A Time for Us - By Amy Knupp Page 0,9

appropriate. She spent 90 percent of her time wearing scrubs and tennis shoes. She could restart a human heart, but when it came to fashion, she was about as savvy as a four-year-old boy.

She stood there arguing with her reflection for an eternity, and then, recalling one more time how Cale and her mother had been so infuriatingly understanding, she went in search of a less-faded T-shirt, ran a brush through her hair and stormed out of the house.

* * *

RACHEL HAD THOUGHT the worst part of the meeting would be walking in and sitting down, especially since, by the time she’d worked up the courage to go, she was late.

She’d been grossly mistaken.

Not wanting to jolt everyone in the library meeting room by looking so obviously identical to the girl they were memorializing, she’d pulled out an old ball cap—a White Sox cap, no less, which her Cubs-fan sister would never have deigned to touch—that she’d long ago stuffed in the glove compartment of her Honda. She’d kept her discount store-special sunglasses on, as well. Disguise master she wasn’t, apparently. When she’d walked into the room of fifteen people sitting around a long conference table, she’d taken a seat along the wall, behind the row of chairs at the table, so as not to interrupt. But there had been whispers and looks anyway. Confusion, surprise, sympathy. A couple of people—one of whom was Cale—had shot her quick, welcoming smiles, and then she’d pointed her eyes at her mom, who was speaking, in an attempt to block everybody else out.

Her grand entrance, however, wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that, as she sat there, minding her own business and trying to focus on the discussion...she felt Noelle there. Not in a spooky, ghostlike way. It was hard to put into words, but just the knowledge of why they were all gathered in that stuffy room, volunteering their time—to create a memorial for Noelle and maybe help make it so someone else could avoid her fate—made Rachel shiver. Noelle was just...there. In her thoughts, in her consciousness. And that caused a lump the size of a baseball to lodge in her throat. A throbbing began in her temples, and Rachel spent a painful fifteen minutes blinking and fighting not to tear up. When the woman in front of her shifted in her seat a little, allowing Rachel a view of a folder on the table, she felt as if a wrecking ball had collided with her gut.

On the folder, someone—apparently Trina Jankovich, one of Noelle’s close friends and the person the folder sat in front of—had taped a full-color photo of Noelle, tanned and happy. It was a candid and looked to have been taken at a party or a bar. Noelle’s long, blond hair had been curled at the ends, she wore expertly applied, smoky shadow around her eyes and her smile was 100 percent natural, not forced at all. In short, Noelle looked gorgeous and so full of life. It was one of the best pictures Rachel had ever seen of her twin, and that was saying something because Noelle was as photogenic as an adorable baby panda bear.

The tears that had been threatening like a tropical storm finally hit. The lump in her throat expanded and seemed to seal out any oxygen from getting to her lungs. With a covert swipe at her eyes, Rachel checked to see if anyone was looking at her. A fruitless attempt because she couldn’t see through the stinking tears, anyway.

She gathered her notebook from her lap, bowed her head and got the hell out of the room before it could shrink in on her and swallow her up.

* * *

CALE HAD BEEN surprised to see Rachel walk in to the meeting room after the way she’d paled when he’d brought up the subject. He’d been strangely happy she’d made it—until he’d noticed she once again looked as if she might pass out.

Her plan to sit on the outskirts of the group and remain as anonymous as possible had only partly worked. Distancing herself from the group had been a start, but if she thought the hat and glasses threw anyone off of her identity for even a second, she was mistaken. It just happened to be a sympathetic crowd. He’d bet everyone there had wanted to allow Rachel her privacy—a fact that was proven by how they all went out of their way to not stare or whisper. Everyone but