Rachelle sat in the middle of her four-poster bed an hour later, staring into space. She clutched a cordless phone to her ear and listened to her younger sister’s nasal drawl.
“Girl, no you didn’t do that to that man,” Alanna said. “How could you, when you know he’s leaving for his medical conference tomorrow and then going to Africa?”
Rachelle shrugged as if her sister could see her through the phone. Alanna lived four hours away, in Dallas, but they talked at least three times a week, sometimes more if one of them had a pressing issue.
“I didn’t plan it, Lanna,” she said. “It just happened. I couldn’t help myself. I don’t think I’m really leaving him; I just want him to know how unhappy I am. I want him to put some effort into this marriage, other than just paying the bills.”
“But, Rachelle,” Alanna said dryly, “by tomorrow morning you would have had your space, without causing all of this drama. And believe me, paying the bills is nothing to sneeze at. What gives?”
Rachelle remained silent for what felt like an eternity while Alanna waited. She didn’t want to go into details about the turmoil Jillian’s news had thrown her into, and other than that, she had no explanation.
“When I find out, I’ll let you know,” Rachelle said. “I’m going to go pack for him and for myself. I don’t think I told you—I’m going to California for the weekend. Jillian lives there now, remember?”
Alanna sniffed. “You haven’t seen Jillian in years. Why fly across the country now? Don’t get there and start wallowing in your memories of what coulda shoulda been. Hopefully when you come back, Gabe won’t have changed the locks.”
Rachelle ignored her sister’s cynicism. Alanna didn’t know that Jillian needed her. Plus, she had always questioned how Rachelle had landed such a good man while she—despite her “fabulosity”—still found herself catching frogs.
“Girl, you don’t know how good you have it,” Alanna would often tell Rachelle after relaying the details of another breakup with a boyfriend she hadn’t known was married, on medication, or afraid of commitment.
Before the conversation went down that path this afternoon, Rachelle ended the call and began packing for a brief stay in San Diego. Her flight didn’t leave for another two days but this would give her something to do, other than watching the clock to see what time Gabe made it home. Usually she was too busy with Tate and Taryn to notice, but with them gone, she needed to keep herself occupied.
She intended to visit California for less than forty-eight hours, but that still meant a large suitcase, because she could never decide what to wear. Rachelle tucked her digital camera and a scrapbook of childhood photos of herself and Jillian between her favorite knee-length cocktail dress and a floor-length emerald green one. She added a pair of jeans and shorts and a few casual tops, in case there was some downtime with Jillian, or, more likely, the other guests. When her bag was ready, Rachelle sat it in the back of her closet.
She padded across the plush plum carpet and walked into Gabe’s closet. She surveyed his collection of bags and retrieved a small suitcase from a low-level shelf.
Packing for him came as easily as ordering his meals. It took minutes to fill the designer luggage with several white shirts, ties, slacks, and the suit he needed for his medical conference. She pulled out a large hard-shell suitcase for the mission trip to Uganda.
“Might as well get all of it out of the way,” she muttered.
Rachelle walked over and sat on Gabe’s side of the bed. She rummaged through his nightstand for the list of recommended travel items the medical mission leader had given to the “freshmen” on the team—him, another doctor in his practice, and a surgical nurse, all of whom were first-time participants.
Three pairs of khakis—check. Five long-sleeved shirts and a few T-shirts—check. Socks, underwear—check. Sneakers—check. Insect repellent . . . the list went on and on.
She slid his supply of over-the-counter medicine and malaria pills into plastic zipper bags, tucked his first-aid kit in the suitcase’s interior pouch, and made sure he had his passport.
Rachelle closed the oversized bag and placed it in a corner, near the bedroom entrance. She was preparing to organize her shoe closet when she heard Gabe climbing the winding staircase.
His slower than usual pace cued her that he was ticked off.
By the time he reached the upstairs landing and leaned against the bedroom door, her heart was racing. She looked up from her task and returned his glare.
“What ’s going on with you?” Gabe uttered more of a challenge than a question.
Rachelle walked over and paused in front of him, taking in his thin lips, now frozen in the straight line they always made when he was angry. She gazed at the thick eyebrows that Tate and Taryn had inherited before allowing her eyes to skim his angular face and chiseled chest and wander down to his hands—miracle hands, he called them—that were now perched at his hips in frustration.
She was average height, but having to look up to him always made her feel smaller. She moved in close enough to feel his breath on her face and inhale the intoxicating cologne she had given him for his birthday, but she still didn’t answer him.
Rachelle was tempted to try again to express all that she had been feeling over the past few weeks, but thought better of it. When had he ever cared to understand her perspective about anything?
Lately, the few times she had tried to be romantic or give him extra attention had only led to more frustration. The dinners she prepared for just the two of them had grown cold while she waited for him to get home from the hospital or his office, without even a call to let her know he had been delayed. When he did come home early enough to spend time with Tate and Taryn and retire with her for the night, he’d be too weary for pillow talk about her day or the kids’ activities. Before she could finish a thought, he’d be fast asleep. Why bother to broach a subject about something more meaningful, like her restlessness? Instead, she would beat him at his own game today: his questions didn’t deserve her answers.
“What do you mean?” she asked and looked into his eyes. “I’m doing my ‘wifely duty,’ aren’t I? Your bags are all packed for the conference and even for this mission trip you’re so excited about.” She tilted her head. “Wonder what your partners would say if they knew you could care less about those poor children in Africa, other than what they can do for your résumé.”
Gabe narrowed his eyes. “Don’t change the subject, Rachelle. You left me stranded downtown, at a hotel restaurant frequented by people we know. Do you know what that looked like? My picture appears in the paper for a feature on the upcoming mission trip and my wife walks out on me days later in a public place? Don’t you know this could get back to the other docs and be very damaging?”
Rachelle willed herself not to cry. “I wish I knew what was going on, Gabe. All I can say is that I’m tired. I’m not happy with myself or with us, and I’m sick of pretending that everything is perfect. It takes too much work.”
Gabe moved around her and turned toward the mahogany dresser, where he pulled out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
“Nothing is good enough for you, Rachelle—not this big house and a maid, not the new car you have to have every few years, not even your access to enough money to do whatever you want, without having to work. And let’s not even talk about the two gorgeous kids. What’s the problem?”
Resentment churned in her gut. “There you go again, listing things,” Rachelle said. “Actually, I went through childbirth, so I gave you the kids, Gabe. And, if you’ll recall, I never asked to be a kept woman. I’m an optometrist, remember? I enjoyed the few years I worked in my field. I became a stay-at-home mom because that was what you wanted. But I’m beginning to wonder if you’ve ever really given me what mattered most—you. I’m wondering if you even know what that means, or if I do.”
He frowned at her and stepped into his jeans. “Where is all of this coming from? Why are you talking about optometry when you haven’t practiced in almost a decade? What is wrong with you?”
Rachelle shook her head. She walked over and stood in front of him and continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I was just a ‘right’ choice, Gabe, wasn’t I? Like all the other choices you made to fit into your parents’ world. Right career? Medicine. Right family? Pretty wife and kids. Right neighborhood? Tanglewood. When have you ever done something just because you decided on your own that it was important or special, without worrying about what your parents wanted or about keeping up with everyone else? Have you ever done that?”
Rachelle saw that she had hit a nerve. Gabe was speechless. He quickly recovered, though, and rolled his eyes.
“Girl, you sound like you’re having a midlife crisis,” he said. “You’re too young—snap out of it. After this conference, I’ll be gone for just about three weeks. That’s enough time to get yourself together. Maybe you can get a part-time gig at that boutique you love while the kids and I are out of the house. Or find another volunteer opportunity to whet your appetite. Or maybe you and your girlfriends should go to that spa you like in Austin. Just don’t do what you did this morning. Ever again.”
Rachelle surprised herself when she grabbed his arm before he could walk away.
“If we’re going to fix this, you have to be present, Gabe,” she said. “You can’t keep barking orders and disappearing.”
He chuckled and shrugged out of her loose grasp. His disdain struck her like a slap in the face.
“You know what? I need some time to myself right now, so I can think clearly,” she said.
Gabe gave her a quizzical look. “What does that mean?”
She didn’t answer.
“You can’t change the past, Rachelle,” he said. “You’re married to me now.”
She shifted her gaze. Hadn’t that always been one of their issues? Lingering shadows from her past?
Gabe mistook her silence as surrender and changed the subject. “I need to be at the airport in the morning by six a.m. for my flight to New York. The other docs are meeting me in front of the Delta terminal so we can check our bags all at once. And knowing Stevens, he’s going to want to pray or something before we board the plane. I need you there.”
She hesitated. That was the least she could do. But the good angel that usually sat on her shoulder continued to bat zero today. “How about I ‘pray’ for you now? I need to take care of me. I’m leaving for a while.”
Stunned by her own boldness, Rachelle turned away from him before her eyes betrayed her. What was she talking about? She wasn’t scheduled to fly to California until Friday—two days from now. At that moment, however, she decided not to waver. She obeyed whatever her heart told her to do these days. God forgive her if this time she were wrong.