Heaven Sent Rain

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H
e’s there again.

Dinah Taylor wanted to ignore the small boy and his dog huddling outside the Extraburger. She’d thought he was waiting for someone the other day, but what if he was hungry? And today the mist was struggling to keep from turning into rain. If he was waiting for someone, couldn’t he wait inside? No, not with a dog.

Surely he wasn’t panhandling.

She slowed, trying to decide what to do.
I don’t have time for this today.
Without bothering to check her watch, she knew she would be late. What a way to start a Monday.

But what if he is hungry?
The thought refused to leave.

Heaving a less than happy sigh, she stopped in front of him. “Have you had breakfast?”

He looked up at her, dark eyes huge in his face, and shook his head, his Royals baseball hat cocked to the side.

“Is someone coming to meet you?” She knew she sounded abrupt. Right now abrupt was the only tone she could muster.

He shook his head again and wrapped an arm around his scruffy-looking dog. His clothes appeared to be clean; he clutched his backpack with the other arm.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“It’s not time yet.”

Dinah Marie Taylor, you cannot leave a small boy out here alone.
A small hungry boy.

“If I get you a breakfast sandwich, you’ll go on to school?” He nodded. “What about your dog?”

“She walks me to school.”

“And then waits?”

“No, she goes home.”

So he wasn’t homeless at least. He must live near here. “I’ll be right back.”

“Thank you.”

His immediate response caught her by surprise. She stepped up to the counter, ordered breakfast for him and her usual, tall coffee and breakfast sandwich. “Two separate sacks to go, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The tall skinny kid gave her the total and then her change from a twenty.

“You know anything about that boy outside?”

“I know he can’t bring his dog in here and won’t leave her out there alone.”

“Thanks.” She picked up the two bags and headed outside. Usually she left by the inner door that led to the atrium. Usually. If this was any indication, today was not going to go as usual. A knot in her stomach tightened. Handing the sack to him, she added, “I bought you cocoa in case you were cold.”

“Thank you.” He opened the bag and looked in, then up at her. “I like potatoes like this, too.”

The winter wind caught the front flap of her white wool coat and tried to jerk it off. “Look, why don’t you come inside the building to eat that.”

“No thanks. We’ll eat on the way to school.” He rose to his feet. “Come on, Downmutt.”

Had she heard him right? Was that the dog’s name? She pulled open the door, then looked over her shoulder. The two were already moving down the sidewalk.
You can’t worry about him; you have enough on your plate for today.
Her staccato heels tapped across the marble floor and, thankfully, carried her into an elevator immediately. You’d think that after ten years as president of her own company, Food for Life, she would be used to budget time. After all, it came twice a year. But this one was the biggie, and in three days she had to present it to her board, ready to defend it and herself. At least that was the way she felt. Her mind understood that, but her stomach did its own thing.

After a pause to suck in a supposedly calming breath, she turned the knob on the door and, smile in place, strode into the reception area. “Good morning.”

April Benders, receptionist, assistant, secretary, and friend after all these years, smiled up at her. “They’re all on your desk.” She glanced at the clock. “As of twenty minutes ago. I have a stack of orange slips for you and good morning to you, too.”

Dinah knew she was late, which was not like her at all. In fact, she could count on one hand the times she’d been late in all these years.

But then—that boy. What was the story behind him?

“I know, sorry. Did you look the departmental budgets over?”

April shook her head. “Nope, I gave you mine and you know I hate budgets worse than you do.”

“Thanks.” Dinah strode two doors down to her office on the left. After setting her briefcase and white leather hobo bag on her desk, she hung her coat in the closet and crossed the room to sink into her white leather chair. Picking up coffee and sandwich, she spun her chair to look out at the winter-bleak park over the roof of the building across the street. Spring in Ohio never came early enough for her. The mist had gathered force and now ran in lazy rivulets down the window. Half the sandwich later, she rewrapped it and, holding her coffee in both hands, studied the sky that might be showing a bit of blue—anytime now. All the while, she forcefully ignored the stack of reports on her desk and the message slips.

The picture of that little boy would not leave her mind, hanging about on the edges, as if waiting to pounce. Had she done the right thing? What else could she have done? Where did he live? Why would anyone name a dog something like that? What was the boy’s name? What if he was there tomorrow? The buzz of the intercom spun her back around.

“I’ve been holding your calls. You want me to continue?”

“Yes. Forever.”

A snort answered her remark.

“I’m attacking the return calls now. Give me the rest of the slips later. Thanks.”

She spun her chair toward the desk and started in—returning phone calls. An hour later, she sent those that April could respond to, made sure her notes were legible for later, and picked up the top page, their company purpose, a document she reread every Monday. “Food for Life is here to develop and produce supplements that will promote healing and a richer, healthier lifestyle for those in need, particularly those with diabetes.” She read it aloud to assist her focus.

And so that’s what they were doing. They had a great product about to be released to the public, named Scoparia, a dietary supplement that was providing help for people with debilitating conditions, although “diabetes” wasn’t mentioned in the promotional material, of course. Actually, according to the test results, almost miraculous help, but in order to avoid costly review by the FDA, they would call it a “dietary supplement.” Therefore it did not need a prescription and was within the legal boundaries that the government inflicted upon businesses. Let those folks who used it tell of the success. The double-blind results were indeed astounding.

She stood and walked around the room, doing calf stretches against one wall. Her white-wool, below-the-calf dress did nothing to impede her movement, but it was a dress. Like all the companies in the building, they had access to the gym in the basement, but today she had to focus on the budgets.

If he didn’t have money for breakfast, did he have lunch in his backpack? Was there such a thing as cafeterias in schools any longer? Would the teacher give him money? How did this work?

Why in the world am I stewing about this? I don’t even particularly like small children.

She crossed to the kitchen a la break room, poured herself another mug of coffee, and returned to her dungeon. Three days until the board meeting.

By noon she had made her way through a final review of the PR budget. Sticky notes showed where it needed more work. She started on the office budget. That was the easiest. At 12:30 she called April and had her order lunch in. Two out of four budget proposals now in the out basket.

Y
ou said you wouldn’t do this anymore!” Dinah wasn’t able to keep the exasperation out of her voice. Didn’t he understand it wasn’t safe to sit out here alone?

“I know, but…” The small boy hid his face in his knees, his thin back curved against the slate wall. The scruffy dog beside him glared up at her, one lip slightly curled.

He’d promised her he’d go straight to school the second day she’d bought him breakfast. He had the next day or the day after that, and now here he was, in the same spot, again. She heaved a sigh. “Have you eaten yet?”

The grubby hat moved but he didn’t look up. The dog half stood.

She squatted in spite of the wet sidewalk and the way her white umbrella tried to fly off on its own. “Please, come have breakfast with me.” She deliberately softened her voice, as her heart demanded.

The bedraggled little boy hopped to his feet. “I remembered the leash.” He snapped a tattered old web leash onto the dog’s collar and tied her to the
NO PARKING HERE TO CORNER
sign.

“Come on, then.”

She held out her hand and he slid his icy one into hers. Why he trusted her was beyond her, but the two of them marched into the warm interior.

“Your usual?” the boney, tattooed boy behind the cash register asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

“S’cuse me.” The kid let go of her hand and she watched as he walked off toward the restroom. He was an enigma. He’d mentioned a home, and was not filthy and derelict like so many people who lived on the street were forced to be. For a little kid, he was very articulate. Was he a welfare case, buried in the foster system? Nothing about the situation made any sense. Especially unexplainable was her interest. She cared about him.

But he was too much like—She chopped that line of thought clean off. No, she would never go there again. Never!

Just as she picked up their tray, he reappeared at her side, wiping his still-moist hands up and down on his shirt. He led her to the table in the corner by the window, most likely to keep lookout on his dog. She laid out their breakfast—his the child’s meal, including the stupid little toy that came with it, her good old breakfast sandwich, and a cardboard box of scrambled eggs for the dog, whose bizarre name she refused to acknowledge. Downmutt? Not that she cared what the dog was called. Animals of any kind had never made it onto her list of favored things. Children hovered near the bottom. Safer that way.

She had started to take a bite when she caught his look of horror. She nodded. Sighing seemed endemic whenever she was around him. She folded her hands, closed her eyes, and waited. She should have left home earlier; now she was running late.

“Thank You, God, for this good food, for sending Jesus to love us. Amen.”

She kept from shuddering. Too many memories fought to surface, but they failed to penetrate the steel-lined barrier.

She watched as he dug into his plate. He was that way yesterday, too. They ate inside that day, at this table now that she thought of it, and it was the first time she could really observe him. Someone, probably his mother, had taught him manners. Just like yesterday, his routine was constant and careful—actually, almost cultured. Yesterday, she had learned his name was Jonah. He had chatted about this and that. He claimed he always drew in pencil. Made her wonder if he’d never had crayons, but of course he had; he was in the second grade, or so he said. She had no reason to think he ever lied. He talked about school. Only.

Yesterday’s conversation had actually been productive in small ways. He knew she didn’t like
Downmutt
and suggested, “How about just plain old Mutt?” and she cheerfully acquiesced. And she was thrilled; his closest friend, and he changed her name just for Dinah. Possibly he didn’t like the first name any more than she did, but what if he did?

She poured two creamers into her tall specialty coffee and sipped. Just the way she liked it, not quite searing. Surely the morning would improve now. “So, how is school going?”

“Good. I got a hundred on my spelling.”

“Excellent.”

“Yesterday was art day. I drew Dow—” He stopped. “Ms. Farrell said it looks just like real.”

“Can you show me sometime?”

He nodded and took a drink of his hot chocolate. “I got it here. Thought maybe you’d…” And he reached for his tattered little backpack.

“I’d love to see it.”

He handed her a paper with a wrinkled corner. She stared at the pencil drawing of the dog. It all but barked at her. Dumbfounded, she shifted her stare from the paper to the boy across the table. “I know you are good, but this is so real, I…”

He watching her intently, apparently looking for some sort of sign. He whispered. “You sure you like it, then?”

“Yes!” She nodded with her whole body.
Please, Lord, keep me from hurting him.
“I just don’t know what to say.”

The thought struck her:
Do you know what you just did?

No, what?

You asked the Lord to help you.

I did not!

You did.
The voice was so positive she quit breathing. How could she have?

“Would you like it?” His voice came so soft, so tentative.

“Of course I would like it, but, ah, are you certain?”

A hint of a smile tugged at the side of his mouth. “I drew it for you.”

“Doesn’t your mother want it?”

“She has plenty.” He glanced at the clock. “I need to leave. Can’t be late for school.”

“May I walk you there?”

“No, I know you’re late for work.”

She glanced at her watch. “If the boss can’t be late for work, who can?”

“Thank you.” He slid from the seat, jammed the box of eggs in his backpack, took the tray of trash, and grinned at her. “Thanks for breakfast.”

By the time she had her things gathered together, he was out the door.

“Some kid, ain’t he?” The cash-register boy was now wielding a cleaning rag.

“Has he been coming here long?”

The kid nodded. “Used to be with his mother. Ain’t seen her in a while…” He paused, his wiping stilled. “Long time, actually. Then he quit coming.”

“Hm.” She started to ask another question, but he had turned to answer someone else. Instead of taking the outside door, she exited via the main lobby in the atrium and strode to the elevator to the fourth floor. Her company had expanded to encompass this entire floor in addition to the lab on the third floor, two expansions in the last year. If she allowed the shock of it all to surface, she’d go catatonic for sure.

She had nearly reached the elevators when an older woman suddenly stepped in front of her. “Are you Dinah Taylor?”

“Yes.” Now what?

“My name is Mary Swann and I lied to you.” The woman was well put together with nice clothes and an attractive hairstyle.

When confusion reigns, shift blame. “Frankly, Ms. Swann, you seem a lot happier than a liar ought to be.”

Indeed, she was beaming. “I was one of the people with Type II diabetes who took part in a study your company did last November. We were asked to try your test product and see how it affected us.”

“Scoparia. And you lied about the results?”

“Oh, no! No, no! You see I started using the test product and within a week, I felt much better; in fact, I could control my blood-sugar levels almost without using insulin. Well, my husband has Type II diabetes also, so that’s why I lied.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I told the test director that I had lost my supply on a trip, left it in a motel. So she sent me another, of course, right away. That was the lie.”

“You doubled the dose?”

“No, my husband started using it. We still do our blood-sugar test daily, of course, but we rarely need insulin anymore, even though the product test has been over for quite a while, and we’re back to all the activities we used to enjoy. In fact, we’re volunteering at the animal shelter and we’re on the litter crew in the park, like we used to do before we lost so much energy.”

“Mrs. Swann, I am very happy to hear this!”

The lady grasped Dinah’s hands in hers. “Miss Taylor, we cannot thank you enough! Your Scoparia has turned our lives around.”

“And you have brightened my day immeasurably. My whole week. The year!”

The lady squeezed Dinah’s hands. “Please, keep up the good work!”

“We shall.”

And the lady hustled off.

The elevator doors whisked open and Dinah stepped in. But she did not go to her fourth-floor office. She pushed 3 and stepped out into her lab complex. Marcella’s door stood open, as it usually did.

She stepped inside. “Good morning, Marcella.”

“Good morning, Dinah.”

“The double-blind test on Scoparia last November; one of the subjects was a Mary Swann.”

Marcella turned to her monitor. “Two Ns?”

“I suppose; I don’t know.”

“Here she is.”

Dinah moved to the side of Marcella’s desk to see the screen. “Was she the product or the placebo?”

“The product.” Marcella pointed. “And look at her testimonial from the exit interview; it’s so effusive we probably can’t use it. It’s
too
good. In fact, she got two kits; lost one.” She sat back and frowned at Dinah. “Do you think she doubled her dose?”

“She gave it to her diabetic husband and he apparently got lasting results just as spectacular as hers. They still feel the effects. You might want to interview her.”

“Wow. Yeah.”

“Later.” Dinah took the stairs up to the fourth floor and her office. Once upon a time she didn’t use elevators at all. Must be getting old.

“Morning.”
Cheery
and April Benders were synonymous. April had been with her now for nine years, not long after the opening of Food for Life. “I see you got your coffee already.”

“I did. Jonah was outside on the wall again.”

“In the rain?”

“I know. I wanted to walk him to school, but—you’d think since I am so much bigger than he that if I wanted to walk him to school, I just would.” She shook her head, puzzled beyond sensible.

“You got to admit, he’s a sweetie.” April handed Dinah a stack of messages. “Your stack of orange slips. You need to return the top one immediately if not before.”

She nodded. “Thanks. Hold any other calls until I wade through this pile. Coffee after?”

“You might need it after.” April sounded grim. So it was one of those days.

Was April ever right. Orange slips. A different chore on each one. Dinah knew those reminders were listed neatly on her computer, too, but somehow tossing the done ones gave her a sense of satisfaction that deleting a line item just could not provide, sort of like slamming a phone receiver is so much more satisfying than swiping your finger across a screen. The orange slips and email took three hours. She remembered what her Gramma Grace once said: “We’d do such dollar things if it weren’t for all that nickel stuff.” This was nickel stuff—things that mean nothing but you dare not dismiss them.

“Ready for coffee?” April asked.

“I am, and now we need to finalize the plans the team put together for the Scoparia rollout.” A dream come true or another “almost” that wouldn’t quite measure up? “Had lunch yet?”

“An hour ago. Should I order for you?”

“I still have a chicken wrap in the fridge.” Dinah stretched mightily, her years of playing volleyball through college staying with her in the sure need to stretch often. The morning rain had ended and the sun had broken through the clouds, for the first time in several days. The day had brightened so much that Dinah wished she believed in omens.

And she made an executive decision. “Instead of calling another team meeting, I want just the two of us. If we keep it just the two of us for now, do you think the others will feel left out?”

“You’re kidding, right? Left out of another meeting? Back off or they’ll be kissing your feet.”

Dinah smiled. “The others are all under such tight deadlines, I don’t want to waste their time. I’m glad we got the budget under control yesterday. I think we have a lot of work yet to do on this launch.”

April nodded. “Where?”

“The back conference room; south-facing windows.”

“Sun!”

“Absolutely. You bring your stuff and the laptops, I’ll bring my lunch and folders.” Instead of seeing herself as the captain or the coach of her team, she believed she was the setter, the one who brought out the best in everyone by always having the ball in the right place at the right time. Most of the time, it worked.

She stuck her chicken wrap in the nuke and prepared her coffee in the double-size blue mug emblazoned with the chemical diagram of acetylsalicylic acid. Aspirin. She’d need all that coffee. Maybe the aspirin, too.

When she entered the conference room, April was setting up at the far end, as close to the windows as she could get. “I have it all transferred to these memory sticks. I’m naming the files for this thing by date; and I made some printouts, too, just the way you like it. Randy sent over the charts and graphs, and I know Alyssa is just finishing assembling her report.”

“Thank you.” Dinah settled to the laptop beside April’s.

Now to work.

She pulled down the paper on her wrap. Jonah should be getting out of school about now. Did he go straight home? Did his Mutt await him?
There you go again! Get back to business.

They covered every aspect of the presentation, including what would be displayed in the background.

The catered lunch. Smoked salmon or salmon salad? The caterer wanted smoked Atlantic salmon; okay, they’d go with that.

What was Jonah’s diet the rest of the day?
Stop it, Dinah!

The question-and-answer session. Whom should they plant in the audience to jump-start questioning when it slows up?

Now. The dinner in the evening.

“I still think we should have black-tied the dinner.” April ticky-ticked her keyboard.

“The tone is supposed to be casual.” Dinah rather wished she didn’t obsess so over details, but it was the details that made the event. Any event.

April rolled her eyes. “Well, I won’t be surprised if most show up that way. We’ve been fielding emails and questions for a week.”