hesitantly, "Sarah, do y'all know anything about this kid? About
his parents?"
She wasn't ready to tell anyone she'd seen Dylan at the
game, but she had to find out what he’d been doing there. Sarah knew Dylan when
they were younger, they’d been friends when he and Rachel first started going
out, but he was long gone before Sarah came back to Harrison Township. She'd
never asked her about him, so Rachel never offered.
"His name is Michael Fletcher. His mom is from Ellis,
his dad’s a petroleum engineer. I heard they're suing the district. Have y'all
heard anything?"
Relief washed over her, she knew Michael couldn’t have been
Dylan’s son, he was too old. But at least now she knew for sure, she could stop
obsessing over whether he’d been getting other girls pregnant, too, while they
were together. Her mind still raced though, wondering what he’d been doing at
the game, wondering who Michael's mother was to him, but then annoyance took
over, and she cursed herself for caring. She told herself it didn't matter, he
was nothing to her now, and she'd worked for years to accept that she'd been
nothing to him then. He meant nothing to her.
So why couldn’t she get him out of her head?
“Rachel,” Sarah asked again, “Have y’all heard anything?”
"Just a few rumors from the station, and Kenneth hasn't
told me much of those, only that she might sue."
"I’m sorry, I know it's probably eating y'all alive
not to know, is there anything I can do?"
"No, we'll be fine. But thanks, Sarah. Coming over
this morning is plenty helpful, I promise I'll let you know if something else
comes up."
Rachel had a difficult time asking people for help, she
suddenly felt sad she'd never let Sarah get close enough to be more of a real
friend to her.
"Really. Thank you, Sarah. I'm lucky to have
you."
"Stop,” Sarah said, “You're always helping people, let
somebody help you every now and then. Go to your meeting, we're good here.”
Rachel surprised herself then, she reached over and gave
Sarah a hug. Rachel hated hugging people.
CHAPTER FOUR
She hit the play button on her blinking voicemail, enjoying
the cool air on her face after walking through the humidity. It wasn't even ten
o'clock and the heat outside was already unbearable.
"Rachel, why aren't you answering your cell phone?”
Savannah’s voice whined, “Call me, dumplin', I want to take you and Lauren
shopping. Let's go into Houston this weekend."
Her mother always wanted to go shopping. It was the only
thing she knew to do with all the money she'd gotten out of the divorce from
Rachel's father. She hadn’t needed it really, her second husband was ten times
wealthier than the first.
Rachel knew plenty of women who’d have welcomed their
freedom after twenty unhappy years of marriage to a man thirty years their
senior, especially if they’d walked away with large enough fortunes to live
well the rest of their lives, provided they only maintain a moderate sense of
frugality.
But Savannah Bannister Beauchamp St. John wasn't the sort
of woman who cared to live frugally. Her parents were unskilled laborers,
products of the depression living in a small West Texas farm community, one of
those tiny places destroyed by the Dust Bowl in the 1930’s. Savannah was the
youngest of eight, her childhood shadowed by penny-pinching and hand-me-downs,
and she'd come too far from the shoeless walks to school and the three room
farm house with no electricity or running water.
As far as she was concerned, she'd suffered enough
frugality, and within half a year of divorcing Frank Beauchamp, she was married
to another attorney, this one considerably younger and more powerful than the
first, and infinitely more connected to the elite inner circles of Houston
society she'd always aspired to. Savannah hoped Jameson St. John would be less
inclined to sleep around than her first husband, but she only expected he prove
better equipped at keeping it out of the papers when he
his parents?"
She wasn't ready to tell anyone she'd seen Dylan at the
game, but she had to find out what he’d been doing there. Sarah knew Dylan when
they were younger, they’d been friends when he and Rachel first started going
out, but he was long gone before Sarah came back to Harrison Township. She'd
never asked her about him, so Rachel never offered.
"His name is Michael Fletcher. His mom is from Ellis,
his dad’s a petroleum engineer. I heard they're suing the district. Have y'all
heard anything?"
Relief washed over her, she knew Michael couldn’t have been
Dylan’s son, he was too old. But at least now she knew for sure, she could stop
obsessing over whether he’d been getting other girls pregnant, too, while they
were together. Her mind still raced though, wondering what he’d been doing at
the game, wondering who Michael's mother was to him, but then annoyance took
over, and she cursed herself for caring. She told herself it didn't matter, he
was nothing to her now, and she'd worked for years to accept that she'd been
nothing to him then. He meant nothing to her.
So why couldn’t she get him out of her head?
“Rachel,” Sarah asked again, “Have y’all heard anything?”
"Just a few rumors from the station, and Kenneth hasn't
told me much of those, only that she might sue."
"I’m sorry, I know it's probably eating y'all alive
not to know, is there anything I can do?"
"No, we'll be fine. But thanks, Sarah. Coming over
this morning is plenty helpful, I promise I'll let you know if something else
comes up."
Rachel had a difficult time asking people for help, she
suddenly felt sad she'd never let Sarah get close enough to be more of a real
friend to her.
"Really. Thank you, Sarah. I'm lucky to have
you."
"Stop,” Sarah said, “You're always helping people, let
somebody help you every now and then. Go to your meeting, we're good here.”
Rachel surprised herself then, she reached over and gave
Sarah a hug. Rachel hated hugging people.
CHAPTER FOUR
She hit the play button on her blinking voicemail, enjoying
the cool air on her face after walking through the humidity. It wasn't even ten
o'clock and the heat outside was already unbearable.
"Rachel, why aren't you answering your cell phone?”
Savannah’s voice whined, “Call me, dumplin', I want to take you and Lauren
shopping. Let's go into Houston this weekend."
Her mother always wanted to go shopping. It was the only
thing she knew to do with all the money she'd gotten out of the divorce from
Rachel's father. She hadn’t needed it really, her second husband was ten times
wealthier than the first.
Rachel knew plenty of women who’d have welcomed their
freedom after twenty unhappy years of marriage to a man thirty years their
senior, especially if they’d walked away with large enough fortunes to live
well the rest of their lives, provided they only maintain a moderate sense of
frugality.
But Savannah Bannister Beauchamp St. John wasn't the sort
of woman who cared to live frugally. Her parents were unskilled laborers,
products of the depression living in a small West Texas farm community, one of
those tiny places destroyed by the Dust Bowl in the 1930’s. Savannah was the
youngest of eight, her childhood shadowed by penny-pinching and hand-me-downs,
and she'd come too far from the shoeless walks to school and the three room
farm house with no electricity or running water.
As far as she was concerned, she'd suffered enough
frugality, and within half a year of divorcing Frank Beauchamp, she was married
to another attorney, this one considerably younger and more powerful than the
first, and infinitely more connected to the elite inner circles of Houston
society she'd always aspired to. Savannah hoped Jameson St. John would be less
inclined to sleep around than her first husband, but she only expected he prove
better equipped at keeping it out of the papers when he
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