| Romance Fiction posted September 27, 2025 | Chapters: |
...26 27 -28- 29... 
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Rachel Begins To Question
A chapter in the book Yesterday's Dreams
The Untold Story Chap 6
by Begin Again
The cemetery had emptied of its visitors by the time Rachel found the courage to unfold the envelope again. She sat on the bench under the monument, her fingers stiff from the cold and nerves, the paper shaking as if it resisted being opened after so many years.
"Rachel?"
The voice came gently, almost uncertain.
Rachel straightened, her hands fumbling to fold the letter. A woman stood a few feet away, clutching a bouquet of chrysanthemums, her hair tucked beneath a knit hat.
"Karen?" Rachel blinked through tears. "Karen Morris?"
The woman's face broke into a smile of surprise. "It is you. My goodness. I thought —well, I didn't think I'd run into you here." She stepped closer, flowers cradled against her coat. "I'm sorry — I didn't mean to interrupt."
Rachel swiped her eyes. "You didn't. I just —" Her voice wavered. "It's been a hard day."
"The first visit always is." Karen smiled. "Are you home — I mean —"
"It's okay, Karen. I came back to help Mark pack up Mom's things."
Karen sat beside her without waiting for an invitation, the way old friends do. She set the flowers on her lap and studied Rachel with kind eyes. "I was bringing these for my dad. Five years this week. I like to think he knows I still come."
Rachel managed a nod. "I didn't know. I'm sorry."
"Life keeps handing us losses, doesn't it?" Karen gave her a soft smile. "But here we are, stubborn enough to keep showing up."
Rachel pressed the letter between her hands, hidden but still there. "I didn't expect to see anyone."
"Small towns have a way of finding you." Karen tilted her head. "I heard about Julia. I was sorry I couldn't make the funeral. I don't live here now either."
Rachel swallowed hard. "It was — smaller than I thought it would be."
"She deserved more," Karen said. "Your mom was always helping somebody. I still remember the time she stayed with me after my appendectomy. My mother panicked, but Julia showed up with soup and crossword puzzles. Stayed until I was home from the hospital."
Rachel looked down at her hands. She hadn't known that story. Julia's love had slipped into places Rachel never saw.
"You were close to her?" Rachel asked.
Karen shook her head. "Not like family-close. But she had a way of making people feel seen. I always thought you were lucky." She hesitated, then added, "Though I know you didn't always think so."
Rachel's throat tightened. "We fought a lot. We never seemed to be able to talk."
"All daughters fight their mothers." Karen touched her arm lightly. "But it doesn't erase the love underneath."
Rachel bit her lip, the letter burning like a coal in her palm. She wanted to tell Karen about Anthony and about Mark. She wanted to share it with someone, to ease the weight of it, but now didn't seem right.
Instead, she whispered, "I didn't call her back after our last fight. I waited too long. I always had some excuse."
Karen's eyes softened. "Then maybe what you can do now is listen. Really listen to who she was. She left pieces of herself everywhere — in people's stories, in the quiet things she did. Maybe that's how you find her again."
The words settled over Rachel like a balm.
Karen glanced at her watch, then at the flowers. "I should go before it gets dark. But listen — don't disappear on me again. We used to be good for each other. I still have the yearbook where you wrote, 'We'll escape this place and conquer the world.' Maybe we didn't conquer it, but we did escape."
Rachel felt her mouth curve, just a little. "I'd like that."
Karen rose, gathering her flowers. She hesitated, then leaned down to hug her quickly, the way old friends do when too many years stand between them. "Call me," she said. "I'm still in the book."
When she walked away, Rachel unfolded Anthony's letter again. The ink caught the fading light.
If the child you carry is mine — tell him — always.
The words pulsed in her chest. For the first time in years, Rachel let herself imagine Julia not as the stern, disapproving mother, but as a young woman in love, standing at the edge of a new life.
Rachel pressed the letter back into its envelope, stood, and looked up at the monument one more time.
FAITH. LOVE. HOPE.
Her mother had carried all three, even if Rachel had never seen them. Now it was her turn to embrace them and carry them forward.
She walked toward her car, her mind whirling.
*****
She sat behind the wheel and stared through the glass until the sting in her eyes eased. Then she pulled out her phone.
You at the store? She typed.
Noah replied almost at once. Closing in ten. Grabbing a bite at Arnie's. Want to join me?
On my way.
As the Civic rolled down the small town's main street, she felt like she was looking at the stores with new eyes. She saw her mother standing outside Whitman's, or window-shopping at Hazel's Dress Shop, and the Friday-night fish fry at Miller's Bar & Grill. She spotted the small church tucked behind the shrubbery — she remembered playing in the front yard while her mother was inside at a bazaar meeting or gathering items for the rummage sale. Her eyes blurred, and she fought the tears. Why hadn't she remembered any of the good times when it would have counted?
She pulled into Arnie's lot, wiped her face, and put on fresh lipstick. Satisfied it was the best she could do, she climbed out and walked toward the restaurant.
Arnie's bell made a softer sound than Whitman's. Noah was at a corner table with two mugs and a napkin already folded under one.
"Hey," he said, voice low. "Rough day?"
She nodded and slid into the chair. "Yikes! Do I look that bad?"
"No, of course not. You look great to these old eyes." He added quickly, "Are you ready to order, or would you rather wait?"
"No, I could eat something. I haven't been here for ages. What's good?"
"I'm having tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. But have anything you want."
"Warm soup sounds good. I'll have the same."
They shared small talk — things about town she'd missed after being gone so long. He said his dad decided to name all the dogs "Buddy" because it was easier to remember, not because they were so friendly. She said the flower boxes were new on Main Street, but the stores looked the same. He laughed and told her a funny story that had happened at the store that day.
When the plates came, he slid the napkin dispenser toward her. "You don't have to talk. But you can."
She lowered her voice after checking if anyone was nearby. "Someone called today. A man who walked with my mom on Fridays. Bill Lane."
Noah lifted his brows a little. "VFW Bill? That's who you were asking me about when you brought the film in, right?"
"That's him."
He didn't pry. "Seems decent."
"He is," she said. "He knew her as someone I didn't." She gave him a sad look. "I wish I'd given her a chance."
Noah took that in. "You're allowed to have more than one version of a person. Doesn't make either a lie."
She sat with that.
When the check came, he slid it to his side of the table and didn't make a speech about it. "You can get the next one," he said, light enough she could call it a joke if she needed to.
Outside, evening had gone from gray to blue. He walked her to the Civic.
"Text me when you're home?" he asked. "So I don't picture you on the side of the road with steam pouring out of that rattletrap."
She almost smiled. "It's character, not steam."
"Uh-huh." He stepped back. "Come by the shop tomorrow."
"I will," she said.
He tapped the roof once, a small habit, then headed for his car. Rachel got in, set her hands on the wheel, and let the heat crawl in slowly. The meal had been good, but the company had made her feel settled. She chuckled to herself, realizing that Noah had always been her go-to when they were younger — the one who calmed her and comforted her without her even realizing it.
She pulled onto the street and drove toward the house.
Mark was at the dining table with a pad when she came in. "I expected you back earlier. Can't get things done if you're always out running around."
"I wasn't running around." She hung her coat up. "I was at the cemetery."
"Again?" He smirked. "Too bad you didn't visit her that much when she was alive."
"You know why I didn't, so let's leave it at that." She started to walk away, then stopped. She turned and stared at him a moment, deciding whether to find the courage to confront him.
Mark settled it for her. He snapped, "If you've got something you want to say, just spit it out."
"Fine." She moved a little closer to the table. "I have a couple of questions."
Mark capped his pen like a gavel. "Make it quick. There's work to do, and it doesn't look like you're going to give me much help."
"Grandma's brooch. You said it was out for an appraisal. I want the shop name in writing."
"Why? I'll get the appraisal, and then it'll be done."
"And the clock — Halpern gave you a claim slip?"
He hesitated a hair too long. "It's handled."
"Handled? What's that supposed to mean?"
He watched her, weighing the situation. "You come home two minutes and act like a foreman."
"I'm acting like a daughter." She kept her voice even. "Starting tomorrow, I photograph everything before it moves. We do this together — itemizing things, deciding what's for sale and what's for donation. Whether you like how I spent the last few years of my life or not, I am still her daughter." She held his gaze until he dropped his eyes.
He pushed his chair back. "Whatever. I'm done for tonight."
"Well, I'm not."
"What's so important that it can't wait till tomorrow?"
"It's a simple question." She inhaled. "There's no stone next to Mom's gravestone. Isn't Dad buried there?"
Mark's face closed down. He looked at the table instead of at her. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat.
"He's not there."
Rachel gasped, "Not there? Then where is he?"
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