Chapter Seventeen

With hands that trembled more than he’d like to admit, Jon sloshed a generous amount of his favourite scotch whisky into a heavy crystal glass. Without a moment’s hesitation he set the bottle down and knocked back the contents of the glass in one gulp. The fiery liquid burned a trail to his stomach, its warmth spreading through his troubled veins like a numbing anaesthesia. Suppressing a short cough from the kick of the drink, he poured himself a refill and sat down heavily in the chair behind his desk.  He was rattled, his gut still clenched when he replayed the conversation – if it could be called that – with Rachel just minutes earlier.

Had he really called her common? Jesus!

As usual he hadn’t thought things through and had barged headfirst into a goddamn train wreck. Taking another sip from his drink he leaned back in the comfortable chair and mulled things over. So as a result of being a jackass he now knew she was a widow, why the hell hadn’t he thought of that? 

Growling in frustration he lifted the glass to his lips once more. His heart rate was slowly returning to a normal pace but the scotch was helping to ease the flips of his stomach every time the image of her distraught face floated back into focus. She said she’d been married twenty years – his marriage to Dorothea had lasted just over seventeen years before they’d finally called it a day. The hand that wasn’t cradling the scotch idly scratched at the light grizzle forming on his jaw, no matter what had gone on in the past his world would shatter if anything ever happened to the woman who used to be his wife. He frowned when he thought back to Rachel’s description of her deceased husband, she’d said something about him being a father – so she has kids? Maybe they were his kids, from a previous marriage maybe – surely if they were Rachel’s they’d be here with her.

There you go again wise ass – jumping to conclusions just like she said – Fuck!

A short knock at the door jolted him from his musings, the whisky sloshing in the glass as he swivelled abruptly in the chair to face the doorway. Alice stood there, methodically drying her hands on a towel, a disapproving look on her face when she spotted the alcohol in his hand.

“I’m finishing up – you want me to fix you some dinner before I go?”

Jon shook his head tiredly, “No thanks, I’m good – you head home.”

Alice nodded and turned to go before pausing in the doorway to look back at him.

“You know that won’t solve anything right?” She looked pointedly at his drink before silently disappearing down the hallway.

Jon looked ruefully at the amber liquid that swirled comfortingly at the base of the heavy glass. She was right – as usual. However while it may not solve anything it sure as hell was gonna make his next job easier. Leaning back his head into the soft leather upholstery he threw the remainder of the measure down his throat, a satisfied sigh escaping his lips as the slow burn once again started its descent. He needed to go make things right.

Dark clouds gathered at the fringe of the sky’s horizon partly blocking the sun’s grand finale to what had been another scorcher of a day as Jon made his way up Rachel’s driveway. The grounds looked like a construction site, bags of cement and sand stacked at the far edge of the house and rows of potted plants and shrubs silently waiting in the shadows to be planted. Stopping at the porch, Jon momentarily weighed up his options – if he rang the doorbell it was highly unlikely she was going to answer and even if she did, the chances of her slamming the door in his face were running at an all-time high. Stealth was his best plan – he needed time to at least get a few words in before she went kamikaze on his ass. Which judging from their last encounter was quite likely, her eyes had flashed with all the ferocity of a tiger when he’d demanded to know where the husband was – you stupid fuck Jon!

Hands shoved deep in his pockets, he made his way to the rear of the house in the dusky light, relieved to see a small light spilling out onto the deck from the open kitchen doors. The air was heavy and humid, even the crickets seemed smothered by the low lying heat of the day. Sidling close to the door he caught sight of Rachel faced away from him at the fridge. The familiar clink of ice cubes and corresponding gurgle from the built in ice maker told him he wasn’t the only one that had been hitting the liquor tonight. He followed her movements across the kitchen with his eyes to where she slid onto a stool at the marbled island and poured an indiscrete amount of a pale liquid from a yellow labelled glass bottle. When she lifted the glass to her lips Jon’s eyes widened in surprise at the healthy swallow that consumed most of its contents. Rachel still facing away from him coughed sharply, the liquor obviously making an impact before she tilted the bottle back towards the glass once more.

Softly clearing his throat, Jon stepped lightly into the softly lit kitchen, its décor much improved since the last time he had visited. Bright green leaves of foliage sprouted from plants placed delicately amongst the kitchen shelves and cupboards, the vivid colour in stark contrast to the dark oak furnishings that themed the room. Ornate picture frames hung majestically from the stone roughened walls, a barometer and other ornaments adding to the rustic feel.

Rachel’s shoulders stiffened briefly at the sound he made to indicate his presence but she made no effort to turn around. Instead she concentrated on downing another half measure from what Jon could see to be a rapidly emptying bottle.

“Tequila huh?”

Walking over, Jon picked up the bottle of Cazadores and pretended to examine the label, the palms of his hands sweating slightly as he awaited her reaction. To his surprise there was no outburst from the woman who sat slumped before him, her hair pulled into a loose pony tail making the dark shadows tinging the underside of her eyes all the more noticeable. Instead she merely blew out a long breath, her eyes tiredly looking through the highball that was administering her poison.

“Go home Jon…..”

Her words were barely more than a whisper but the quiet desperation within them leaked into Jon’s heart. He had caused this. Silently he twisted the cap off the bottle and poured another albeit slightly smaller shot into her empty glass.

“This is pretty hard core stuff for a Tuesday night…..” He let his words hang lightly in the air, her quietness unnerving him.

“It’s been a pretty hard core day.”

Her words hit home as he regretfully dipped his head in silent acknowledgement. Sensing he needed to steer this conversation in another direction fast he chose not to reply, instead moving to the row of glass fronted cabinets that lined one wall of the large kitchen. The array of sparkling glasses stacked within clinked noisily in the silent room when he lifted one down and returned to the centre island. 

Rachel made no effort to stop him when he poured himself a shot and after a moment’s pause to grimace at the sharp odour of the tequila, threw it down his neck, his nostrils flaring as the alcohol seared its way to the pit of his stomach. The heat that raced through Jon’s body made his eyes water, the earlier scotch that he had drunk reacting strongly to the arrival of its alcoholic cousin. Nose twitching, he glanced at Rachel as he poured himself another shot of the evil drink. She remained still and silent, her eyes never faltering from their sombre gaze to the glass resting on the marble in front of her.

“Rachel…………” He hesitated and swallowed hard, his heart searching for the right words to fix this.

“I’m sorry…….”

After what seemed an eternity she finally lifted her eyes to meet his, the emerald depths devoid of emotion.

“I’m sure you are Jon but you know what? Right now I couldn’t care less what you or anyone else has to say.”

She seemed to look straight through him, her voice even and measured. When she reached for the bottle to refill her glass, Jon held it slightly out of reach, his eyes imploring her to listen.

“I was a royal jerk.”

She glared at him for a moment before shrugging and holding her glass up for him to pour another shot into.

“That’s something we both agree on then.”

Sighing Jon relented and tipped another small shot on top of the slushy ice mix that was lining the bottom of her glass. He had expected shouting and screaming and possibly a tear or two but not this. A woman's quiet rage was not something he knew how to handle. Silence settled around them like a suffocating blanket, the muffled chirps of the crickets outside the only noise that wafted in from the open doors of the kitchen.

“Those things I said………if I could take them back I would.” It was his turn to stare down at the swirling stonework of the marble island, his fingers nervously tracing the textures of the polished surface. “But I don’t think I can find the words to do that…..”

Rachel took a more measured sip of her drink and chuckled drily.

“Hard to imagine THAT coming from a guy who makes a living writing words to songs the whole damn world sings.”  

She lifted her glass to him in a sarcastic toast,“Maybe you can write a song about it someday, something else for me to remember you by.”

With a heavy sigh she threw back the final dregs of the tequila and pushed her glass away from her and slid off the stool, her feet unsteadily supporting her.

“I presume you can find your way out the same way you came in – good night Jon.”

With a final resentful glance in his direction, she turned away and tiredly began walking to the hall door. A lead stone sank to the bottom of Jon’s stomach as he watched her walk away, he couldn’t leave things like this – this wasn’t how he rolled. In desperation he frantically thought of the only thing that just might make her stop and talk to him.

“Tell me about him.”

He scarcely dared to hope when she stopped mid walk, her head turning in his direction. For the first time that evening she looked directly at him, her eyes looking questionably at him as he fought to keep her from shutting him out.

“Tell me about your husband – tell me about Nick.”