Rachel Dahlrumple. Shea McMaster
heard about your broken ankle when one of these fell on you.”
He had? Like a blinded owl, I blinked at him. “Uh, yes. A full one. I was trying to get it out of the back of the truck.”
“Well, we won’t risk it again. Since the porch is on the north side, let’s put the coolers there, and tomorrow I’ll help move them wherever you need them, all right?”
“What’s happening?” John asked as he approached. “When’s Burt getting home?”
“He’s not.” When John cocked a brow, exactly as his brother had done moments ago, I rushed back into babbling. “Tonight. He’s not coming home tonight, but he’ll be home tomorrow afternoon. He’s been held up by, um, business.”
“Ah,” John said, but turned an inscrutable look toward the garage. “Whatcha need, Rachel?”
Dan shoved his brother toward the open door. “The coolers need to move.”
I hurried to the house and managed to deactivate the alarm about the time they carried the first cooler up the porch steps. I dumped the pizza, salad and my purse on the kitchen island, then rushed back out to…I didn’t know, but the thought of helping had crossed my mind. It quickly became clear they didn’t need my help, especially since I was still dressed for work in a skirt and heels, albeit very low ones. In eight quick trips, they had the coolers tucked into the shadiest part of the porch, where hopefully they’d remain cold until tomorrow afternoon when the neighbors would arrive with more bags of ice. Since we were hosts, the drinks were on us, and Burt liked his beer icy on hot days.
Thankfully we didn’t have to worry too much about designated drivers because almost everyone walked, one nice part about a neighborhood party. However, we would have a few guests from town, such as my dad and pastor, who’d drive. All in all, we expected close to a hundred people. About half of those would be under twenty. And yes, our yard was big enough to accommodate them comfortably, if a bit on the cozy side.
When they finished, John invited me to join them for dinner. “You’ve been alone all week, I’m sure you’re ready for some company. We’d love to have you.”
Ignoring the sideways glance he sent toward his brother, I batted away John’s hand with a laugh when he tried to grab my elbow. “Thanks, but I still have a lot to do tonight. Really.” Backing away, I put distance between myself and the Weston brothers before I caved to temptation. “Thank you. I really appreciate the help, I do, but I can’t. Not tonight. Burt’s home next week, maybe we can do it then.”
John and Dan exchanged a look, one I wasn’t sure I wanted to interpret. “Sure. You and Cyndi work it out. We’ll see you at the parade, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Actually, without Burt, I’d already decided not to go. Who went to a parade by themselves? Where was the fun in that? Besides, without Burt I had half again as much work to do getting ready for the barbeque.
Chapter 2
Kicking around our big, empty house, I spent a disgruntled evening hauling crates of party supplies, tables and folding chairs out of storage. Dining alone had involved shoving the pizza in the fridge, and picking at a quarter portion of the Greek salad. However, one more night without Burt snoring in my ear held a certain attraction.
For background noise I’d turned on the TV, and to my surprise the opening credits of On a Clear Day You Can See Forever popped onto the screen. Reliving a moment of my youth, I tried out Barbra-slash-Daisy-slash-Melinda’s most definitive line to see how it worked with my name.
“My name is Rachel. Rachel Winifred Dahlrumple Bruckmeister.”
Somehow it didn’t sound the same as when Barbra-slash-Melinda said it. Disgusted with the false hope that saying it aloud would make it somehow more magical, I went about my tasks.
The movie had become so deeply rooted in my past, practically from the moment of my birth, which took place on the evening the movie opened, Wednesday, June 17, 1970.
No, I’m not clairvoyant like the character Daisy Gamble. If only. Would have saved me a whole lot of trouble. No, it will take a little more explaining.
As the story goes, my parents went to see the film mainly as a distraction for my mom in the uncomfortable end stages of her pregnancy, but also to escape the summer heat, if only for a few hours. Why they chose this movie over another had to do with dishy Frenchman Yves Montand who played the male lead, a psychiatrist. Well, dishy in a 1970s European style. In the film he was still hot by any day’s standards in that older-man appealing way. At least I always thought so. Mom did too, which was why my father indulged his hugely pregnant wife.
In the movie, Barbra Streisand, regressed through hypnosis by Yves, announced, “My name is Melinda. Melinda Winifred Waine Tentrees.” Complete with upper crust British accent instead of the Brooklyn whine of her other character identity, Daisy Gamble. At this point, the character played by Yves sat up and took notice.
Somehow my name doesn’t carry quite the same impact.
In any case, my middle name, Winifred, came from that movie. My mother loved the film, and swore destiny played a hand as she went into labor at the theater. They dashed from cinema to hospital and five minutes before midnight, I made my debut.
Because of this, Mom wanted to name me after the characters in the film, but my father ruled out the entire name she put together. Eventually they settled on Rachel after his grandmother and Winifred as a compromise. Had I been consulted, I would have voted for Melinda.
I was raised listening to bits of the songs, in particular, “…who would not be stunned to see you prove, There’s more to us than surgeons can remove?” and hearing Mom prattle on about names and destinies. Sadly, I’d never lived up to anyone’s expectations or great hopes for my life, yet, each time I watched the movie, I searched for the divine inside me, the spark of life that brought a character like Daisy to life so brilliantly.
Alas, like every other time I’d seen the film, I didn’t find my spark of divine inspiration, but went about my chores and sang along with the songs as I’d been doing from the time VCRs were invented and the movie became available on tape. Because of Mom, I knew the movie inside out and backward. In fact, it had been some years since I’d seen it because it always reminded me of her and made me miss her even more.
By the time I finished for the night, I had precious little energy left and spent only a few moments on the dark porch, listening to the hot San Joaquin Valley night. Right alongside the crickets, the hum of air conditioning units filled the night air. I debated taking a swim, but even the thought took too much effort.
Entirely too ready for bed, I was upstairs and in the middle of my nightly regimen of allergy medications–those with hay fever have always found summer in the valley brutal–when I heard an odd noise from the front of the house.
Raccoons, coyotes, or even one of the neighbor’s dogs commonly wandered by to sniff around. Because of the coyote possibility, I decided to take a look. The last thing I needed was them getting into the coolers. I considered the possibility of kids from the street getting into the beer, but not seriously. The parents in our little neighborhood would make the punishment more excruciating than the hangover they might have the next day, and the kids knew it.
Besides, it never hurt to double check the security, a habit drilled into me by Burt from our days of living near San Jose, and one he’d not let slip one bit since moving to my tiny hometown. In our first years, he’d reminded me nightly, especially when he was away, until I had the habit deeply ingrained in my bones.
Not particularly happy to deal with strange noises on my own–that’s what husbands were for–I pulled a robe on over the t-shirt I slept in when Burt traveled. He preferred something a bit more revealing, or nothing at all, when he was home. I found it bemusing since he hadn’t turned to me in true love in months, possibly a few years. Not counting the lukewarm sex on our anniversaries. That hadn’t been lovemaking