The Blood We Spill by Donna White Glaser

Author:Donna White Glaser [Glaser, Donna White]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-06-25T23:00:00+00:00

I had forgotten how much fun it was trying to rescue a drunk against her will. Rachel was in the mood to repent and apparently felt that she needed to be naked to do so. After rolling her out of the van, Justus took one look at her struggling to unknot the tie of her Smurf skirt and took off so fast the van pelted us with gravel. By the time I steered her up the sidewalk, she’d begun a stumbling striptease; her remaining bra, panties, and tennis shoes glowed eerily white in the dark. She lurched to a stop in front of Father’s statue, staring at it through lowered brows, trying to regulate her dizziness by breathing heavily.

Oh, boy.

“Rachel?”

Ignoring me, she reached up, throwing her turquoise shirt over the statue’s head, fastening it bonnet-like by tying the sleeves under its chin.

“Rachel. What are you doing?” I was reduced to hissing, the whisperer’s version of yelling.

She looked at me blankly. “Who are you talking to?” she whispered back.

“I’m talking to you. Come inside before we wake the whole church.”

“No.” She didn’t bother whispering this time. Turning back to the parking lot, she walked a few steps away, scanning the empty lot. “Where’d the van go?”

“Justus drove it back to the restaurant. I think your stripping scared him.”

“Chicken.”

“Yeah, well, they don’t make guys like they used to. Now come on, Rachel. Let’s go up to my room. We can have a nice talk.”

“It’s not your room” Rachel said, flopping down on the grass. “It’s Pr’ella’s. You weren’t even s’posed to be there. Just another mistake by ol’ Rachel.” She grabbed my hand, pulling me down next to her so she could stare into my eyes. “Poor Pr’ella. They made her go away. Bet they think Enoch told her. But he wouldn’t. He was a man of honor. Better man than they deserved. ‘specially Maliah. Stupid cow did not deserve that man.”

“Rachel, where did they send Priella? And what do they think Enoch told her?”

Drunks sure do love to talk. We were making progress.

“Who are you talking to?”

Okay, maybe not.

“You.”

“Then, why do you keep calling me Rachel?”

“That’s your name.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.

“No. It’s not.”

I put my hands over my face to keep from screaming. A chilly hand touched my shoulder. I looked up.

“Are you okay, honey?” Rachel’s eyes, wide with concern, ranged over my face.

I started giggling and soon we were both laughing. Suddenly, I understood what she was trying to tell me.

“Rachel?”

“Huh?” Perversely, she answered this time.

“What’s your real name?”

“Stacy,” she said with a big smile. “My name is Stacy.”

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