as cream. Her eyes were like pools of twilight. Longing ribboned through him. Without a word he left the room, closing the door behind him.
Immediately Rachel felt lonely. Lonely for a lunatic. How silly, she scolded herself. She was lonely for a con man just because he had a nice smile and a weird sense of humor. That was hardly like her normal, practical self.
To take her mind off her feelings, she busied herself getting ready for bed. She was so tired, it took all of her flagging concentration to accomplish that simple task. She pulled her nightgown out of one battered suitcase and changed into it quickly. It wasn’t a nightgown precisely, but an extra large T-shirt with a bust of Bach silk-screened on the front above the words “I go for baroque.” Foregoing her nightly ritual of washing her face and brushing her teeth, she removed the pins from her hair and let it fall in waves past her shoulders. She pulled back the covers of the bed and slipped between them, groaning in relief as her weary body settled into the mattress.
As exhausted as she was, she couldn’t sleep. She lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling for a long while, trying not to think of anything at all. But she wasn’t able to blank her mind. Thoughts kept creeping in from the edge of her consciousness-thoughts of Addie, of Terence, of the past, of the future, of Bryan Hennessy.
The pillow she lay her head on carried his scent. The sheets that enveloped her body had covered his. The mattress beneath her had dipped beneath the weight of his lean, athletic body. Those thoughts seemed almost unbearably erotic to her. She moved restlessly, sexual awareness arousing all her nerve endings so that the gentle rasp of the sheets against her skin had all the impact of a caress. Her suddenly fertile imagination conjured up an image of him tying beside her, his big hands stroking her soothingly, his lips feathering kisses along her jaw. Her nipples tightened, and a dull ache coiled low in her belly.
Joining all the other emotions jumbled inside her was a vague sense of guilt and shame. She had no business thinking such thoughts about a man she hardly knew. It wasn’t like her to indulge in sexual fantasies anyway. She had never been a particularly sexual person. She discounted her feelings as a reaction to stress. She was feeling overwhelmed. It was only natural to want to turn to someone, to be held, to forget.
And there was so much she would have liked to forget-the dreams she had abandoned, the ones that had drifted away, the opportunities she had squandered.
Finally giving up on the idea of falling into a peaceful sleep, Rachel turned on the ancient lamp that sat on a lace doily on the stand beside the bed. She propped her pillow against the massive carved headboard and leaned back against it.
The light cast its glow on only half the room, leaving the farther corners shrouded in shadows. There was an enormous, sinister-looking armoire standing opposite the bed with one door open and athletic socks hanging out of the top drawer as if they were trying to slither out and escape. To the right of the bed an assortment of junk lined the wall-old steamer trunks, wooden chairs, and a bird cage large enough to hold a vulture. To the left of the bed was a dressing table with a cracked mirror. There were books piled on it, and charts and notes were strewn across the top of it as if it was being used as a desk.
On the nightstand beside the bed was additional evidence that Bryan Hennessy occupied the room. There was a watch that was either running down or was set for the wrong time zone. Rachel picked it up and examined it more closely, telling herself she had a right to know who this man was her mother had invited to stay in her home. It was a nice watch, gold with a brown leather band that was curved by long use to the shape of its owner’s wrist. It had an old-fashioned face-no glowing digital readout, but script numerals and delicate hands. The back was engraved WITH LOVE, MOM AND DAD. 1977.
Carefully replacing it on the table, Rachel glanced at the snapshot held in a plain gold frame. A younger Bryan Hennessy stood in a cap and gown behind three smiling young women-a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead. At least he wasn’t prejudiced, Rachel thought with a strange spurt of something akin to jealousy.
Pushing the unwelcome feeling aside, she looked at the crumpled scraps of paper that had been tossed across the dusty surface of the nightstand. They were notes with odd messages like “Jayne says to eat breakfast tomorrow,” “Go to library-background, Drake House,” “Dinner with Faith and Shane, seven sharp. Get a haircut!” “Addie capable of hidden psychokinesis? That could explain object movement in grid nine.”
Was it possible Bryan Hennessy was truly a scientist of some sort? It seemed unlikely a con man would be so thorough as to leave notes like that last one on his nightstand on the off chance someone with a fully functioning mind might stumble across them. On the other hand, a ghost hunter seemed too farfetched for words.
Rachel couldn’t find it in her to believe in ghosts. Reality was proving tough enough to deal with; she didn’t have time to wonder about the supernatural as well. She knew she had to focus on the here and now. She had to concentrate on the grim practical aspects of her future and her mother’s future. In view of what had happened in the past few years, she knew it was pointless to waste time on dreams and wishes. There was no such thing as magic or happily-ever-after. There were no such things as ghosts.
As if to mock her, the image of Terence Bretton filled her head. Handsome, smiling Terence, as he had been when she’d met him at a coffee house located just off the campus of Berkeley. She’d been a sophomore, diligently studying classical music on a scholarship, dutifully pursuing the career in opera her mother had been grooming her for for her entire life. Terence had been a breath of fresh air to a girl who had lived a sheltered, structured life of voice lessons and practice and study. Terence, with his disarming, lopsided grin and twinkling green eyes. Terence, full of big dreams but lacking the ambition to make them come true.
Only she hadn’t know that at the time, Rachel reflected with a wistful smile. She had fallen for Terence’s charm and his dreams and his honest, untrained voice. He had offered her love and freedom, and she had embraced both.
Her initial attraction to him had been calculated. Terence, a folk singer who led a Gypsy’s life, was everything Rachel knew her mother would detest. She had loved her mother, but rebellion was a natural part of growing up. Rachel’s had come later than most, she knew. She had abruptly become fed up with the control Addie had wielded over her life. She had suddenly burned out on the hours of training, the discipline, the lack of a normal social life, the constant reminders of how hard Addie worked to secure her future. She had gone to the Coffee Mill out of defiance and had determinedly fallen for the handsome young man playing the guitar on the small stage there.
It didn’t seem like five years ago. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Another lifetime down a trail of broken dreams.
Terence had never made it big, and the burden of his mediocrity had fallen on Rachel’s shoulders. Terence didn’t like to deal with the realities of booking gigs and balancing books. Sensible and practical, Rachel had taken on the responsibilities. Their relationship had gradually cooled from lovers to friends.
Her love for Terence Bretton had slipped away until a part of her had almost come to hate him. According to Terence, it was always someone else’s fault he didn’t hit the big time. According to him, there was always another golden opportunity around the corner just waiting for him.
The news about Addie had been the final straw. Terence’s reaction had been no less than Rachel should have expected. Still, she had held on to the last of her hope that he would somehow redeem himself, would somehow make up for all the disappointments he had handed her over the years. All she had wanted was his friendship and his support. It hadn’t seemed so much to ask. What a fool she’d been.
“Put her in a home.”
“She’s my mother.”
“She disowned you.”
“She raised me by herself after Dad died. She took care of me. I should do the same for her.”
“If her mind is going, she’ll never know the difference, Rachel. Put her away someplace. We’ve got our lives to live. We’ve got plans. We can’t stop now. I’m going to make it big, Rachel. I need you there beside me.”
“So does my mother.”
Now Rachel sighed and hugged the spare pillow to her chest as sadness overcame her. Terence wasn’t going to make it big. He didn’t have plans, he had dreams, and he spent his time expecting them magically to come true with little or no effort on his part. Rachel had learned the hard way that there was no such thing as magic.
In the end her choice had been clear. In fact, there had been no choice to make. She had known the instant after Dr. Moore had told her the news that she would go to Addie.
Now she was there and Addie didn’t want her.
They would get over that hurdle somehow. Beneath the hurt and the uncertainty, Rachel had bedrock determination, no doubt inherited from her indomitable mother. She would reconcile with Addie somehow. She would deal with the reality of Addie’s condition somehow. As they had after Verne Lindquist had been killed, the two of them would get along… somehow. It wasn’t going to be fun. It wasn’t going to be easy. But they would
