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    “Rachel can show us,” Veronica offered. When they were alone in the small office, she whispered to Rachel, “It might be a good idea to give your mom something to calm her nerves and help her sleep. This will take a little while.”
    She numbly agreed and went to try to talk her mom into taking a Xanax and going to bed.
    Surprisingly, Rosemary didn’t put up as much of a fight as Rachel had expected — possibly because Rachel gave the pills a few minutes to kick in before suggesting Rosemary lie back and rest her eyes for a moment.
    With her mom squared away, she went to check in with Rick and Veronica. They promised once again to get her the second anything turned up, which Rachel understood to be their polite way of saying, “Please leave us alone so we can do our job.”
    She found Conrad sitting quietly on the loveseat, lost in thought, his head resting in his hands. She noted the fingers woven through his hair and realized why he was disheveled: he’d been running his hands through his hair in a show of frustration. It was a habit he’d picked up since their days together.  His eyes flickered over to Rachel; he offered her a weary smile and motioned for her to join him.
    Wordlessly, she sank into the overstuffed seat, leaning away from Conrad lest she melt embarrassingly in his arms. In true Conrad fashion, he seemed to understand exactly what she needed. He sat with her on the couch and didn’t try to fill the void with useless chatter. He simply waited with her, his quiet strength propping her up despite the distance between them.
    Her gaze drifted around the room, taking in the pictures, the colors, the well-worn but neat furniture. It was a room filled with life. It was also a room filled with pain, but Rachel didn’t want to think about that right now. At least it didn’t hold any of the nightmares that clung to her childhood home. Maybe that’s why she’d bought the place: she didn’t want Julia growing up with memories like that lurking around every corner. This house was supposed to have been a fresh start for all of them.
    The clock on the wall chimed. With a start, Rachel realized her guests might be hungry. “I think I’ll go see if they want some lunch.” She popped back out of her seat, grateful for something to do.
    “I’ll help.” Conrad probably wanted something to keep himself busy too, so Rachel accepted the offer.
    It almost felt like old times, moving around the kitchen together, preparing a meal. They made more food than anyone would eat. They knew it even as they cooked, but the need to keep their hands busy was greater than the need to conserve groceries. After serving Veronica and Rick, they went through the motions of making their own plates. Rachel pushed her pasta from one end of the plate to the other and back again before declaring it useless and packing up the leftovers.
    They found themselves back on the loveseat, trying not to touch, with nothing useful to do. It gnawed at Rachel.
    “I’m not used to waiting around,” she finally observed, feeling the need to speak but not really sure what there was to say in a moment like this.
    “No,” a wry smile accompanied a soft chuckle. “That never was your forte, chère .”
    “I’m sorry I hurt you,” she whispered, surprising even herself. “I think that’s what I really called about last night. To say I’m sorry.”
    Conrad stared at her, looking as if he’d had the wind knocked out of him. There was such intense pain in his eyes, she couldn’t help but reach out to cup his cheek with her hand. The instant their skin made contact, he jumped out of his seat as if branded then strode quietly to the other side of the room, where he stood scowling out the window. It was a look that made grown men tremble. Rachel had seen it before. There’d been a time when her favorite pastime was to teasingly pick a fight whenever he wore that look.
    Now, she was too stunned to do much besides sit alone