Page 53 of The Last Letter of Rachel Ellsworth

Chapter Forty-Five

Their clothes were in tidy stacks when they returned, freshly laundered and pressed.

They all went to their rooms to repack and get things ready for the flight that evening.

Veronica marveled at the delight of someone else doing her laundry, pressing and folding her blouses.

Had anyone else done her washing since her mother died?

She tried to remember a time and couldn’t.

Another moment of wonder. She smiled to herself.

Veronica went to Henry’s room. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Of course.”

His room was no less gorgeous than hers, the tiles here blue, the accents in pink velvet and yellow.

Admiring the inlays on a lamp, she said, “Don’t you kind of wonder how beige and white became so popular?

I keep looking at all this tile work, and it makes everything beautiful.

Why are we in a season in America of painting everything white? ”

He made a psssh noise, shrugged. “I’m not the design guy, but I hear you. Why not have some color?”

“In her letters, Rachel talks about semitrucks in India being painted and covered with flowers and wonders why that’s not done in the west.”

“Did she? That makes sense. She was definitely not a minimalist. You’ve been to the house, right?”

“Yeah. Do you miss her?”

“Rachel? No. Not as a lover. We were friends, and I miss that part.”

Veronica nodded, wondering if that had seemed a needy question. She was out of practice being cool and hard to get.

But was that who she wanted to be? Hadn’t she been pretending to be a particular person, some imaginary version of herself, long enough? Maybe at some point she could just be herself, warts and all.

What would that feel like?

“What’s up?” Henry asked. He had sorted his clothes into piles on the bed, socks, underwear, pants.

She sank into the pink velvet chair, running her fingers over gold fringes. “Do you think maybe Mariah needs to go home, rather than pushing on to India?”

He took a breath. “I’ve been thinking about that, too.” He tucked the neatly rolled socks into his duffel. “She’s getting worse.”

“Yeah. I’m no expert on PTSD, but I’d say she needs at least some more counseling and maybe some meds. She hasn’t really dealt with everything yet.”

“Well, how could you? How could anyone?” He sank down on the bed, and rubbed his face hard. “I’ve been around a lot of PTSD, and she’s a classic, top to bottom.”

“It would be more surprising if she didn’t have some. Such a trauma.”

He nodded, expression sober. Light fell on his face from the open door, showing one side in the light, the other in shadow, and she wanted to take his picture.

A wave of protest and longing moved through her —I don’t want to end this adventure yet!

— and the visions of India, visions that were like things torn from a magazine, not real and yet calling her, saris and sacred cows and color, and maybe now semitrucks decorated with plastic marigolds, dispersed like sand paintings in the wind. Mariah’s well-being came first.

“We should talk to her about it.”

“About what?” Mariah said, striding into the room. She’d changed into a blue peasant blouse that left the graceful line of her collarbone exposed. Her blond hair was swept up into a messy bun, and she carried an airy scarf. “My little freak-out today?”

“It was an episode of PTSD,” Henry said, folding his hands. “And it’s not the first one.”

“I’m fine,” she said. “I haven’t been doing my breathing exercises, and I ran out of Xanax. I wasn’t sure how to fill a prescription in London.”

“You didn’t think you should ask about that?” Veronica asked.

She shrugged. “You guys are taking this way too seriously. Honestly, I appreciate your concern, but I’m not your kid. You’re both working for me, and I want to follow it through.”

They exchanged a glance. “Mariah,” Veronica said, “I think maybe you should give it some more thought.”

“Yeah, kid,” Henry said. “Take a beat.”

“Look,” Mariah said, exasperated, “I’m fine. I’ll get the prescription filled, and if I feel panic attacks coming on, I’ll tell you. When I get home, I promise I’ll do some more counseling.” She pressed her hands over her heart. “Promise, okay?”

Both Veronica and Henry were silent.

“With or without you, I’m going,” Mariah said. She looked from one to the other. “Who’s in?”

Veronica sighed. “Better you’re not alone. I’m in.”

“Right, and we have the mystery to solve!”

“We’re making a lot of progress,” Veronica said. “The letters are helping piece things together.”

“Yeah?” Mariah tucked hair behind her ear. “I don’t think I can read them yet.”

“That’s okay. I’m doing it for you.”

Henry hadn’t spoken. “You need to get the meds. And some real help in the lineup. We’re here for you on this trip, but you have to do something when you get back.”

“Still not my dad.”

“Still your friend, and somebody who worries about you, and I am the photographer, so if you want me, you have to agree to my terms.”

Mariah rolled her eyes. Crossing her arms, she said, “Fine.”

“And,” Henry added, “you need to get the contract between you and Veronica together. By tomorrow.”

“It’s Christmas. No one will be reading email.”

Veronica leaped to her feet. “Shit! I haven’t even texted my family!”

“You have time. Do it now.”

She ran back to her room, her heart pounding in guilt. It was only noon in Denver, she realized, and maybe that was okay. She called Ben first, since he’d been trapped in the lodge. His voicemail picked up. “You know I won’t listen, but you can leave a v-m if you want.”

“This is your mom, I’m leaving a voice message just in case you want to hear my voice on Christmas. Sorry I haven’t called sooner, but we were out in Marrakech today. Hope your leg feels okay and that you’re not too bummed out that you can’t ski. I love you so much!”

Then she texted most of it to him, too, but he didn’t reply to that, either. Maybe he was lost in a video game.

She followed suit with both Tim and Jenna, first a voice message, then a text. Neither of them replied, but she was quite sure they were on the slopes.

Duty finished, she sat for a moment in the beautiful room, realizing that she had not one iota of longing to be at the lodge.

Of course she would have loved to hug her kids, but honestly, Jenna still had not replied to Veronica’s request to rescue her stuff before January first, and that made her mad. Tim had barely texted since she’d left.

And actually, not one of them had called her . The phone system did go both ways.

The guilt of forgetting to call slid away, and she used the phone another way, to take pictures of this room where she’d been so happy, where she’d taken a lover for the first time in decades. She’d wondered who she’d be in such a space when she first entered the room.

Maybe it was just herself.

Her phone buzzed with a text. Reluctantly, she turned it over. It was Amber. Merry christmas! where r u?

Merry Christmas ! I’m so happy to hear from you! I was so worried about you. Are you still mad at me?

never mad at u, silly

but dragon lady is a bitch

i hope you’re ok w/her

Veronica took a breath. Whatever happened, Amber didn’t need to worry about Veronica. I’m good. In Marrakech!

She sent a picture of the riad .

whoa where is that? Egypt?

Close. North Africa. Did you find a place?

yeah the duplexes on Connor. u know?

Veronica did vaguely. Rent assisted, big rooms. Congrats.

ty talk soon, k?

xo xo

She sighed and put the phone aside. At least one of them had a home.