“See?”
“What do you want me to say?” he said with a shrug. “Believe me, I like having money. I don’t have to struggle with bills or groceries, have a housekeeper who cooks and cleans for me, a house that I own and not rent. But money isn’t everything. I have no desire to sit around in a country club, drinking scotch and playing billiards with billionaires and tycoons. I need to feel like I’m doing something worthwhile.”
“Because of your college friend?” She paused, finding the courage to add, “And your wife?”
A distant look crossed his features. “Partly, yes.” He let out a breath. “Somebody needs to provide families with closure about their lost loved ones. Somebody needs to save—” He stopped abruptly.
She met his gaze and held it. “So you see yourself as some sort of savior then?”
He didn’t answer for a moment, and when he finally spoke, he changed the subject all together. “I talked to Karen Greenley today.”
She frowned, torn between pushing the previous subject and questioning this new one. She finally chose the latter. “Mrs. Greenley? Our old guidance counselor?”
He nodded. “Did you know Carrie went to see her every week?”
“No. Carrie never mentioned anything about seeing a counselor.” Rachel paused. “What did she tell you?”
She held her breath, suddenly not wanting to hear Travis’s answer. People told counselors private things, things they didn’t want anyone else to know. What if…what if Carrie had confided in the guidance counselor that she was considering suicide? What if there had never been a BF, never been a trip—had Carrie planned to kill herself all along?
“Carrie volunteered at Chicago General, did you know that?” Travis asked.
She shook her head.
“Mrs. Greenley helped to set her up with the volunteer position at the hospital, as part of the community service required of seniors.”
Rachel felt a spark of confusion. She had no idea where Travis was going with this. “Okay. So Carrie volunteered at the hospital. What else?”
Hesitation entered his eyes, and Rachel’s heart began to pound as dozens of scenarios entered her mind. “Travis, please.”
She saw him take a breath. “Carrie told Mrs. Greenley that she’d grown close to one of the doctors at the hospital. A surgeon.” He exhaled deeply. “She never mentioned the man’s name, but Mrs. Greenley said she got the feeling Carrie really cared for this man.”
Rachel chewed on her lower lip. A doctor? Carrie had never mentioned anything about getting close to a doctor. Hell, she’d never mentioned volunteering at the hospital.
“Rachel, your sister was seventeen. You do realize that if this man was a surgeon, he had to be quite a lot older than her, right?”
She stared at Travis’s face and realized what he was saying. “You think Carrie was sleeping with an older man?” she demanded.
He shrugged. “It’s possible.”
Fury filled her blood. “No, it’s not possible. Carrie wouldn’t…” Her voice cracked. “She wouldn’t do that. She didn’t sleep around, especially with older men. She wasn’t my…” Her voice stopped altogether.
She wasn’t my mother, she’d been about to say. But no way would she utter that in front of Travis. No way would she admit to the shameful behavior of Hattie Foster.
“I’m not attacking Carrie here,” Travis said in a husky voice. “I’m just considering all angles. If Carrie had fallen in love with an older man, he might have been the one who offered to take her away. And even if they weren’t romantically involved, this doctor could still be BF.”
Her anger dissipated. “You’re right. I know you weren’t attacking my sister. I’m sorry.”
Travis reached across the table for her hand. When his long fingers stroked her upturned palm, Rachel trembled. God, she didn’t even know what she was feeling anymore. One minute she hated this man, the next she was attracted to him. One minute she was angry with him, the next she felt as though he was the only person who could heal her turmoil.
She stared at him, and for one brief moment, sexual tension sizzled in the air. She moistened her lips, but the air was so hot they quickly dried up again.
“Rachel,” he said.
And then the waitress approached the table with their food, and the sizzling dissolved into the smoky room.
“Looks good,” she managed to say.
They ate quickly and quietly, and once she was done, she pushed her plate away and rubbed her stomach. Bar food wasn’t that bad, she decided. It sure beat cold Chinese leftovers.