Stitches in Time Read Online Free PDF Page B

serious view of the world. As he polished off two sandwiches and a glass of milk, he lectured Rachel and his mother about recycling and the wickedness of using plastic trash bags.
    Cheryl had obviously heard it before. Her response was automatic. “I only use the biodegradable kind, honey, you know that. Rachel, don’t bother dropping those scraps off tonight. Georgetown is so far out of your way, and it’s later than I thought; the traffic will be terrible. Kara doesn’t need the things right away.”
    â€œI don’t mind.”
    â€œIt will be dark by the time you get home,” Cheryl persisted. “If you get home. Did you buy a new tire like I told you to? There wasn’t a speck of tread on—”
    â€œFor gosh sakes, Mom!” Joe rolled his eyes. “She’ll be even later if you don’t shut…if you don’t stop talking.”
    â€œJust promise you’ll go straight home,” Cheryl said anxiously. “Maybe you should spend the night. It looks like snow.”
    â€œMo-om!”
    â€œI’ll take it to Kara tomorrow morning,” Rachel said, seeing that Joe was about to violate the rules about being rude to his mother and/or using profanity in the presence of “ladies.” Tony was strict about such things, and Joe tried to conform. He did pretty well; if Rachel hadn’t happened to overhear him talking to a buddy on the telephone, she’d have feared he was being repressed.
    â€œDrive carefully,” Cheryl called after them.
    â€œShe always says that,” Joe muttered. “Even to Dad. Like, he doesn’t know how to drive?”
    Rachel laughed and gave him a man-to-man slap on the back. “Thanks, Joe. Take care…I mean, so long.”
    It was later than Rachel had realized, and traffic wasalready heavy. Washington’s rush hour starts at four P.M .; the suburban areas between Leesburg and the Capital Beltway had grown too fast for the roads that serviced them, and the Beltway itself was rapidly becoming notorious. Nervous drivers would go miles out of their way to avoid it, and there were legends about hapless tourists who had circled the city for days before they were able to exit. Traffic was no worse than usual that evening; it was about the same, bumper-to-bumper, and moving in fits and starts.
    Rachel was used to it, but for some reason it got on her nerves that evening. She knew the reason, though. That incident had unnerved her, not only because encounters with slimy people are unpleasant, but because the scenario had all the elements of a banal romance novel: the leering villain, the wounded hero coming to the rescue.
    The flare of brightening lights caught her eye, and she slammed on her brakes. An accident ahead? No; just the usual mess at the 270 interchange. Her neck muscles ached with tension. Spots of moisture appeared on the windshield. Great, she thought sourly. Washington drivers go completely to pieces when it rains. At least she wouldn’t have to drive all the way through the city into Georgetown and all the way back to College Park. At that time of day it would have added an additional two hours to the trip. Cheryl was so considerate, always thinking of other people, offering help without having to be asked. Not that her mothering instincts couldn’t drive a person crazy sometimes…
    â€œBitch,” Rachel said, softly and savagely. She was referring to herself, not to Cheryl, and she sometimes wished she could cultivate the self-deception that allows many people to delude themselves about their real motives. No such comfort was available to her; she was clearly, painfully aware of how indefensible her feelings were. Shecouldn’t conquer them, they were as basic and ungovernable as hunger, but at least she had had the decency to conceal them.
    Cheryl didn’t know—thank God she didn’t know—why the idea of staying overnight was so distasteful. Rachel had