Page 3 of Her Last Secret

"Absolutely," she answered, the word hollow, yet spoken with feigned enthusiasm.

Jack smiled and started the car. As he pulled out of the driveway, Rachel stared out the window and wondered if Jack was sensing the new, lurking anger in her. More than that, she wondered if it would ever go away.

Of course it will, she thought to herself. It will go away just as soon as Alice Denbrough is in a prison cell…or six feet deep in the ground.

CHAPTER TWO

Fake candlelight flickered across the table from a small, battery-operated light, casting a soft glow on Jack's face as he studied the menu. Rachel watched him, a warm smile touching her lips despite the dull throb at her temples. They were sitting in a quiet corner of one of Jack’s favorite restaurants, made all the more alluring for Paige because of the aforementioned lava cakes. Before leaving home, a big part of Rachel and been dreading this. But the gentle clink of glasses and subdued murmur of conversation around them underscored the intimacy of the moment. It was as if the very building understood what she needed to remain calm.

"Did you remember to tell the chef about the nut allergy?" Paige asked, her young voice tinged with concern.

"Of course, honey," Jack replied, his tone soothing. "No nuts in anything. Promise."

Jack then looked toward Rachel, winking. Paige did not have a nut allergy—they’d had her tested. But after choking on a walnut last month, she was insisting she must be allergic to them. It was just one of her current little quirks.

Rachel marveled at how effortlessly Jack had woven himself into the fabric of their lives. He treated Paige with such natural paternal care; it was hard to remember a time when he wasn't part of their family. Even when Peter had still been with them—before any romantic sparks had ignited between Rachel and Jack—he’d been her partner at work and had gotten to know Paige as he’d occasionally come by the house. Now, as their wedding approached, the idea of him officially becoming Paige's father filled Rachel with an elation that seemed to brighten even the darkest corners of her heartache over Grandma Tate.

"Mom, are you excited for the wedding?" Paige's innocent question brought Rachel back from her wandering.

"Beyond excited, sweetie." Rachel's voice was sincere, though she hoped they didn't notice the slight strain behind it. The headache that had been inching its way across her skull now pressed insistently against her eyes. And any headache that was more than just a minor blip on the radar could, for her, mean so many terrible things. It was an essential reminder that no matter how well she felt or how great her life seemed, she was probably going to live in the shadow of her cancer…for however much longer it allowed her to live. Even if her treatments did end up working, that damned tumor was always going to be a part of her.

“Excited or nervous?” Paige asked.

“Both, I suppose.”

“But it’s a small wedding, right?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“So what’s there to be nervous about?”

Rachel grinned. “Nothing, I suppose. It’s just…well, it’s just a very big moment.”

This seemed to pacify Paige for the moment. She considered this as she fidgeted with her silverware, wrapped perfectly in a napkin.

Jack took a sip of his deep red wine, savoring it with a contented sigh. Rachel eyed her own glass – just water tonight. She couldn't risk a reaction with the cocktail of medications still coursing through her system after the treatments. It would be at least another month before she could enjoy alcohol…and that was if everything came out okay.

And the headache she was currently feeling seemed to suggest that may not be the case.

"Are you sure you don't want something else to drink?” Jack asked, his concern evident. “Maybe a ginger ale?"

"No, water's fine," Rachel assured him, forcing cheerfulness into her tone. The headache was probably just stress, she reasoned silently. Anger, too, simmering beneath the surface, an ever-present companion since Grandma Tate's death. She'd learned to mask it well, but it gnawed at her still, demanding attention she refused to give.

"Okay, if you're sure," Jack said, reaching over to rest his hand on hers. His touch was warm, grounding.

Rachel squeezed his hand, grateful for the gesture. The headache could wait, she decided. Tonight was about family, about celebrating the little moments that stitched their lives together. She would not let pain – physical or emotional – detract from the joy of seeing the two people she loved most in the world chatting and laughing together, completely at ease in each other's company.

Even if it might mean some very bad things.

As the night went on, their meals arrived and conversation rolled on. Rachel engaged in the chatter swirling around their cozy booth, a smile pinned to her face as she listened to Jack and Paige discuss whether to have chocolate or vanilla cake at the wedding. The warmth of the restaurant encased them, a soft glow from the overhead lanterns casting a golden hue on the table. Every so often, laughter punctuated their conversation, genuine and easy. But Rachel's participation was an act; her thoughts were elsewhere, trapped in a maze of frustration and anger.

"Chocolate," Paige declared with finality, snapping Rachel back to the present. "It's everyone's favorite."

"Is it, now?" Rachel teased, her voice lighter than she felt. She glanced at Jack, who raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. They played along, but beneath the surface, Rachel's mind raced with scenarios of rejoining the hunt for Alice. Surely, there was a way to leverage her unique insight, a way to be more than just a grieving bystander. If she could find the right words, appeal to Director Anderson's sense of justice...

No, she couldn't risk being sidelined. Not when she was so close to beating this damned cancer, or so it seemed. Hell, who knew anymore? Her next check-up was just before the wedding. She’d have more answers then, she supposed.

"Mom?" Paige's curious tone pulled Rachel from her inner turmoil. "Why do you even need a flower girl?"

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