickly brushed them away.  A bond was established as we sat silently holding hands. 

Rachel's sigh brought me back to the present.  "It's so hard doing it all on my own," she said wistfully.  She stared silently out the window, lost in her thoughts.  I patted her leg.

I hoped eating dinner would help her relax, because she often didn't eat while taking care of her children.  There was a thirty minute wait for a table, and by the time we were seated my blood sugar level was approaching zero.  Fortunately, the service was quick and I devoured my Earth Burger.  The food was good, although the sandwich would have been more appealing without the pieces of sprout sticking out from it.  I could see the tension go out of Rachel's body as she ate her dinner of vegetables and stir fried tofu.

When we got to Brennan’s we sat in a booth and sipped mugs of Sam Adams while we waited for the band to start playing.  Rachel started the entertainment a bit early by kissing me on the neck and putting her hand on my thigh. 

"If you keep that up I'm going to have an accident," I said.

"Is this any better?"  Rachel put her hand on my stomach which she caressed lightly.

"Yes, as long as it doesn't travel any lower," I said and kissed her.

"I thought by now I would've had you better trained.  Obviously you need more work."

The band had just arrived, when Rachel's cell phone rang.  She took it out of her purse and said, "Hello. Oh no!  We'll be back as soon as we can."  She put her cell phone away and turned to me; her clenched jaw and reddened face evidence of her extreme anger.  "That was Eloise, a friend of Susan's.  After we left, Susan invited Eloise over and waited until Scott was asleep.  Susan asked Eloise to watch Scott, and she went to a party with some friends of Brad.  Susan called Eloise from the police station because she was arrested for possession of marijuana." 

"Why didn't she call you?"  The circuitous behavior among Rachel, Scott, and Susan never ceased to amaze me. 

"She alerted Eloise in case Scott woke up and wanted her to get him something.  I need you to help get Susan out of jail,” she said urgently. 

"I don't practice criminal law."  As soon as I spoke I regretted my answer.

"I'm very well aware what kind of law you do practice," Rachel said scornfully.  "My daughter is in jail and you're a lawyer who plays golf with the people who can help her."  Though she was still angry, a note of supplication began to emerge.

The type of law I practiced was a source of tension between us.  Rachel wished I sued hospitals for the damages inflicted on people, rather than defending hospitals from lawsuits brought against them.  "If she was caught with more than an ounce of marijuana she is in serious trouble; there's little I can do other than help you bail her out."

"I don't know any of the details," Rachel said in a rising tone evidencing her distress. 

"Okay," I said.  "Let's find out what the circumstances are and see what we can do."  Despite my best intentions, I was no longer just an observer in the evening’s entertainment.

                                                 ***

After we are arrived at the police station, it took fifteen minutes before I could get the attention of the booking sergeant and introduce myself.  "Are you the girl’s father?" he asked.  Sergeant Jackson, a thickset man in his mid-forties, scowled; his attitude about teenage girls and drugs evident.

"I'm her lawyer, not her father.  How much marijuana did they find on her?" 

"The officers didn't find any in her possession, but they found more than two ounces on her boyfriends. She was still a little high when she was first questioned. I'm sure if we tested her clothes we would find residue."

"Possibly so.  She's only seventeen; I understand both the boys are over eighteen. You can put the two jerks away for a while.  Any chance of you letting her walk?"  I wasn't obsequious, but darn close to it.

"She needs to learn a lesson from this," the Sergeant said sternly.

"That's only one of the lessons she needs. She's a troubled kid and needs help.  Her father abandoned the family several years ago and her brother is in a wheelchair."

Sergeant Jackson raised his eyebrows and shook his head.  "I've heard many stories over the years." 

"Chief Ramos would vouch for my word."

"Oh, and how well do you know the chief?"  His pursed lips and squinting eyes told me how little he believed me.

"He has a fifteen handicap and slices the ball to the right almost all the time."

"Okay," he snorted.  "You know the chief.  Are you going to vouch for her, Counselor?"

"No. Her mother is."  I pointed to Rachel who had moved to within six feet of us.

"I will make sure this never happens again," Rachel said emphatically.

"She's your prize, Lady," the sergeant said emphasizing the word "prize."

It took another half-hour before they brought Susan to us.  She wasn't crying, but her eyes were moist and her makeup streaked down her cheeks.  Susan put her arms around her mother and buried her face in Rachel's neck.

"Oh mom, I'm so sorry," she said sobbing quietly. 

"Let's go home," Rachel said holding Susan around the waist as they walked out the door.

As soon as everyone closed the car doors, Rachel turned to Susan and snapped at her.  "How could you possibly leave your brother and go off to smoke dope?  What were you thinking?"

Susan put her head down and bit her lip desperately trying not to cry.  "I said I was sorry." 

"That fixes everything," Rachel said sarcastically.  "You're grounded for a month.  Don't waste your time arguing."  She took her cell phone from her purse and briefly talked with Eloise who assured her that Scott was asleep.

                                                 ***

When we arrived home, Rachel was out of the car as soon as it stopped moving.  She opened the door and was inside, no doubt heading for Scott's room.

  Susan walked beside me as we followed Rachel inside. "It's all about Scott," Susan said.  "I only exist when she needs me to do something for him."

"That's not true," I said.  "Your mother loves you very much."

"Yeah, right," Susan said, and went to her bedroom.

After Rachel checked on Scott, she spoke with Eloise.  "I know you meant well, but it was wrong for Susan to ask you to take care of Scott."

Eloise, a tall, thin, blond, grimaced while Rachel talked to her.  "I'm sorry Mrs. Evans, it will never happen again."  Eloise said goodnight and went out the door to go to her car, probably relieved not to have been lectured at greater length.

Rachel closed her eyes and took a deep breath; the few lines on her face were more deeply etched than usual.  When she opened her eyes, she gave me a halfhearted smile.

"Scott was sound asleep the whole time," she said sighing with relief.  "I'm so grateful for what you did for Susan."

I held Rachel in my arms and stroked her head.  She put her arms around my neck and kissed me.  "Tonight?"  I asked.

"A good attorney needs to be compensated for his work," she said and led me to the bedroom.

In a few moments we were enwrapped in love until we fell asleep.

                                                 ***

After I showered and dressed in the morning, I joined Rachel in the kitchen.  She gave me some pancakes, then hugged me and played with my hair.  While Rachel was affectionate, I knew she was setting me up for something.

"Scott saw you playing football yesterday afternoon and was very impressed," she said.  "He told me you also impressed the neighbors.  So, my quarterback hero, would you be willing to play football with Scott?"

"Sure, when do you want me to do it?

"In a half hour, when he is finished with his homework."  She played with my hair again and kissed me on the cheek. 

Scott came into the room, glanced at me, then looked at Rachel, who nodded. 

“Steve, will you show Scott how to throw his football?" Rachel asked.

"Sure.  Go get your ball Scott."

Scott turned his wheelchair around and went to his room to get the football.

"Be careful with him," Rachel warned. 

Scott came back into the room cradling a small Nerf football in his right arm.  "Let's go outside," he said, and headed for the back door, which Rachel held open for him.  Scott rolled his wheelchair onto the large back porch. 

I walked onto the porch and stood ten feet from him. "Throw me the ball, Scott."  His throw was short and off to the side.  I picked up the ball and carefully tossed it at his chest.  He tried catching the ball with both hands, bobbled it, then cradled the ball against his body with his arms.  He looked up and smiled.

"Good catch Scott," I said.  Rachel clapped her hands and smiled at Scott.

Scott's second throw also did not reach me because it was difficult for him to grip the ball.  His weak hands and arms prevented him from throwing the ball with any pace.

"Hold the ball in your hand like this."  I carefully put the ball in his right hand and spread his fingers further apart so he would have a better grip.  "Bring your arm back, and then move it forward quickly."  I showed him several times, and then I walked fifteen feet away from him and said, "Okay, throw it to me."

Scott leaned back and threw the ball as hard as he could.  Though it wobbled a bit, the ball came at my midsection, and I caught it with both hands.

"Way to go, Scott!" 

Scott, flushed with excitement looked at his mother.  "Did you see what I did?"

"Good throw," Rachel exclaimed.

"Now throw it back to me," Scott said loudly.

I threw the ball to him with a soft underhand motion.  It floated down to his chest where he grabbed it with both hands. 

"I caught it, I caught it!"  he shouted. 

"Great catch Scott," Rachel said clapping her hands, and then she brushed a tear of joy from her eye. 

Susan came out of the house to see what was happening.  She gave Scott a hug, and then she smiled at me for the first time.  She looked at her mother, but Rachel ignored her.

"Can you throw it to me, Scott?"  Susan asked.

"Sure," Scott said with more confidence than he had a few minutes ago.  He carefully held the ball in his right hand and threw it to Susan.  Scott shouted, "Look what I did."

Susan caught it easily and threw it back to me with some velocity. 

"I need to start lunch," Rachel said, and went into the house. 

Susan walked into the backyard near the fence about fifty feet away.  I threw the ball and Susan caught it against her chest. 

"Wow, Steve, you can really throw the ball," Scott said.  Then he looked at his sister and said, "Throw the ball to me.”

Susan looked at me; I shook my head, and I pointed to my chest.  Her throw to me was short and rolled to my feet. 

"Throw the ball to me," Scott demanded. "Throw it to me the way you threw it to Susan."

I hesitated because I was too far from Scott, and I did not want to risk hurting him. 

"Stop," Scott said adamantly when I moved closer to him.  "Throw it to me from where you are."

I threw the ball with a soft overhand motion, but it went higher than I intended, and I watched it come down at his face. 

Scott reached up with both hands; the ball glanced off his left hand and hit his nose before it fell to the ground.  "Ouch," he said, and reached for his nose with his right hand.  A trickle of blood leaked out of his right nostril.  He touched his nose and smeared some blood on his right index finger.  When he saw the blood he began to cry.

Rachel walked out onto the porch just as Scott took his bloody finger away from his nose.  "Scott!"  she shouted and ran to him.  Rachel looked at the blood, then leaned his head backward and took a tissue out of her pocket.  She blotted up the blood until it was gone, then she glared at me.  "I told you to be careful with him."  Her snarling voice was more than unpleasant, it was insulting.

"I was careful and tried to make sure he didn't get hurt."  I was talking to her back as she wheeled Scott into the house.  I felt awful.  In a moment, something changed from a wonderful experience to an accident and an emotional incident.  I walked into the house to see how Scott was doing.  He was talking with Rachel as I approached the bathroom door.

"Steve didn't mean it.  He wasn't trying to hurt me."

"The bleeding is stopped and you're okay, Honey," Rachel said while she stroked his head.  Rachel stared at me for a second, and then turned away.  She let go of Scott, followed him into his room, and closed the door.

  I went to the family room, sat on the couch, and waited for Rachel.  When I closed my eyes, I continued to see the football floating through the air towards Scott's face.  My pulse raced and perspiration broke out on my forehead.

Rachel came out of Scott's bedroom and walked towards me.  She was breathing heavily and blinking back tears.

"It was an accident, these things can happen even under the most careful circumstances,"

"You don't have any children.  You can't imagine what my life is like.  When you're not working, or not here, you're playing tennis, golf, or watching sports on a forty-two inch television screen with your friends and drinking imported beers.  It's all so easy for you." 

"If you don't listen to what I have to say, I don't see any point in continuing this conversation. It would be best if I left.”  I walked down the hall to her bedroom, picked up my overnight bag, and crammed my clothing into it.  As I walked to the front door, Scott came out of his bedroom and looked at me.

“Scott, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know," he said, and sniffled.  His eyes were red and swollen, but there was no blood coming from his nose.  "Are we going to play ball again?"

"I’m not sure, Scott; it's not entirely up to me."  I patted him on the shoulder. 

For a moment he reached for my hand and held it, and then he let it go.  He lowered his head and looked at the floor. 

"See you Scott."  It was not something I knew to be true.  Rachel was waiting at the front door; she looked uncertain rather than angry.

I walked up to her and said, "Call me when you get over being angry." 

She continued staring at me and said nothing; imprisoned by her cage of anger.  There was too much pain in her life for her to be able to see me as someone she could trust.  I reached for the door, when Scott came up to his mother.

"Don't let him leave, Mom," Scott said.  "It's all my fault, just like when Dad left." 

"Oh, no, Honey."  Rachel put her arm around his shoulders.  "Your father didn't leave because of you.  He left because I made him feel terrible about your accident."

My whole body tightened; I had to say something.  "Scott, your father left because he was afraid he couldn't give you, or your sister, what you needed.  Rather than face his fear, he ran away from his responsibilities."

Scott looked up at me with reddened eyes.  Rachel stood and took a step towards me.

"Will you stay?"  Scott asked.

"For the rest of the day?"

"Please."

I looked at Rachel; she smiled and nodded.  "Sure.  Your mother and I have a few things to talk about, and then I can look at some of your computer games."