Chapter 58: Room at the Inn

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The media storm that followed their appearance on Sit Down with Sulley was a category five. The footage of Rachel Marron and Frank Farmer sitting on the stark white sofa across from Sullivan Palmer had become so iconic, not a single channel was free of it for more than an hour at a time. For the next week, every TV station played clips from the interview on repeat, particularly the one where Rachel strategically flashed her engagement ring at the very end of the show. Interviews began to pop up with other celebrities who had been there that night; everyone, it seemed, was trying to cash in while the topic was ripe. Every talk radio show was discussing it, every news anchor had alluded to it, every late night show host had joked about it. Peppered throughout the recaps, they were served even more never-before-seen footage from the Academy Awards before, during, and after the infamous shooting – all of it glamorized by the striking refrain of Rachel's love song.

Frank realized he had not once listened to the song since that day in the Dallas/Forth Worth airport when hearing Rachel's voice on the TV had distracted him to the point of hypnosis. Now he was forced to listen to it everywhere he turned – just like before, just like all of those painful years where he'd gone through life trying to protect himself from hearing it. He didn't need to protect himself from it anymore. Now it was the lifeblood of their relationship, and the entire world knew their secret. And remarkably, he didn't mind.

The bittersweet progression of those four chords had haunted him all those nights he couldn't sleep, had pulled angst-ridden sobs from his chest in his solitude, had made him question every decision he'd made in his life. But now he listened to it with joy in his heart, and not a single regret. It made him cry for a different reason: for relief that he could now hold her in his arms and never leave her side.

What shocked him the most following the interview was the outpouring of love and support from Rachel's fans. Ricky's delivery of Rachel's P.O. Box took up the entire vehicle. Frank was no stranger to fan mail – he'd read many eager letters from fans of all ages back when he'd worked for Rachel before. But he'd never seen anything quite like this. The pure adoration for not only Rachel, but now for him was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He'd found it mind-bending to try to comprehend the parasocial relationship between Rachel and her fanbase before, but now he fully understood it.

Up until they'd taken matters into their own hands by going live on Sulley's show, the media had made them believe that the world was against them. But all this time, the real world had been rooting for them. Hollywood was the bad guy. Maybe some small part of him had known it all along. But being able to hold empirical evidence in his own two hands made all the difference for Frank.

He and Rachel spent hours poring over their fan mail, cuddling amidst the mountain of letters strewn over their bed at 3 A.M. Occasionally one of them would tease the other for receiving a particularly inappropriate letter, but not one contained a word of malice intended for either of them. The TV remained on low volume in the background, a never ending stream of footage from their interview still dominating every channel.

"I still can't believe I'm seeing you on TV with me," Rachel teased.

Frank buried his face in her shoulder. "It's hard for me to watch."

She giggled and forced his head back upright. "Don't be ridiculous. You were made for television. You're very photogenic." Rachel smirked as she flicked through a few of his letters. "Although your fans here came up with much more, um, creative compliments for you."

Ignoring her comment, he grasped the letters from her hand and tucked them away.

"Wait, give me your hand," Rachel hissed suddenly, grappling for his hand again.

"What?"

"Here, quick!"

She urgently pressed his hand to the side of her belly and waited with bated breath.

He just barely felt it, but it was there. The smooth, rapid motion of a tiny foot against his palm.

"Oh, my God."

"Can you feel her?" Rachel asked, hopeful.

"I can."

Rachel laughed with mirth. The sound was nearly as intoxicating as the feel of the baby's feet beneath his palm. Frank felt a tear in the corner of his eye.

"I can't believe you walk around all day feeling this."

"All day is right," Rachel said with a grin. "She never stops."

Their eyes met and held for an instant, and he was flushed all over just from the sight of her dark lashes, the sparkle in her eyes, the familiarity of her smile. It was just as though she'd never aged since the day they met. How he'd been so lucky to cross paths with her again, he'd never know.

"I love you," he whispered.

She echoed back the words in her soft, musical voice, "I love you, too."

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It was a little after midnight when Rachel woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. She was at the point in her pregnancy where waking up multiple times a night was not uncommon, but this time something felt off.

Turning off the bathroom light, she paused before entering the bedroom to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. The curtains had been drawn over the windows. Frank knew she hated sleeping in complete darkness, but he always drew the curtains anyway. She rolled her eyes and went over to draw them back, but a sound outside made her pause. Carefully, she pulled the thick fabric just enough to peek through the glass and saw a swift brushing movement of a figure in the grass. Her heart pounced and a scream caught in her throat as she jumped backward from the window.

Not a second later, the security alarm went off. The baby jolted inside of her.

Frank bolted out of bed, sliding his hand beneath the mattress to grab his gun before he came over to her and pushed her body back to the bed.

"Stay here," he commanded. He racked the gun and left the room.

Rachel waited. Her breathing was so harsh it was almost painful. Between the blaring beeps of the alarm, she listened to the sounds of shuffling footsteps throughout the house as everyone woke up and gathered in the hallway. Her temptation to leave the room was so hard to resist. But she did resist. Because he'd told her to. She had not forgotten his warning about the line of fire.

Her hand rested on her belly as she closed her eyes and tried to calm herself down.

After what seemed an eternity, the security system was disarmed.

The sound of silence was harrowing.

She wanted so badly to go find the rest of them, wherever they'd gone, and see what was happening. But she still stayed. Because he'd told her to.

Rachel suppressed a groan as a wave of unusual pain moved through her lower back and sides. She shifted on the bed and attempted to get into a more comfortable position. But the baby continued rolling around in an unsettling way, as if she were fully aware of the danger her mother might be in.

A series of distant footsteps broke the silence of the house, and finally someone came upstairs to find her. It was Fletcher.

"Someone tried to break in again," he said breathlessly.

"Are you fucking serious?" Rachel demanded, turning the lamp on.

"Frank said we have to leave n–" Fletcher began.

Rachel cut him off, "–of course he did." She shook her head as she rose slowly from the bed, hands resting on her aching sides. "Of course he fucking did…"

Fletcher helped his mother with one hand on her elbow as she walked to the closet. "He said we can drive up to Tahoe."

Rachel swallowed hard and rested her head against the door. She had extremely mixed emotions about returning to the cabin again after all this time. But now they were out of options, and it seemed a bit foolish for her to believe that this could still all be a coincidence.

"Fine. Help me get my things packed, Fletcher."

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Because they could not all fit together in one vehicle, Tony and Ricky stayed behind to wait out the night at the house while Scott drove the rest of them in the Suburban up north. Rachel was growing tired of having to caravan around the state all of the time. It had felt so nice to finally have a place to settle, but now it had been cruelly ripped away from them yet again.

She wasn't sure she could take it anymore.

Her tolerance seemed to be the lowest out of everyone else. Though they all looked quite tired, no one dared to complain. They all emanated that same strange sense of duty that Frank always did. He had either trained them well or his behavior merely rubbed off on them. The only one who seemed immune was Rachel.

She was hell bent on taking the very back seat to herself so that she could sleep. Even with her body ensconced in pillows and blankets, she still could not find a comfortable position. Her advanced stage of pregnancy was certainly not convenient when it came to long car rides.

It took only about thirty minutes for her to realize it wasn't just the position making her uncomfortable. There were continuous waves of pain radiating throughout her back again, the same she had felt back at the house. They were getting progressively stronger. She could only stay in denial about it for so long.

She glanced nervously around the inside of the vehicle. Every occupant was either trying to sleep, or already asleep, except for Scott who was fully alert at the wheel. Rachel briefly met his eyes in the rearview mirror before wincing in pain. He noticed.

"What's the matter?" Scott called out, causing Frank to veer his head around from the passenger side to look back at her.

Rachel breathed heavily through another wave of pain.

"I think I'm having contractions," she said quietly, causing both Fletcher and Crystal to turn around in their seats at once.

Frank was completely unable to hide the 'oh, fuck' expression on his face, even in the dark. She watched him and Scott exchange glances, then the engine revved as Scott pressed harder on the gas.

Scott had tried to keep his voice down as he addressed Frank, but Rachel heard him.

"We need to stop somewhere."

Frank halfway unraveled a section of the map. "The next exit is four miles up."

"Mom?" Fletcher reached back for her in concern.

She took his hand tightly and winced through another wave of pain.

"I'm only 32 weeks," she whispered half to herself. Fletcher's eyes were wide and glassy as he stared at her.

She saw Crystal in the next seat over, her hands folded beneath her chin, practically trembling as she watched the scene.

"There's an inn off this next exit," Scott told Frank as he zoomed past a large green lodging sign.

Rachel raised her voice to reveal that she'd heard their exchange. "I'm not about to birth this baby in a stable like the Virgin Mary! Get me to the house!"

"It's a bed and breakfast, Rachel," Scott said. "It's technically a house."

"Are we stopping?" Fletcher asked hopefully.

Scott replied adamantly, "We can't keep driving out in the middle of nowhere if she ends up going into labor."

Rachel moaned to herself, slumping against her pillows.

"Frank, what do you want to do?" Scott asked, urgent.

With one more glance back at Rachel, Frank decided, "Get off at the exit. See if they have room for us."

"Where are we?" Crystal asked as they came off the exit ramp.

"Somewhere off Mariposa," Scott said.

"How far from Tahoe?" Fletcher asked.

"Few more hours," Scott sighed as he pulled up to a small gravel parking lot outside a bed and breakfast. "Let's just spend the night here and see how she's feeling tomorrow."

Fletcher and Crystal exchanged worried glances, and Rachel sank back into her makeshift bunk in the back seat with a groan.

Scott brought the vehicle to a rough park on the gravel, and Rachel hid her face as the interior lights came on. Fletcher lowered the middle seat and held out his arms to help her out. She grudgingly accepted his assistance while Crystal guided her from behind to step out of the car door. A few paces ahead, Frank and Scott were greeted on the well lit porch by an older woman who seemed unusually spry for her age.

Rachel only half-heard them explaining their situation to the innkeeper, distracted as she was by another surge of pain in her lower back.

"I have a room with two beds, but one of you might have to sleep on a sofa," the woman was saying apologetically as they stepped into the house.

"That's fine," Frank said in a rushed voice. As soon as Fletcher guided her inside the foyer, Rachel grappled for Frank's arm.

"Are you okay?" he whispered to her while the others all gathered by the door in a hushed discussion of how to get their luggage upstairs.

Rachel nodded, at the same time wondering if nodding was a lie.

"I just want to lie down," she admitted, urging him toward the stairs.

He hesitated, stuck in that telltale position that had become too familiar to her. His left hand beneath her armpit, his right hand on her hip. Her eyes had barely opened from the moment she left the car, but she had a pretty good idea of what was going on.

The days of him carrying her had probably reached their end.

His hands both tightened subtly, then released with reluctance.

"I'll help you upstairs," he settled, instead moving behind her to guide her by her waist.

A small, sad part of her wondered, had he still been in his thirties, would he have done it?

But by the time they reached the top of the staircase, she didn't care anymore.

Their room was somewhat large, yet cramp at the same time. Everything from the open panels of the farmhouse style window to the quaint country decor made it rather picturesque. Rachel collapsed into the bed closest to the door, exhausted, while Frank removed her shoes and socks. She stuffed one pillow between her knees and hugged the other to her body, not caring that she'd left no pillow for him to lay his head on that night. She was certain he'd be all too willing to make the sacrifice.

She laid there for a few minutes as Frank moved quickly about the bed, tugging the sheets, adjusting the blankets over her. The pain finally seemed to ease a bit as she remained lying down. She watched through squinted eyes as the door opened. Scott handed Frank something, then left.

Moments later Frank seated himself on the edge of the bed beside her, tapping the cap of a water bottle to her hand.

She reluctantly lifted herself just enough to drink a few sips of water, then laid back down.

"Where does it hurt?" he asked.

"Back." She shifted. "Back and hips."

"It's constant?"

"No. Waves."

"How far apart?"

"They were a few minutes apart in the car, but they seem to have calmed now."

She looked up at him, expecting to find relief in his eyes, but instead he looked remorseful.

"It's your stress levels. Your doctor told me to help you relax," he murmured frantically. "I haven't been doing that. God, I've just been making it worse."

"Frank, will you stop beating yourself up about every Goddamn thing that happens?" Rachel surprised herself with her own outburst. She let out a long exhale and attempted in a calmer voice, "I'm not dying. We'll be fine. I'll be fine."

Just then Fletcher opened the door. "Are you okay, Mom?"

"I'm fine," she repeated curtly, fluffing her pillow before pulling it closer to her body. "It's just stress. I just need to rest."

"You mean you're not in labor?" Crystal asked warily from behind Fletcher's shoulder.

"Not yet," Rachel said grimly.

Both Crystal and Fletcher looked questioningly to Frank, who only shook his head.

"Emma is heating up some food for us," Fletcher said, stars in his eyes at the prospect of eating. "Crystal and I are gonna head down now. Do you want to come, Frank?"

"Go," Rachel insisted.

Fletcher looked at his mother in bed. "Do you want us to bring you something, Mom?"

Rachel forced a laugh and waved them off. "I'm fine. I just want to sleep."

Frank shook his head. "I'm staying here with her."

"Honestly, I'd rather you didn't," Rachel said roughly, "I'm fucking tired, and you're all starving so just go downstairs and eat. That lady probably won't take no for an answer anyhow."

Scott appeared at the door. "I can stay up here."

"I don't need a babysitter, dammit!" Rachel shouted at them. "Go downstairs, every one of you. Go eat, and let me get some fucking sleep."

"You heard her," Scott said with a shrug, pushing them out the door.

Frank lingered in the room, withstanding the glare of the diva.

"I'm not asking you again, Farmer."

She knew that using his last name would have its intended effect. With great reluctance, he grabbed the key off the dresser and left, locking the door behind him.