Rachel Goddard 01 - The Heat of the Moon

can usually make them see the benefits.”
    She arranged chicken slices on a white china serving platter. I patted the last drops of water off the salad, then tipped it all into the cut glass bowl she’d placed on the counter.
    She laughed. “When they hear what it costs to charter a plane, they’re glad enough to be doing it with a group. Why don’t you add some mushrooms to the salad? If we have any.”
    Obediently I searched the refrigerator. When I bent over, the folded papers in my pocket made a crinkling noise. I found a carton of plump white mushrooms in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator and took them back to the island.
    After dinner, I thought. I would do it after dinner.
    No, I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t sit through dinner silent, pretending I didn’t know what I’d learned that day. 
    But I couldn’t imagine speaking it aloud.
    I wiped a mushroom clean with a damp paper towel, then sliced it into the salad with a paring knife. The ripe rich smell of it reminded me of the woods in autumn.
    “Did you have a good day?” Mother asked. “Did you do anything special?”
    I jerked my head up. Now. Tell her. Say it. The words wouldn’t come.
    She regarded me quizzically for a moment, and seemed about to say something when the front doorbell rang, loud and jarring through a speaker on the kitchen wall.
    “Who in the world could that be?” she said.
    She laid the long knife on the serving plate and went to answer the door. I stayed behind, gripping the edge of the counter, dragging in breaths with an effort, until the sound of Luke’s raised voice reached me and snapped me into action.
    I raced down the hall.
    He stood on the threshold, hands clenched at his sides. Hot air pushed into the house through the open door.
    “Luke,” I said, “what—”
    “Why didn’t you call me? I’ve been worried sick about you.”
    He didn’t know what he was doing, he’d blundered in at the worst possible time. Frantic, but unable to get my voice above a hoarse whisper, I said, “Don’t, Luke. Just leave, please.”
    “Like hell I will. What’s going on?”
    Mother slipped an arm around my waist. “Rachel asked you to leave, Dr. Campbell, and I’m asking the same. I don’t know what you’re after, but you’re not welcome in my house.”
    I pulled away from her, felt her arm tighten for a second before she gave in and let go.
    “Good night, Dr. Campbell.” She started to close the door in his face.
    He slapped a hand against the door to stop it, then pushed past her and into the foyer. He glared down at Mother. “What the hell are you doing to her? What kind of crazy mind control game are you playing?”
    “You really are trying my patience,” Mother said. “You burst into my home acting like—
    “You’re fucking with her mind, you goddamn witch!”
    “Luke!” I cried. “Stop it!”
    “I want you to leave my house this instant,” Mother said, opening the door still wider. “Or I’ll call the police.”
    “You’re not gonna do this to her anymore,” Luke said. He held out a hand. “Rachel, come on. Come home with me.”
    I looked at his outstretched hand, his pleading eyes, and then at Mother’s face, all her fury on the surface, nothing hidden now.
    “My daughter’s not going anywhere with you,” she said. “And I won’t have you harassing her this way.”
    “Rachel,” Luke said. He stepped toward me.
    I wanted to go with him, get away from Mother, go where I couldn’t see her eyes or hear her voice. But I had to face what I’d discovered that day.
    “Please leave,” I said, trying with my eyes to tell him what I didn’t dare say aloud. 
    He held my gaze for a moment. His face mirrored the struggle I felt inside. When he spoke again his voice was flat, resigned. “Will you call me later and let me know you’re all right?”
    Before I could answer, Mother said, “Why wouldn’t she be all right? She’s with her family.”
    After another long look at me he turned and walked out. Mother quickly shut the door behind him.
    She grabbed my arm and steered me down the hall toward the kitchen. “I hope you realize now what a mistake it was to get involved with that man. I don’t want you working with him. You can find another job. Just put him out of your mind, don’t think about him.”
    I stopped listening because I was seeing her when we were both much younger, and hearing her calm, relentless voice. You will not think about those people. Whenever those