It was difficult to believe that the last time she had driven past the houses of Lima, they had been covered in snow. Transformed now along with the rest of the world by the glow of summer, they stood like old friends in a row, predictable and positioned just the way she remembered. Winding dark hair around a pair of fingers, she watched the fan of a sprinkler's spray throw rainbows across the lawn of Finn and Quinn's white two-bedroom ranch house, picket-fenced and two-car-garaged and perfectly domestic. In more ways than one, it was a million miles from the life Rachel had been living.
She had been home for Chanukah, her big-city clothes hanging strangely in her childhood armoire, as though they didn't belong, as though they were bearing witness to the fact that she didn't belong anymore, either. It had been strange and wonderful, running into Noah in the cereal aisle by chance, strange and wonderful to feel his eyes on her as they drank in all the ways London had changed her. He hadn't changed at all, his brown eyes the same, his shoulders still as big, his voice still as low. It was more strange and more wonderful still to find herself inviting him to dinner with her fathers, but his confession had left her little choice.
"My family went to Tampa for ten days, but I have to work, so..."
"Come eat with us."
Four words that had changed the course of her evening, and her life, forever. The words had surprised her as they passed her lips, and as she had left the whiteout parking lot with wiper blades beating the snow from her windshield, she had prayed she wouldn't regret them. Somewhere between the game of basement Yahtzee with her beautiful dads and the golden radiance of the menorah lighting Noah's face, she had fallen hard for him all over again.
It had been strange, yes, but certainly wonderful as well, surrendering girlish inhibitions and shedding city clothes and letting him be the first, and in spite of all things, Rachel still didn't regret those impulsive words, and still didn't regret giving Noah what she had given him that night. Warm from wine, in the shadowy shelter of her bedroom's familiarity, his breath tickling her temple, she had awarded Noah Puckerman what she had held onto for so long. Sometime in the night, he had left her sleeping, and waking up alone had not surprised her.
In the here and now, Rachel saw his legs before any other part of him, his jeans dirty and blown out at the knees. She smiled as she handed over a handful of cash to the taxi driver, taking advantage of the fact that Puck wasn't yet able to see her and straightening her clothes, straightening her hair. Hands in her pockets, she walked the gradual incline of his driveway. A hot, flat breeze played at her hair as she stopped to stand near his feet, his upper body still hidden beneath the rebuilt exterior of a muscle car she knew wasn't his. He was lying on his back on a wheeled creeper while he worked on the vehicle, its plastic platform visible between his thighs, and she smiled half a secret smile as she lifted one foot from the pavement, placing it to the edge of that creeper and keeping him right where he was.
"What the f-"
"I missed you, too." She spoke quietly, but it didn't matter; she knew her voice would give her identity away.
"Rachel?" The hopeful disbelief in his tone took her aback and made her heart contract. Was it possible that he had revisited that evening in empty moments? Had it meant something more to him, too?
"Yes, Noah."
"Aren't you supposed to be singing at the West Edge?"
"West End."
"Whatever."
"Not today," she said, and just the glimpse of work-darkened fingertips made her heart catch, because she remembered too clearly what they had felt like running over her skin.
"Let me out," Puck grunted, struggling a little against her, but she had her balance, and he was stuck there until she decided otherwise.
"You're fine. I like you like this."
"Fine." Resigned to it, a little pissed, he resumed work while they talked. "So why aren't you in the West End?"
"I'm just not."
"You said you weren't coming home again until next winter."
"Yes, I said that." She nodded. It was the truth. It had been the plan.
"You said your dads were gonna go to England to see you."
"I know."
"Did you get fired?" The subtle hint of amusement in his voice was irritating.
"No, Noah. I didn't get fired."
"What then?" he persisted.
"Things change. That's all." Rachel put her hands through her hair, distance in her voice and in the dark pools of her eyes. She took her foot off the creeper, but because he was busy, and perhaps just to spite her, he didn't roll out immediately. His hips looked good, the hem of his wifebeater tank top riding up and leaving a bare strip of sunkissed belly open to view, and it made Rachel's face burn with thoughts she'd been too preoccupied to think for days.
"Yeah, well. Not around here."
"You started up the custom shop you were talking about." She indicated the sign staked in his front lawn, advertising his expertise with restorations and bodywork, a gesture he couldn't see even as she made it. "That's new."
"Not to me." Something about his voice was turning hard, resentful, and it made her pulse accelerate. It reminded her of something he had said during their night together at Chanukah, something that had made her feel awful at the time: "Not all of us can just get out of here whenever. Not all of us have something else to turn to." His tone had been the same then – bitter, envious.
"You don't have to do this forever," she said softly.
"You don't know what you're talking about." He dropped something metal against the pavement with an angry clatter and moved to roll himself out from under the car. Rachel stopped him from making any real progress again with her foot, keeping him hidden, keeping herself hidden.
"I know what I'm talking about. I'm not a baby anymore."
"Get off." He slapped at her foot, trying to take his freedom by force.
"Stop." She didn't yield. "Listen to me."
"Let me out, Rachel! What the hell."
"Just because you're under a car in Lima tonight doesn't mean you have to be forever." She took a step back when a particularly well-aimed swat at her ankle almost sent her sprawling on her ass. He rolled out smoothly, grit clinging in the glaze of sweat glistening across his shoulders and on his neck.
He would see, she knew, without a doubt. The moment his eyes found her, her jig would be up, and nothing would matter but that moment of truth. Not all of the nights she'd almost called him, not all of the times she had thought of him, had called him to mind and recollected the taste of his kiss, not the decisions she had made on her own. All of that was in the past, and their entire future was hinged on this instant and his reaction to it.
Time seemed to slow, as though someone with a remote for the universe and a cruel sense of humor had hit the slow advance button on her life. Her pulse was pounding, so that she could hear it roaring in her ears, feel it humming through her ribs and drumming at the base of her throat, and the whole of her world seemed altogether too loud. But as soon as Noah's eyes were visible beyond the Impala's side panel, he planted his heels on the concrete with a slap and stopped himself from rolling, his jaw dropping, and Rachel changed her mind; everything was too silent, and she wanted something, anything to make a sound.
A merciful but bossy bluejay's chatter split the soundlessness hanging heavy between them, Rachel's hands going to the undeniably full-on swell of her pregnant belly. Throughout the months of ordeal leading up to this revelation, she had not cried. She had been dry-eyed in the tiny closet of a bathroom in her London flat, positive test stick in hand. She had maintained her composure telling her dads over the phone, had kept her cool dressing cleverly to disguise her predicament from her employers and sneaking off as discreetly as possible to vomit mid-afternoon, backstage. She had not shed any tears yesterday, giving her notice and walking away, for now, from her dream. But somehow, Noah's stiff awkwardness as he got to his feet, the questions in his eyes and the dawn of realization across his handsome face were together enough to make Rachel break down.
"You could come with me, right?" The golden horizontal light of almost-sunset made long-overdue tears throw light like diamonds did as they rolled over her cheeks and fell from her jawline onto her shirt. "You don't have to stay here."
"Rach." Puck's voice sounded tight, and Rachel could see in his face that he was overwhelmed, both stunned and hurt, maybe reliving every moment of that candlelit winter night and maybe not for the first time, drawing a line between the little person growing strong beneath her heart and those breathless moments at Chanukah time. Still, even when there was no doubt left in his face, he spoke his question for confirmation. "What are you saying right now?"
"He's yours. And I'm not ready to be finished yet. And I love you. Come to London with m...?"
The end of the word never left her lips. Noah closed the distance between them with a single step and put his hands into the warm black satin of her hair, stealing the end of the sentence and her breath with a kiss that made her boneless, left her clutching at the ribbed cotton of his dirty tank. It was affirmation enough.
With that kiss, through the dizzy triumph of her weary heart, Rachel knew two things with total certainty. First and foremost, she knew she was a fool. The baby boy in her belly was not a trap to him, as she had feared, was not a burden he wanted no part of, but was instead his key to freedom, his concrete reason and one way ticket to a lasting escape from the lonely monotony of this town. And second, she knew Noah loved her. And that was good enough. The theater could wait a while, would have her back, and London would love him like she did.