He shouldered past her. “You can both go to hell.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The fallout started as a slow trickle. Mia called while Rachel was driving home. She’d read about what happened in a PTA group chat, and the story had already changed multiple times. In the latest version, Nathan had punched Matt onstage and damaged an exhibit while Rachel cowered in the corner, sobbing. “I muted that shit,” Mia said. “But I thought you’d want to know what people were saying.”
Walking into an empty house was a relief. Matt was probably already discussing divorce strategies with Herman in some Abbott war room. Rachel closed all the blinds and poured a glass of wine before she looked at her phone again. There were fifteen voicemails. One from Faith that she barely understood because of a bad connection. One from Ben asking if she was okay and another from Julia demanding a call. The rest were from reporters. Her social media apps had so many notifications that they’d defaulted to a plus sign instead of updating the number.
Rachel FaceTimed Faith. It took her daughter longer than normal to answer, and when she did, she looked mussed and bleary, like she’d been startled awake.
“Mom, what the hell?” Faith was on her laptop and held her phone in one hand. “My DMs are blowing up. I think a reporter called me. How did they get my number?”
“Block them. I’ll get your number changed.”
“Just tell me what’s going on. Matt called an hour ago, but I wanted to talk to you first. Did he really cheat on you? Did you both… cheat? Are you getting divorced?”
Rachel heard the lingering hope in Faith’s questions, that somehow a dozen news outlets had gotten the story wrong. It reminded her of Matt’s birthday party, and how she’d clung to her denial despite the clear evidence of his lies on her phone. She took a deep breath and confessed the truth. “We haven’t been happy for a long time. I should have told you what was happening, but I knew it would hurt you.” It was such a weak excuse. Rachel covered her face, giving in to the urge to hide. “I was a coward. You deserved better and I’m so sorry.”
Faith rubbed her eyes until they were red. “I knew something was wrong. I should have said something. I should have—”
“It’s not your job to fix us.” Rachel paused. “Or to fix me. I know you worry about me.”
“Because I love you,” Faith said. “And you’re always beating yourself up for stuff that doesn’t matter. Like folding the napkins wrong or forgetting my shoe size. And I know you still feel guilty, but I barely remember all that stuff with Grandpa. All I know is that you sacrificed everything to take care of me.” Her eyes filled. “But no one takes care of you.”
Rachel thought about Matt’s loneliness and Nathan’s desperate attempts to help her. “It’s because I won’t let them,” she admitted. All these years, she’d been atoning for her sins in full view of her daughter, and that was the real damage she’d caused, making Faith feel helpless in the face of her mother’s misery. “I never believed I deserved it. But I’m working on that. I promise to take better care of myself from now on.”
After they hung up, Rachel slept soundly for the first time in weeks. She woke up the next morning and immediately called Mia, asking if she could use her spare bedroom. Mia agreed, but made it clear that her “guestroom” was a pullout sofa over the garage.
“It sounds perfect,” Rachel said, and meant it. The media coverage was growing savage and relentless. It was the last place anyone would look for her.
She’d just rolled her suitcase down the stairs when someone rang the doorbell. Alesha was the last person Rachel expected to see on her front porch. It took Rachel a while to commit to doing more than glaring through the peephole. Alesha jammed her thumb against the bell until the annoyance of that constant ringing compelled Rachel to open it.
“Took you long enough.” Alesha smoothed the lapels of her white blazer and glanced up at the house. “I’m kind of surprised you’re still here. I was sure he would have tossed your stuff out on the lawn by now.” Rachel stepped back and tried to close the door in her face, but Alesha wedged her foot against it. “Let me in.”
“I can’t handle one of your lectures right now.”
“I spoke to Mia. She told me you’re planning to stay in that storage room, but I have more space. I want you at my house instead.”
Rachel huffed a laugh. “No. Absolutely not.” She tightened her grip on the door handle, fully prepared to put her entire weight into slamming it again. Alesha raised her hand, softened her voice, and used a word Rachel had been sure wasn’t part of her vocabulary.