of the word honored. It was little stuff like that that made her really squirm at the idea of working on any part of this fundraising project.
Noelle would do it for you in a heartbeat—with a genuine smile on her face.
The thought reminded Rachel to force a smile of her own. “Sorry I’m late. It took me a while to sort through my mom’s notes to find out where you guys were meeting.”
“Help yourself to a drink from the fridge,” Mariah said. “We were just talking about ticket sales. It’s been two weeks since we announced the event and it looks like the initial rush to purchase is over. We’ve sold just under five thousand tickets. Not bad considering the population of the island, but we have the capacity for more than double that.”
Rachel went to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of iced coffee, listening to the others discuss ideas to broaden awareness of the event beyond San Amaro. Eddie was a marketing consultant, and apparently was involved with Mariah somehow, judging by the way the two kept touching. He had a boatload of ideas, making Rachel wonder why her mom had thought this committee needed another member. Or maybe the fact that they didn’t really need an engaging, idea-filled member was exactly why her mother had stuck her here.
“Did you find out if we can set up a booth at the Thursday free concerts?” Cale asked Mariah as Rachel wandered back to the dining room.
Mariah flipped the page in her planner and perused it. “I’m supposed to get the final word tomorrow but it looks like it’ll be approved. If so, I’ll be there this week with flyers and tickets.”
Opening her bottle, Rachel took the fourth chair at the table and told herself this was just another meeting. Just another project. Nothing personal. Nothing to make her feel as if she was about to be presented to the firing squad. “What can I do to help?” she forced herself to ask.
“I like this girl,” Eddie said, eagerly tapping on his electronic tablet. “Let’s see...we’ve got a few flyers up but we need to get more posted. Anywhere. Everywhere you can get the okay. Mariah, hand her a stack. Then there’s the radio shows. I’ve got dates with all the morning shows in the area, but I could always stand to have someone come with me.”
“Flyers sound good,” Rachel said without hesitation. There was an expectant silence as they seemed to wait for her to say more. “I’m not really your radio girl. Consider me the socially challenged of the group.”
She held her breath, but her reasoning was apparently accepted by Eddie, as he nodded once and checked his notes again. Mariah, on the other hand, continued to watch Rachel, making her fidget with her bottle cap.
“I can go with you on the days I’m not working,” Cale said to Eddie. As was his way, he smoothed things over for Rachel, compensating for her insecurities. Just like he had that first night she’d met him and she’d been nervous about the party full of strangers. She’d liked that about him from the first moment. “Just email me the schedule.”
“You know what would be great...?” Mariah said, still looking at Rachel, her mind obviously going full speed. Some kind of premonition hit Rachel a split second before Cale’s sister continued. “What if you were to say a few words at the actual concert?”
“Me?” Rachel said, a dozen alarms screaming in her head.
“Kind of a mini memorial speech. A couple lines about your sister, like whether Noelle would have enjoyed the concert or the beautiful night, or whatever would be appropriate. Something personal, as her twin sister. That would have an impact on a lot of people.”
Iced coffee and sugar churned in Rachel’s stomach and threatened to come back up.
“Mariah,” Cale said sharply, protectively. “It’s Rachel’s first meeting. Why don’t we try not to scare her away.” He said it with a half grin, but there was no mistaking that he was genuinely worried. And while there was a corner of Rachel’s mind, or maybe her heart, that reveled in his innocent protectiveness, the rest of her—every fiber—saw the truth in his eyes. He didn’t think she could handle it. The meeting, the concert, any of it. She’d seen the same expression in Sawyer’s eyes on more than one occasion, and she hated it.
But they were right—no matter how much she was loath to admit it.
The silent doubt of others