The Tie That Binds. Laura Gale

on empty.

      Rachel had appreciated the renovation of her quarters. She had tried to let everyone know her feelings, but acknowledged that she wasn’t very good at accepting help from others. Her familia, of course, were different from other people. They knew her better, and were able to anticipate some of what she needed from them. They could offer to help before she had to ask for it—and asking for help was foreign to her. That’s why it had been so difficult to go to Lucas for help.

      Part of the reason, anyway.

      With Lucas it was something else again. Needing him was something Rachel had weaned herself away from. It was a survival technique that had developed slowly, but which had become firmly embedded in her way of life.

      Turning to Lucas now was, quite simply, a violation of Rachel’s current code. Everything in her resisted opening herself up to the man, showing him anything of herself that might look like vulnerability. Rachel needed to protect herself.

      But, ultimately, what Michaela needed was more important than what Rachel needed. If Rachel had been slow to think of testing Lucas, it was because she’d had no concept—anymore—of turning to him. That, and she’d truly believed Michaela’s treatment would follow the path Rachel had seen before.

      It was traumatic enough, without adding other dramas to it. For Michaela, though, Rachel had managed to overcome her own nature as well as the hard-earned aversion to needing Lucas. As soon as the thought had occurred to her—as soon as she’d seen what should have been obvious—she’d asked him to help.

      Sí, sí, Rachel admitted to herself, today was nothing more than another difficult challenge on an ever-increasing list of difficult challenges.

      She thought of her visit to Lucas’s office, remembering the cold, though luxurious, stainless steel-and-glass decor. It seemed so impersonal to her, so spiritless, so sterile. That Neuman Industries was in the architectural field was surprising.

      Not that Rachel had ever really been tempted to do otherwise, but seeing those surroundings reminded her that she was happy she’d followed the career course that was natural to her. As a nurse, especially in pediatrics, heart-wrenching tragedy was not unknown. At the same time, however, Rachel found that the best of human courage and compassion were found there, as well. She’d always been drawn toward nursing, but had known it was the right place for her the minute she had started working as a medical trainee at the University Health Center when she was only eighteen.

      No, she admitted, I knew it was right before that or I’d have never set foot in the center. I knew it when I helped Papá at the veterinary clinic.

      And yet…Lucas had never noticed. He hadn’t seen her “big picture” at all.

      As she made her way through the Phoenix traffic, a slight smile played around her lips. She thought about her phone call yesterday, when she’d made her appointment with Lucas. The receptionist she’d spoken with had been at a loss for words when she’d identified herself as Lucas’s wife. Clearly, the woman had joined the company after the demise of the Neuman marriage. Obviously, Lucas didn’t promote himself as a married man, not that she would have expected him to. After all, it had been Rachel who’d wanted to make the marriage work. It was Lucas who…well, who hadn’t.

      How had their special relationship slipped through their fingers? She had believed in it, in them, so completely.

      Why had things gone wrong? Now there was a question. One she couldn’t afford to think about right now. She had no answers.

      She turned off of Sixteenth Street, just north of McDowell Road, into the area where her town house was located. Technically, it was considered a garden home, part of a new planned community built in an older section of Phoenix, but one designed according to the city’s older flavor. The idea behind these communities was to draw young families from the suburbs, encouraging them to live in Phoenix proper. To sweeten the deal, the city also helped sponsor low-cost loans so that families that might not otherwise be able to own a home could buy one in these communities.

      Rachel had lived with Rick, her brother, for the first few months following her break with Lucas. She had heard about these communities, recognizing them as the best kind of place she could provide for her daughter. The locations appealed to her, as well. Working at a hospital in the city meant that she appreciated the idea of living there. She had begun to put aside every cent she could for a down payment. Once her family had caught on to her plan, they had helped her. She had been ready for home ownership far sooner than she had hoped. In fact, she had had time to settle in before Michaela’s arrival.

      Each home boasted a small, private courtyard that opened onto the shared community “green” and facilities. The homes were clustered in pairs, each one sharing a wall with one other home. Rachel’s was one of the smaller choices: two bedrooms and two bathrooms upstairs, with an additional 1/2 bath downstairs. She had an open, bright kitchen with an eat-in dining area, as well as a great room, rather than separate living, family and dining rooms. It wasn’t fancy or extravagant, but it was perfect for Rachel and Michaela. It felt like home.

      These days she was doing the best she could financially. It wasn’t too bad. Her job was a good one. She was well paid and had considerable benefits. She would never be rich in her field, but then she hadn’t chosen nursing for the money.

      Pulling into the driveway of her cream stucco home, she pushed the button on the remote garage door opener and drove into the garage. She kicked off her shoes as she stepped inside and picked up the stack of mail her neighbor, Tanisha Davis, had been bringing in. Tanisha was also a single working mother, and she and Rachel had a solid friendship.

      Sorting through the mail, Rachel mechanically threw out the junk and filed away the bills. It was twelve-thirty now, so she decided to fix lunch for herself before returning to the hospital.

      A glance in the fridge revealed it was virtually empty. Rachel gingerly peeked into a tub of cottage cheese, noting it was beyond its use-by date, and hurriedly tossed it into the trash bin. She then eyed the splash of milk remaining in the jug and decided to use it since its date suggested it was still fresh. She grabbed a can of tomato soup from the cupboard and prepared it to heat on the stove.

      Rachel ran upstairs, knowing she needed to gather some clothing to take with her to the hospital. She smiled at the piles of clean laundry her mother had left on her bed. What would I have done without Mamá to help me?

      Or, to be fair, what would I have done without everybody’s help?

      If she continued to think along these lines, Rachel would be crying soon. She felt weak today, worn out from meeting with Lucas. She could understand the weakness, but that didn’t mean she had to give in to it.

      And yet, she was so tired. So tense inside.

      She shook off the thoughts and stripped off her suit, carefully hanging it in the closet. She pulled on pale blue jeans and a T-shirt in primary color stripes. She slipped on her sandals and reached for a small suitcase at the top of the closet. Quickly she loaded it with clean undergarments and headed back down the stairs. She poured her soup into a large mug and returned to the living room. Settling on the couch, she whispered a brief prayer and began sipping.

      Thoughts, emotions, memories. They were bombarding her. This time she would be unable to stop them.

      Things had gone so wrong. But what choice did I have? How long was I supposed to take it, try to ignore it, pretend it didn’t matter to me? After all, Las Vegas had been the last straw—it hadn’t been the only straw. There came a point when enough was simply, truly enough. Right?

      Ayuda, she knew, ayuda had saved her then. It continued to sustain her now.

      Ayuda, that particular Mexican form of “circling the wagons” to support, aid and protect anybody considered part of the group. It existed, of course, in any culture, but it was an ever-present force in the Mexican mind-set, simply more visible at some times than at others.

      Rachel’s familia was a large group. Of course, it included grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles, her brother—the obvious people. Some members