Chapter 8

"Ooh, this is so exciting!"

Opening the passenger door, Rachel chuckled at her volunteer chauffeur's enthusiasm. Who knew prim and proper Silvia got such a kick out of being sneaky? Well, being that she and her family were spending the last few days of their vacation with them on Maui, she might very well get to do more of that. With one last wave to the ambulance crew who'd secretly spirited her away from the hospital to this grocery store parking lot, the now not-so-dark-haired Latina with her ankle still in a brace hopped into the minivan and closed the door.

"You look so different with blonde hair," Hailey added with a giggle from the second row.

"I do, don't I?" she remarked, looking back with a grin and wiggling her eyebrows. "Think I should keep it on?"

Both Hailey and her friend Anthony, who was also in the vehicle, shook their heads no.

"Me either," she replied agreeably. In a matter of seconds, she had it and the wig cap off, the bobby pins out, and the wig safely stowed in a plastic bag under the seat. Swishing her hair free, she ran her fingers over her scalp several times. It definitely felt good to finally have that thing off.

Her clandestine driver, meanwhile, managed to get the vehicle back onto the highway and on the way to the airport to pick up Rance's mother. Unfortunately his father, Henry, had to stay behind – something had come up with the café they owned – so she was coming by herself.

"That was so nice of them to let you keep the jacket," Silvia remarked, after a few moments.

"Yeah, it was." Rachel replied, lightly ran her fingers over the embroidered lettering. "They were pretty awesome, helping me out like that. It only cost an autograph, a kiss on the cheek, a few photos of said kiss on the cheek, and a phone call to a brother stationed in Okinawa."

"Do you think they'll tell anyone?"

She glanced over and shook her head. "Not for a while, at least. I asked them not to, and then they got a call just as I was getting out."

"Is it always like this?"

Rachel shrugged. "Yes and no," she answered. "It's been like this, off and on now, for the last couple years but before that – no, hardly at all."

"So, this isn't just the price of fame and fortune?"

Rachel laughed. "No, this is the price of marrying famously and divorcing badly."

"Ah, I get it," Silvia replied with a knowing look. "So what possessed you to marry a guy like David Hildebrand anyway, if you don't mind my asking? I mean, Lord knows he's the poster boy for ballplayers behaving badly." Catching Rachel's look, the temporary chauffeur quickly answered her unasked question. "After we met the other day, I googled you and I've been dying to ask."

Smiling appreciatively, the incognito model shrugged again. "I can't tell you how many times I've asked myself the same question," she responded candidly, thinking over her troubled time with the Yankees' third baseman. "Looking back, I just think it was a matter of geeky Rachel finally getting asked to the prom by David the superstar athlete and all-around big man on campus."

"You, geeky?" Silvia asked incredulously.

Rachel laughed. "You have no idea! Back in high school, I was about as far from the popular crowd as you could get. My older sister had the boobs and the butt, while I was the late bloomer." She glanced back nervously and was relieved to see the two kids firmly engrossed in a game on the built-in television. "Honestly, I spent most of my high school years either at the library or in my room," she admitted matter-of-factly.

"Seriously?"

"Absolutely." Rachel started to laugh again when Silvia turned toward her with a look of complete disbelief. "What? I'm not kidding!" she retorted.

Her driver, however, remained unconvinced.

"All right, you want to know how popular I was back then? I was the tall, skinny, uncoordinated Mexican girl with braces and glasses who cried when she got an A-," Rachel's voice started hard but softened with the remembrance. "Not only was I on the yearbook and school newspaper staffs all four years of high school, but during my junior and senior years, I was editor for both of them. My best friends were long dead writers I met in books. And unlike my sister Rebecca, the only times I ever got close to the cheerleading squad were when I had a photographer in tow."

"Wow. So how did you go from that to all this?"

"I finally bloomed, so to speak – lost the braces, the glasses, and the baggy clothes. Then there was my college roommate, Tasha. She was going to a modeling audition and begged me to go along as moral support. To make her feel better, I filled out the paperwork right along with her. I didn't expect anything but, before I knew it, they were doing stuff with my hair and taking a whole bunch of different shots of me for my portfolio. The rest, as they say, is history."

"How did your roommate do?"

"She didn't get the job but did get the photographer. Married with four great kids and living in New York City. She's still one of my best friends and claims to this day that she only came up with the modeling thing in order to get me out of my shell."

Just then, Rachel's cell phone began to ring. The supermodel groaned, however, when she realized who it was. "The answer's still no, Vivian," she chirped when she put it up to her ear. Refusing to be sweet talked or browbeat, she stood her ground – adamant in her decision to back out of the calendar shoot. "No, you're not listening," she finally shouted back. "It's not that I won't do the shoot. I can't do the shoot. My ankle is purple and black and it's in a walking cast. I've got scrapes and cuts on my hands, and bruises all the way up my left arm. And that's just the worst of it. There's no covering this stuff up, Viv, and that means we'll have to postpone the Maxim shoot in LA, as well."

Her agent, however, was like a pit bull and wouldn't let up. Rolling her eyes at Silvia, she took as much as she could stand before she snapped. "I don't care about the pressure they're giving you. It's not like they're Pirelli. I pay you to fix stuff like this, Viv, not lecture me," she finally shot back and then pushed the end button with a frustrated growl.

No sooner had she ended the call when the phone started ringing again. Thinking it was her agent again, she nearly threw the cell out the window but stopped short when she was who it was.

"Oh wow, it's my sister," she exclaimed, glancing at the caller ID. Tapping the call button, she quickly lifted the phone to her ear. "Hola, Becca! Cómo estás?"

Rachel was thrilled to finally hear from her. She needed her advice on some legal questions for Rance, but so far they'd been playing phone tag. Now with her finally on the phone, Rachel caught her sister up on everything that had happened. Rebecca, in turn, had the names of several reputable law firms in Hawaii, along with a few lawyers in particular, who would be very helpful in advising Rance on any possible legal action he might need to take.

With that out of the way, the two of them chatted for quite a while – catching up mostly – until Rachel saw the sign for the airport entrance.

"You talk to your sister in Spanish?" Silvia asked her, once she'd hung up.

Rachel, however, was immediately stricken by her own insensitivity. "Oh, I'm so sorry, that was thoughtless and rude of me." she blurted out. "It's just we grew up speaking so much Spanish at home that she and I still do it whenever we talk, except when other people are around – but I spaced it."

"Don't worry about it!" The older woman smiled and waved her hand dismissively. "I've picked up just enough Spanish from dealing with patients to know you weren't saying bad things about me," she teased. "But I am curious now why you spoke so much Spanish at home. I thought you grew up in Chicago."

"I did," Rachel admitted, "but my sister and I were actually born in Mexico. Our parents met and got married when dad was in grad school. He was being paid to go to school and once he got his Ph.D. – he's a research chemist with Dow – the company moved him here to the States when we were little. Anyway, neither of them wanted us girls to lose what they saw as our heritage. So, the first language we ever learned, of course, was Spanish, and it was what we always used around the house, unless we had visitors."

Conversation stilled momentarily as Silvia maneuvered her way into a parking spot in the short term lot. Turning off the engine, she turned to Rachel.

"You don't have an accent, though," she observed.

"Months of practice the summer before the 3^rd grade," Rachel replied with a rueful smile, as she got out of the van. Taking Hailey's hand, the four of them started walking for the terminal.

"My sister and I watched Disney movies on video over and over again, trying to say the lines just like they did. We probably still have Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella down, word for word," she recalled with a laugh. "Becca always made me be the stepsisters."

"I want to learn Spanish."

"Really?" Rachel asked, surprised by Hailey's statement.

The young girl nodded, looking up at her with those big brown eyes.

Knowing what she was asking, Rachel smiled back as they walked together and squeezed her hand affectionately. "We'll ask your father, mija," was all she said.

"Cool," was Hailey's happy reply.

They arrived in plenty of time – too much, actually, given that the flight they were waiting for was delayed by thirty minutes. Rather than stand around – which Silvia pointed out would not be good for Rachel's braced ankle – they opted to take refuge at a Starbucks on the main concourse. They got the kids each Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccinos, while Silvia settled for a Chai Tea Latte and Rachel ordered her typical iced, sugar-free caramel, nonfat, light ice, Starbucks double shot on ice. When questioned on her choice by her companions, she just smiled and said it was high in syllables but low in carbs.

Time passed quickly for them, as they chatted quietly over their drinks. Their solitude, however, was broken when a few customers somehow recognized the supermodel in their midst. Rachel had hoped having her hair pulled back in a ponytail, with a baseball cap and her glasses on – along with the ankle brace – would be enough, but unfortunately they weren't. Before too long, she was besieged by well-meaning fans seeking her autograph or a picture with her. She hurried through the requests as rapidly as she could, and then the foursome made a break for the arrival area. Fortunately, the hubbub at the coffee shop didn't follow them down the concourse.

In short order, they made it to their destination. Rachel thought it funny that despite the larger number of people milling about, her identity had not been discovered there like it had back at the coffee shop. She thought she knew why, of course. Everyone's eyes were on the passengers coming off the planes, not on those waiting for them.

Suddenly Rachel felt Hailey squeeze her hand tightly, as the child began to bounce up and down excitedly. "There she is! There she is!" she cried, pointing to an attractive older lady in jeans and a teal green blouse that was looking around as insistently as Hailey was jumping. The child's boisterous calling, however, quickly caught the woman's attention and a tearful smile quickly splashed across her face.

Tugging free, Hailey ran to her grandmother, exuberantly calling out, "Oma! Oma!"

Margarete Steiger had never travelled first class before, but even fourteen hours and two stops of it was too much. She shuddered to think what it would have been like in coach. Still, she was here. Grabbing her carry on from the overhead bin, she slipped the strap over her shoulder and stepped into the aisle to leave. She'd wanted to bring more, but Rachel had insisted – since she had two stops – that she travel light.

The flight attendant warmly greeted her with a hug at the door. "I sure hope your son recovers, Marge," she offered with a genuine smile. "I'll keep him in my prayers."

Similar sentiments were murmured her way by other fellow passengers waiting behind her – including Kathy, the young lady that sat next to her, who gently rubbed her back. Affected by the unexpected support, it was all the older woman could do to smile gratefully and nod her head.

Walking up the jetway, she eventually found herself on the second level of the Overseas Terminal and after a brief stop at a visitor information booth, received directions to where Hailey and Rachel were waiting for her.

With a bizarre combination of anxiety, exhaustion and excitement, Marge made her way down the escalator and over towards the baggage claim. Like music to her ears, the chant of "Oma! Oma!" by little Hailey caught her attention immediately. Her eyes turned in the direction of the call, only to see the child making a beeline straight for her. Sweeping up her granddaughter up in a fierce embrace, she clung to the child like a life preserver as tears began to flow. She had to laugh, though, as Hailey began to pat her on the back.

"It's okay, Oma. It's okay," the child consoled. "Daddy's okay."

"I know, sweetie," she told her grandchild as she gave her another squeeze. "I'm just so happy to finally be here."

Finally setting her down, Marge wiped away the moisture from her cheeks and picked up her bag that had, not surprisingly, fallen off her shoulder.

"Oma, this is my friend Anthony, and his mother, Doctor Marzano," came Hailey's introduction, after dragging her grandmother by the hand through the crowd. The slender, dark-haired boy, just a little taller than Hailey, smiled shyly up at her as he stood next to his mother, who was also smiling.

"Silvia, please," was the request from her as the two women warmly greeted each other.

"And this is my Rachel," Hailey explained simply, as she let go of her grandmother's hand and took hold of her friend's.

Even with the baseball cap, glasses, and non-descript clothing, Marge would have recognized the Latin beauty right away. As her husband Henry would likely have said, the woman could make a burlap sack look like silk. For herself, the grandmother from rural Illinois would have been more than a little intimidated had she not spent the last few days talking to her on the phone. The woman was an absolute sweetheart!

"Mrs. Steiger, it's so good to finally meet you in person," Rachel offered cheerfully, extending her still free right hand, "though I wish it was under better circumstances. How was your flight?"

Stepping inside her extended arm, she wrapped her granddaughter's "Rachel" in an affectionate hug. "It's Marge and you know it, girl," she growled as she reached up and kissed her on the cheek. "The flight was fine and thank you so much for everything, Rachel," she continued, her voice now barely a whisper.

Stepping back, Marge cleared her throat a few times and wiped the tears from her eyes. Looking over the four of them, she smiled bravely. "Now, let's go see my boy."

Rance didn't know what to think. While he liked being out of the ICU and in a private room, the people he'd dealt with or thought about over the last few hours had him so turned around he didn't know which way was up. He was beginning to wonder whether the decision to steadily decrease his pain meds was such a good one after all.

First, there was the gal from hospital administration wanting his permission to give much more in depth updates of his medical status to the press. When she saw how baffled he was to the need, she picked up the TV remote to turn the station from ESPN over to one of the cable news channels.

That's when Hannah – who'd been sitting with him – broke down, blubbering about his accident being her fault, and then dashed out of the room. And if that wasn't strange enough, he was brought back from the distraction of Hannah's departure by the mention of his name coming from the TV.

Looking up at the set suspended from the ceiling, he could see pictures of both him and Rachel plastered on the screen, to the left of a pretty blonde on Fox News. The camera quickly changed to a panoramic shot of the anchor seated at her news desk with three other women. And by the time they made it to the commercial break, Rance was more confused than ever.