Karina Bliss - What the Librarian Did

Devin stroked her hair. “Let it go.”

Shaking her head, she stood and stumbled to the adjacent bedroom, shutting the door. He followed her. She lay face down on the bed, her shoulders heaving with the effort of self-control.

He locked the door, then lay down beside her and gathered her into his arms. Rachel pushed him away, trying to curl in on herself and disappear. He pulled her arms free and put them around his waist, pushed down her bent knees and entwined their legs. He wrapped himself around her, trying to cover as much of her as he could with his body. “Let go.”

Rachel stopped fighting and burrowed into him, her nails digging into his back as she cried, jagged heartrending sobs that seemed as if they’d been held in check for seventeen years.

At last the weeping abated, her grip on him loosened and her body slowly relaxed against his, until Devin felt as if he held something ethereal, she lay so lightly in his arms. Exhausted, Rachel slept.

Releasing her, he swung his feet off the bed and stood up. Moving stiffly, his muscles still tight from absorbing her tension, he took off her shoes and pulled the covers over her inert form. She slept like the dead. Then he sat on the bed, pushed damp tendrils of hair away from her face and stared at her, his emotions mixed and powerful.

He still had the ability to minimize the damage she’d done to him, to protect himself with emotional distance.

In her sleep, Rachel sighed deeply.

Devin laid his palm against her cheek. Had anyone really loved this woman? It didn’t seem so. And yet she’d still had the courage to defy her parents and do what she thought was right by her unborn baby, even at the cost of her relationship with them. She’d been alone in the world from the age of seventeen.

His life had been charmed by comparison, his losses self-indulgent. He’d been a kid in the world, too, and stumbled; but she hadn’t. Not his Rachel.

Because she was his, no matter what she said. All his trials had been preparation, strengthening him to become a man capable of loving a woman who so deserved to be loved-and who might always hold something back.

He loved her anyway.

MARK WAS IN THE sound booth of OneRing Recording Studios, cleaning up after the latest round of coffee takeouts, when Devin strolled in on Friday morning. He started, his grip tightening on a polystyrene cup, and coffee dregs splashed the recording console.

“Watch it, dipstick!” One of the junior techs-bumped up the ranks through Mark’s internship-shielded it protectively. “The VPR 60’s worth more than your life.”

But Mark wasn’t listening. He answered his former mentor’s casual greeting with a scowl. Untroubled, Devin turned to the studio technician and recording engineer. “Hey, guys, long time no see.”

Both men stood to high-five and man-hug him. Even the session musicians tuning up in the isolation booth dumped their instruments to come through.

“Man, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Good to see you! Back for good, I hope?”

Mark waited for a lull. “What are you doing here?”

In all that friendliness and back-thumping, his accusatory tone struck a harshly discordant note. The other guys turned to stare at him.

“Among other things, catching up with old friends,” Devin said coolly, and turned back to his buddies. Mark had imagined that when he saw Devin again, his mentor would be full of hangdog apologies, might grovel even. His first wild thought on seeing him was that Devin had come to talk him into going home. Now Mark wasn’t so sure.

“So no one sent you to find me?”

Devin glanced over. “Why? Are you lost?”

Mark swallowed hard against a rush of homesickness. He’d been miserable in his week in L.A. Not because Zander mistreated him; in his own careless way the man had been kind, even getting him this job.

“No one sent me,” Devin added, then looked at the studio manager. “Okay if I take Mark away for a few minutes, Tom?”

“Rehearsal room four is empty.”

“We’ll catch up later, guys.” Devin left the sound booth, not even checking to see if Mark followed him. Mark dawdled to stress his resentment. Rehearsal room four was a large empty space with white, soundproof walls, a parquet floor and a comfortable couch. Devin sat at the grand piano-the only instrument currently in the room-running his hands lightly over the keys, seemingly unaware that he’d just been taught a lesson.

Bunching his hands in his jean pockets, Mark remained standing in the open door, trying to look aloof instead of sulky.

“Called your parents yet?”

Mark tried not to look guilty. He’d been meaning to call, except he couldn’t deal with their questions or inevitable hurt. “I’m getting round to it.” He had another day before Suz got home from Dubai and posted his letter.

He braced himself for criticism, but Devin only said, “What do you think of this?” and started playing.

“Sounds old-fashioned,” he said impatiently.

“It came out before you were born. Listen to the lyrics.”

“It’s kinda schmaltzy,” said Mark after a few minutes. “All this holding on through the coming years. It makes me think, get another girlfriend and get over it.”

“What if the singer was female, sixteen and pregnant, and had just made the decision to adopt. What if it was a love song to her baby? Does that put a different spin on it?”

Devin sang another chorus, and suddenly Mark could feel the anguish in the song. He put his hands over his ears. “Stop.”

Devin closed the lid of the piano. “It’s Rachel’s favorite song.”

Mark clenched his hands at the mention of her name. “Why did you do it, Dev? Why didn’t you tell me as soon as you found out it was her?”

“Because she asked for time to get to know you.” His expression softened in the same frustrated, affectionate way Dad’s did when he was explaining some crazy female foible of Mom’s. “She wanted you to like her first.”

Mark snorted.

“It wasn’t her best idea,” Devin conceded, “but was she wrong to worry that you’d never give her a chance to explain?” With an effort of will, Mark held that penetrating gaze. “When she finally tried, did you listen?”

Mark clung to his righteous anger like a martyr to a hair shirt. “You know what I think? She never wanted me to find out she was my birth mother and that’s why she conned you into not telling me.”

“No, that’s-”

“She’s a liar, Dev. She said she gave me up because she had to but-” he paused to clear his throat “-her mother told me they wanted to keep me, and Rachel was the one who said no.”

“What if they were both telling the truth?” Devin stood up from the piano. “Mark, you need to hear Rachel’s side.”

He shook his head. “If it’s so damn important that I understand, then where is she? Why isn’t she here defending herself?”

“I am here,” Rachel said behind him.

MARK PALED, and tried to push past her. Heart pounding, Rachel blocked his way.

“Five minutes, then I promise you don’t have to see me again.”

He hesitated. To her relief he flung himself on the couch, glanced at his watch and folded his arms.

Devin got up to leave.

“Stay,” she croaked, “I want you to hear this.”

“And I don’t want to be alone with her,” Mark said savagely.

Rachel wiped her damp palms on her skirt. This was the most important conversation of her life and her mind was a blank.

Still standing by the door, she looked helplessly at Devin, trying to draw strength from his smile of encouragement as he joined Mark on the couch.

“This is a waste of time,” said Mark.