BooksBarbecue
Back Again, Rachel
Chapters (98)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. 82
  86. 83
  87. 84
  88. 85
  89. 86
  90. 87
  91. 88
  92. 89
  93. 90
  94. 91
  95. 92
  96. 93
  97. 94
  98. Acknowledgements

Well, technically you are, because you did it. But I just said, ‘Okay.’

I hung up and sat in my car, breathing hard, waiting to calm down. Him offloading his stuff onto me—after all he’d done—it was confusing.

On a whim, I FaceTimed Anna. It was 8.20 a.m. in New York so maybe I’d catch her before she started her day.

And there she was! My heart lifted.

‘Great timing,’ Anna said. ‘I’m just getting dressed.’

Anna was a rarity among successful New York women; she had no fear of sugar and stayed in bed when everyone else got up in the dim dawn to go to Barry’s Bootcamp. ‘If I turn into a blimp, so what?’ she always said. ‘We get one life, I want to enjoy mine.’

She didn’t turn into a blimp, though. Unlike Claire, Margaret and me, who were Model A Walshes—tall Never-Slenders who took after Mum—she and Helen were Model Bs: short and slight, with a whippet-y ability to burn calories.

I brought her up to date with the latest on Luke.

‘Yeah.’ She sighed. ‘You and Luke were such a love story. This was always going to be painful. But you ignore the universe at your peril.’

‘Excuse me?’

She was shimmying her way into very skinny jeans. With a hoick of the waistband and a whizz of the zip, she was neatly contained. It was a pleasure to watch.

‘You and him, it was a…’ She threw a silky T-shirt over her head and spoke through it. ‘Brutal finish.’ Her delicate face reappeared. ‘But now he’s in Ireland.’ She slung several fragile gold chains around her neck. ‘It’s like the universe has put him there so you and he can make peace.’

‘So the universe has given Luke’s Dad COPD just so Luke and I can learn to be civil?’

‘Oh, Rachel.’ She clucked sympathetically, shucking on an oversized blazer, flicking a hand back to free her swingy ponytail from the collar. ‘You’re not that sneery cynic.’

‘Oh, Anna,’ I replied. ‘You’re not that space cadet who thinks the universe gets personally involved on my behalf.’

‘I am. It does.’ She extended her arm, which sported a big, brass bangle. ‘Too much?’

‘No. Show me your shoes.’

The camera wobbled downwards to show a pair of beige and black Valentino Rockstuds.

‘You’re walking to the subway in them?’

Apologetically, she said, ‘They send a car for me now.’

I was so proud of Anna. She managed to thrive in the bruising US corporate world but she was still her own sweet self. It was a matter of great personal pride that she’d never sacked anyone. If an underling wasn’t flourishing in their role, she either reassigned them to something more suitable or sat them down for a genuine chat which usually ended with the employee unilaterally deciding to change careers and thanking her for her insight.