Rachel Goddard 01 - The Heat of the Moon

the memory stirred?
    Stop it. Don’t think about it.
    I sank onto the couch.
    From where I sat I could see Luke moving about in the narrow little kitchen, pulling a mug from a cupboard, standing over the kettle on the range. I concentrated on the fluid movements of his hands, the fringe of sandy hair across his forehead. But as I watched him, a vague mental image of someone else shifted into clear focus. The man I’d dreamed about, seen at the edge of my thoughts, suddenly had firm outlines, a body. Tall and rangy, with a natural grace. So familiar. Not Luke, no, of course not, but so much like him.
    I pressed a hand to my forehead. I was grafting something positive onto a nightmare to make it less frightening. I couldn’t believe anything my mind spat out.
    “Here you go,” Luke said, holding out the mug. “With lemon and a scandalous amount of sugar, just the way you like it.”
    “Thanks.” I sipped the tart-sweet tea as he settled beside me.
    We sat in silence until I placed the half-empty mug on the coffee table. Then Luke said, “Did something happen today? What got you so upset?”
    I shook my head. “You wouldn’t understand—I have to go back farther. Tell you all of it.”
    “All of what?”
    I rubbed at my temples. “God, I don’t know where to start. I don’t understand any of it. It scares me to death. I go around half the time feeling like I’m not quite sane. But I’ve got to tell somebody, Luke.”
    “Tell me.”
    He clasped my hand. The strength and warmth of his grip held me, kept me from floating away in an ether of panic. 
    I dragged in a deep breath, stared straight ahead, and began. Coaxing me through frequent silences, Luke pulled it out of me bit by bit, a jumble of tangled strands.
    I told him about Mother’s unspoken rule that my father was never to be discussed, and her distress when the subject was brought up. Her story about me destroying family pictures and my discovery that the pictures still existed—and didn’t include me. The dreams, the memory that came back the day Mrs. Coleman brought Maude, and her daughter, to the clinic. The missing birth certificate. My certainty that Mother was hiding something important from me.
    “I’ve tried to imagine everything it could possibly be. I’ve thought about things that make me sick to my stomach. Things that never would’ve entered my mind a few weeks ago. Maybe my father abused me, and I repressed the memories, and Mother doesn’t want me to recover them. Or maybe I’m adopted, and my origins were so dreadful or shameful that she doesn’t want me to find out. Either I’m adopted or she lied to me about when and where I was born.” I laughed, a harsh wild sound. “Maybe I never was born. No wonder I’m having trouble remembering things—I don’t exist!”
    I stopped and sat with my head in my hands. “Now’s your chance to go call the men with white coats and butterfly nets.”
    “I’ll hold off on that.” Luke’s fingers kneaded the back of my neck. “Have you asked your mother about the birth certificate and the pictures?”
    “No!” I jerked my head up. “I’d have to tell her I broke into that box, I went behind her back—”
    “God damn her!”
    His outburst made me flinch.
    He jumped up and paced, raking his hair back. “Christ, what a witch. I could wring her neck. All she has to do is tell you the truth, but she’s got you scared to death to even ask about it. Nothing is wrong with you. She’s the one who’s crazy.”
    I slumped back, covering my face, trying not to cry again.
    Just then my cell phone bleeped inside my shoulderbag, which still lay where I’d dropped it on the floor. Mother, I thought. It was nearing dinnertime and she’d wonder why I wasn’t home.
    Luke retrieved the purse and held it out to me. “You going to answer it?” he said when the phone had rung five times and I’d made no move to take the purse from his hand.
    “I guess I should,” I said reluctantly, hoping the ringing would stop by the time I got the phone out. It didn’t.
    “Rachel, how are you feeling?” Theo asked. “I’ve been terribly worried about you since we parted.”
    I released my breath and allowed my shoulders to relax. “I’m fine, Theo. I’m with a friend. I’ll be in touch.” I pushed the off button before he could answer.
    The phone rang again as I was putting it back in my purse. I sighed. I shouldn’t have hung up on Theo so abruptly. But this time it was Mother. At