Way Down I'll Go

As If of Hemlock I Had Drunk

Rachel couldn't help the small tweak of excitement in her belly as she packed up her cooking supplies and groceries.

Her visits to the Atwood family had become a tentative routine; once a week, she'd spend time cooking with the boys and they would have dinner together. This was only her third visit, but she felt as if she had gained their trust and had been accepted as a friend at least.

Their older brother, however, was a tougher nut to crack.

The thought of Jo made the butterflies on her stomach intensify. She liked him. Denying it would be lying to herself, and she didn't see the point in that. But she couldn't figure out what drew her so strongly to him. Maybe it was the way he showed so much affection for his brothers. Or how patient he was when they asked question after question. Or how he gazed at the baby with so much love and care, even while he was screaming at decibels that could break glass. Or how he subtly met his brothers' needs at his own detriment without a thought.

Or maybe how his eyes looked when she caught him staring at her.

She frequently caught those eyes, but didn't understand them. When he looked at her, she saw a mixture of curiosity and pain, which made absolutely no sense to her. She had no clue what he thought of her and she couldn't really tell if he wanted her there or not. Sometimes she thought he did, and other times she felt he wanted nothing more than for her to leave.

After their Friday night dinners, she insisted on driving him to work, though he protested every time. She couldn't bear the thought of him outside in that thin jacket, though he was every other day of the week. She'd buy him a winter coat if she thought he'd accept it. But the man had a hard enough time coming to terms with her bringing groceries every week, insisting several times that he pay her for them. She'd refused each time, lying that she'd be buying the same for herself at home. Jo acted if a few groceries were the equivalent to paying off a mortgage or buying a new car.

To him, they probably were.

Poverty was not a new concept to Rachel. She saw enough of it in the Emergency Department where she worked and much more at the free clinic where she volunteered. But she'd never been in the middle of it quite like when she was in that tiny apartment. Seven people living in a space that was made for one or two...it just blew her mind. She looked around her own apartment with a small measure of embarrassment. When she'd moved out of St. Charles, this apartment had seemed so small. But in comparison to the Atwood apartment, it was a mansion. She wondering briefly what they'd think of her previous living situation.

Placing the last of her supplies in her reusable shopping bag, she noticed her phone buzzing on the table. Mother. She sighed deeply, wanting nothing more than to ignore it. But she'd ignored the last two calls and multiple texts and voice messages. Her mother would not be put off much longer.

"Hey mom," she said with a cheerfulness she didn't feel.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Rachel. I was about to call the police. I know you're "busy" but would it hurt you to send me a text to at least let me know you are alive? I mean, honestly, what am I supposed to think with you living in the crime-infested inner city."

Rachel rolled her eyes. Lake View was a safe, beautiful neighborhood, nowhere near the inner city, and certainly not crime-infested. She wondered what her mother would think of Burnside.

"Mom, you know perfectly well how safe my neighborhood is."

"Well, you work in that awful hospital, and don't get me started on that clinic."

That awful hospital was Northwestern Memorial, one of the best hospitals in the state.  The clinic....well, she had a point there.

"I'm not an idiot, mom. I've somehow managed not to get mugged or raped in the past three years, so I'm probably doing something right."