Excerpt
Chapter one RACHEL AND HER MOTHER, THE SINGER, were at the mall, at Dillards, or was it Macys? They didnt have the same taste, not at all, but her mom kept pointing out clothes she thought would be nice for Rachelbright print tops, too bright and with sequins; Indian cotton gauzy skirts, floaty and see-through; ridiculous tie-dyed wide pants. "Try something on," her mom kept insisting, grabbing more and more stuff. "Just try one thing. You might even like it." Heaps of stuff, mountains, and her mother kept on piling the bright happy clothes in her arms till Rachel could hardly see her anymore. "You need something new," her mother, the singer, said. "We have to find a song for you." In the dark, Rachel opened her eyes. "Mom?" she whispered. She knew better, it was just that little space before she woke up completelysometimes when she dreamed of her mom it wasnt like that, her mother would be just at the edge of her vision, not quite real, but this time she was so sharp, so clear. This dream had started out, she and her mom, just like she wanted her mother to be, shopping with her now that she was lost to her, gone, gone forever and ever, then everything suddenly felt so crazy with the ending. Rachel took a few deep yoga breaths. Even though she couldnt think whyit was just a bunch of piled-up clothesthat ending disturbed her; filled her with dread, dread that something awful was about to happen. When she was younger shed had dreams like this a lot but as time went by shed had them less and less in fact, she hadnt had one in several months, maybe longer. Oh, God, were they starting up again? Why? Shed tried so hard to allow no stress into her life whatsoever. Rachel took a few more yoga breaths, counting to ten on the in breath, ten on the out. Youre fine. But she wasnt. Beside her, her husband Scott lay sleeping on his stomach, wearing just a pair of plaid boxers, covers thrown off though it was a little chillythe air-conditioning was set too high. Scottie, she thought, at least I have Scottie, so handsome, so perfect; an attorney, working as a misdemeanor prosecutor with the Pima County Attorneys Office. Mustnt wake Scottiehe tried so hard to be supportive that sometimes in a weird way she felt as though she were working even harder supporting him at being supportive. The muscles in Rachels neck and upper back were all tensed up, no. What time was it? The red numerals of the black digital clock showed 2:47. She slipped out from under the covers and went barefoot, out of the bedroom, through the living room, out the sliding glass doors to the pool. She sat down on the edge and let her feet dangle in the water, swishing them back and forth, making little waves. For the first time in quite a while it hadnt rained yesterday or during the night. Late summer in Tucson, a cloudy night; the moon shining soft silver behind clouds and thunder grumbling somewhere over the mountains. Mingled with the chlorine from the pool was the smell of rain. The monsoons had been pretty active this year. Somewhere in Tucson it would be raining right now probably, raining outside of Tucson maybe in one of the little desert towns, over in Cochise County. In Willcox, or Douglas, or even Dudley. Rachel sighed. Except for one brief afternoon to testify at the trial, she hadnt been back to Dudley since her dad came and took her away right after her mom was killed. Now her mom had been dead for fifteen years, nomore like seventeen. At this point, Rachel didnt know if her memories of her mother were even real or just memories of something shed been told or even seen in a movie and connected with. Palm trees rose beyond the cinderblock wall that bounded the yard, their silhouettes looking strangely like... like Sideshow Bob from The Simpsons. It should have been funny but it wasnt, it was creepy. She took some more deep yoga breaths, ten counts in, ten counts out, but the muscles in her back kept tensing and her head felt light, bright, something whined like the sound of a saw far away but it wasnt real and she knew no one else could hear it. Suddenly she smelled the sharp licorice tang of fennel, the fennel that grew in the drainage ditches in Dudleyit always happened during the rainy season when the fennel was almost as tall as she was, ten years old, and what was the song that played everywhere that summer? Madonna sang "Like a Virgin," but her mom liked Sade, "Is It a Crime," "The Sweetest Taboo." But no, werent those songs earlier?The whining grew louder, like a pack of hornets, why worry, it was so long ago, no one was going to come and get her, it wasnt real fear, it was anxiety. Did she still have some Ativan? She hadnt needed it for a while. She pushed herself up and went back inside, down the hall to the bathroom. She opened the medicine cabinet. Thank godthere it was, the amber-colored prescription bottle. But when she took it down it was empty. What the fuck? Seeing it empty made her realize just how much she needed it right now. Why would you keep an empty bottle in the medicine cabinet? Why? Rage made her light-headed. Empty. It was so stupid, so unbelievably stupid, she threw the bottle as hard as she could against the wall. The bottle was plastic and light, it didnt even break, just fell harmlessly onto the tiled floor. "Rachel?" She turned around. Scottie was standing in the doorway, blinking. "You okay?" Her anger had dissipated some of the anxiety. It was still there but bearable. "Oh, Scottie, Im sorry." She felt guilty. "You have to get up early for work. I didnt mean to wake you." "Whats wrong?" "The usual," said Rachel. Scottie rubbed his eyes. He looked so sweet standing there, so concerned and so tired. He must be so sick of this, she thought. How can he stand me? "Your mom?" he said. Rachel nodded. "Sweetheart." She knew he didnt mean to, but he let a note of exasperation creep into his voice. "What can I do?" What could he do? She could see all his good qualities; he was there for her when she needed him, a nice-looking man who worked hard. She saw him standing there but he was on a par with the porcelain sink, the pink towel left to dry on the shower rod, the open medicine cabinet. She couldnt feel his presence, as if she had just conjured up a hologram. In fact, she thought, thats my whole life, not real, a hologram. "Nothing," she said. "Theres nothing you can do. Go back to bed, sweetie, okay?" Excerpted from A Song For You by Betsy ThorntonCopyright © 2008 by Betsy ThorntonPublished in October 2008 by St. Martins PressAll rights reserved. This work is protected under copyright laws and reproduction is strictly prohibited. Permission to reproduce the material in any manner or medium must be secured from the Publisher.