Page 150 of Unspoken Lies
“As sweet as that is, I don’t know that I need fancy things,” Rachelle muses.
“Maybe not, but you should still be able to experience them,” I say. “You’ve made cute little sounds the entire time you’ve eaten your salad. Calvin is going to be jealous.”
Smirking, she loads her fork with another bite. “It’s the dressing,” she confesses. “I could drink it, that’s how good it is.”
I need to see if the chef will be willing to give up his secrets. Her eating habits are so chaotic, I want to replicate food when she loves something.
“It is good,” I admit as I eat. “You’ll be officially done with school next week, right?”
“Yes,” she says with a nod. “Once I got moving, I flew through the material. The professors think I may not be suited for their school. Figures that excellence would get me kicked out of a school.”
“Wait, you’re serious?” I ask. “I thought you could work at your own pace?”
“That’s what the school and the professors say, but you know how things can change,” she says with a shrug.
“That’s bullshit,” I growl. “The more I think about it in retrospect, what happened to you sophomore year shouldn’t have. Your ability to learn and keep the work ethic that you do is amazing.”
“Now you’re gushing, husband,” she says, amused.
“It’s no less true,” I say. “You deserved to kick our asses in school because you earned your spot. Your grades have to be high enough to transfer to UCSB.”
I hold my tongue about all the shit I’ve been working on since she got out of the mental hospital in Oxnard. I fully plan to have her enter UCSB under her real name: Rachelle Denton. I refuse to give her up as my wife under either name.
I need to take a trip to see the council as soon as everything is in place. I spoke to Theo last night about what I needed to be ready to make our move. He’s come out of his funk now that Rachelle is back, reaching for his computer more frequently to hack into something whenever needed. We all felt the effects of her absence, having her back is healing each one of us.
She deserves for us to return the favor.
Rachelle’s blue green eyes gaze at me as the waiter takes our empty plates and she picks up her champagne finally to take a sip. She’s thoughtful, rolling the liquid over her tongue before swallowing it. I chose a sweet, crisp champagne because I knew she’d like it.
Some things about my wife are as easy as breathing.
“How did you know I’d like this?” she asks.
“Lucky guess,” I murmur. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Yes,” she says suspiciously as I grin at her.
“If you could be anything, what would it be?” I ask.
Rachelle’s lips purse as she thinks, a cute wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows.
“That’s evolved a lot,” she sighs. “I’m trying this thing where I want to face the things that have hurt me. I think that’s leading me toward working in social work with teens. I won’t make much money…”
“You don’t have to worry about money,” I grunt. “So many people go into professions they hate for money. Do something you’ll love. I think you’re in a position to help teens who haven’t been listened to.”
She is that kid, even now. We’re here for her, but it’s easy to throw a minor into a hole and forget about them. Her unique situation of having no actual ties to the world because of her new identity has made it even worse.
“Shit, UCSB doesn’t have a social work program, but that doesn’t mean you can’t lead with psychology as your major,” I say. “Then you can get your masters afterward. We’ll figure out the details as they come.”
“It’s that easy, huh?” she asks, her eyes sparkling.
“Absolutely,” I confirm. “I think you could have used a person like yourself when you were fifteen. It’s bullshit that you didn’t.”
“Mr. Richardson did what he could when I was in school,” she says with a shrug. “I think he was the only teacher I liked.”
“He was a hardass,” I murmur. “He’s still at the school, refusing to take anyone’s shit. Enjoy the last two months before summer break, do whatever you want, and we’ll sort out your transfer to UCSB.”
“Shouldn’t I apply?” she asks, confused.
