Rachel Goddard 01 - The Heat of the Moon

on the bed and closed my eyes.
    The scene arose in my mind, complete with the sounds of thunder and my sister’s terrified wail, the cold wet feel of rain plastering my tee shirt to my back. I sat up.
    “Mish, do you remember—” I wasn’t sure how to phrase it. “Do you remember ever being left out in the rain when you were small, maybe two or three?”
    She gave me a quizzical look. “Well, I remember leaving my bike out in the rain once. Does that count?”
    “I’m serious. Do you remember anything like that? Stranded outdoors in a thunderstorm? You used to be afraid of storms—”
    “Mother got me over that.”
    “But do you—”
    “No, I don’t, because it never happened. Mother wouldn’t have let it. What brought this on?”
    I shrugged. “Oh, just a dream I had.”
    “Dreams aren’t usually a replay of reality.” Michelle peered in the mirror, turning her face this way and that. “I’m so pale. I just fade away next to you and Mother. But I look like a clown when I put on a lot of makeup.” Her gaze shifted to meet the reflection of my eyes. “You’re beautiful with or without makeup. And you know, you ought to have a man in your life. Time’s passing, Rachel. Remember your biological clock.”
    I laughed, startled by the abrupt change of subject. “Can it wait till after dinner? You know, I figure at twenty-six I’ve still got a few good years left. What do you want me to do, anyway, prowl the singles bars?”
    “Don’t be ridiculous.” She rose and moved to her closet, shrugging off the robe on the way. “Don’t a couple of single men work at the clinic?”
    “Uh huh, and neither one is the least bit interested in women.” But there was also Luke Campbell. He was well into his thirties and not married, yet somehow I knew beyond doubt that he wasn’t gay. 
    “Oh, for God’s sake!” Michelle cried. I looked up. She stood at the closet in her slip, holding a blue dress. “I told Rosario to take this to the cleaners. What’s wrong with her?”
    “I imagine she’s been busy cooking this special dinner you wanted.”
    She yanked the dress off the padded hanger, threw the hanger on the carpet, and marched to the door. “Rosario!” she shouted. “Come up here. I want to talk to you.”
    “Michelle.” I stood. “For heaven’s sake. You’ve got a closet full of clean dresses.”
    Michelle glared at me. In a moment Rosario was at the door, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.
    “Didn’t I tell you to take this to the cleaners?” Michelle demanded.
    She shook the dress in Rosario’s face. With calm dignity Rosario took the dress, raised her chin, and said, “I will take it to the cleaners on my way home. You will have it back tomorrow, Friday.”
    “If you remember to pick it up,” Michelle said.
    “I will remember. Good night.” With the dress over her arm, Rosario walked away.
    I followed her to the top of the stairs. “Rosie, I’m sorry,” I said helplessly.
    “You have not one thing to say sorry for.” She glanced back in the direction of Michelle’s room and muttered, “ La princesa .”
    I walked back to my sister. “You know,” I said, “sometimes I think two different people live in there.” I tapped her forehead, making her flinch. “One of them is a perfectly nice grown woman. The other one’s about two years old and needs a spanking.”
    She tried to stare me down but couldn’t. Cheeks flaming under the pink blusher, she ducked her head and said nothing.
    I raked back my bangs and let out a long breath. “I’d better go down and feed my animals, then take a shower. I smell like a wet dog.”
    Michelle was silent until I reached the stairs, then she called after me from her door, “Put on a dress for dinner, will you?”
    “ Si, princesa ,” I muttered.
    ***
    Company was a rarity for us, and Rosie had overreacted, filling six big vases with spring flowers and setting them about the living room. The air was sick-sweet with the clashing fragrances of hyacinth and freesia. I knew Mother would think it was all too much, so I removed four of the vases and tossed the scented flowers in the trash, leaving two arrangements of white and yellow tulips.
    Mother’s living room, rich and elegant, needed no embellishment. The walls were creamy yellow, the carpet was a carved Oriental, the furniture was upholstered in a Chinese design of flowers and birds on a Mandarin red background. Every little jade figurine, every porcelain bird, every