Heaven Sent Rain (2 page)

“It’s my party. I refuse.”

“I know, but you can’t cut off their ties or anything.” April came from Arizona, where a well-known restaurateur did just that to any customer who wore a tie into the dining area. It was a great business
schtick
; locals deliberately brought their out-of-town guests just to watch the receptionist whip out her huge shears and clip them off. Half-ties decorated the walls and ceiling.

Leave it to April to lighten the intensity.

“Anything else?”

“Your lunch date tomorrow canceled.”

“Good.” Lunch under pressure, never a good idea. Then she got what was likely a very good idea. “You’ve been really working this thing. May I take you to lunch tomorrow?”

“No, thanks. I’m joining Adam in the school cafeteria. Tomorrow is parent day.”

“Sorry, I forgot. Have fun.” Sometimes when she thought about how April loved her family, it made her want to rethink her stand on having a family of her own. Almost, but not quite.

End of day. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. She hated that Bible quote. She stopped by the office for her bag, coat, and umbrella. As she tucked her cell in its pocket, the corner of a piece of tablet paper caught her attention. She pulled the drawing from the front pocket of her bag and stared at it again. Mutt. The dog whose former name must not be mentioned. She would have it framed to put on her wall or on her desk here, so she could see it throughout the day. Why? Because it was extraordinary art, a professional-quality drawing by a second-grader. Besides, the pencil went well with the white décor.

She could just hang it somewhere at home, but since she spent most of her time there sleeping or planning, she would enjoy it here the most. Wondering if his mother had covered her refrigerator with her son’s work or pinned it to the walls made her wish she knew for sure where he lived. While she had given him her business card and written her cell number on the back, making him promise to call if he needed help, he’d never reciprocated.

Well, for sure she had never had a picture of a dog before.

By choice.

S
uccess or no, Dinah found big affairs like this barely tolerable.

A few important people—and a lot of people who only thought they were important—milled about. They cruised past the food table and gathered in knots near the beverage bar. They nodded to each other and balanced plates with glasses and laughed too loudly. Kudos to the caterer who laid a lavish table with the requested tropical theme and a centerpiece of coconuts and coconut fronds, hibiscus, and frangipani. In short, your typical product launch a la Food for Life.

To her left, Ms. Cheery, a.k.a. April, wagged her head. “Not nearly as many here as I hoped, and not the big guns. No AP. We won’t get far without AP.”

Dinah thought there were more than enough strangers in this room. “Should we have scheduled it for a weekend?”

April shook her head. “Even worse. Everyone leaves town.”

A smooth baritone: “You can be proud of not only an event like this but also the difference your product will make in people’s lives.”

Dinah turned to smile at the man stepping in on her right. “Thank you, and I’m always grateful for your support.”

One rather bushy eyebrow rose. “Come, come, Dinah. How long have I known you?”

And supported you
was what he didn’t even infer, but Dinah did. Gratitude for Hal’s belief in her from the beginning made her legs shake. She nodded. “Sorry, I guess I get into polite mode for affairs like this and…” She shrugged.

His smile said he understood. She had met Hal Adler at her college graduation when he had stopped her to offer congratulations—and a job. A dream job that anyone else would have created mayhem for, but her reserve had kept her quiet. All she really wanted to do was start her own research business, for want of a better word, now, not years down the road. Her ultimate dream was to discover and produce products to help people become healthier, especially those diagnosed with Type II diabetes. Had he been a venture capitalist, would she have leaped? But wise investors did not take fliers on a dream.

Hal’s appearance had always been more that of an absent-minded professor than the power he really was. Tonight he was dressed up only out of regard for her; she understood that. He had changed out his tweed for an actual sport coat and, of all things, a modest, fashionable tie. She’d had no trouble spotting him in the penguin-and-tropical-birds melee.

“You look like a Greek goddess, simple and elegant.”

“Thank you, Hal. And you look exceedingly handsome. A tie that’s not painted in hideous colors.”

He started to laugh and half choked on the drink in his hand, coughing enough to make the man next to him slap him on the back.

“Sorry.”

“No.” He hacked a minute and cleared his throat. “No, you are not. We need some talk time and soon.”

“I agree. And, Hal, I can’t thank you enough.”

“Let’s say we’re even and let it go at that.” He nodded at one of his flunkies—
associates
, as he called them. “Later.”

Dinah continued around the ballroom, greeting and introducing and counting the minutes until April would allow her to leave. One of the lesser news reporters, a petite blonde with a dissatisfied scowl (the scowl was probably present from birth, but the blondeness definitely was not) requested a photo op.
That’s why we’re here,
Dinah wanted to retort. But she didn’t, of course.

She posed beside her product display, the Scoparia emblem as unique as the product. And she was glad to realize that she did indeed look good while still feeling comfortable. She had finally discovered a woman willing to create and sew the kind of formal clothes she wanted: classic designs with superior draping fabrics. Discomfort to look fashionable was as far from her lexicon as the sun from the earth. How can you walk in shoes like this young woman was wearing?

When the crowd eventually began to thin, she nodded and smiled and thanked and agreed and finally escaped. Cheery joined her as she was donning her white wool coat and retrieved her own.

Dinah shrugged into her coat. “You don’t have to leave now, April. You enjoy this kind of thing.”

“I promised the kids I wouldn’t be late.” She nodded to the doorman, who signaled a cab forward. “I’ll drop you.” They went through the same routine at every event.

Total exhaustion struck like a viper. Dinah sank into the car seat and let her head fall against the cushion. At least this was over with and now they could continue working on the other projects as well as distribution for Scoparia. The cab pulled to the curb in front of Dinah’s condo. Home sweet home. Dinah handed April a twenty and crawled out.

She hung her coat and didn’t bother to turn on the lights as she made her way to the bedroom. It was over! She hung her gown and collapsed into bed. She was taking the next day off. In fact, the business was closed to give everyone a chance to recuperate with a three-day weekend before full-speed-ahead on Monday. Not working was mandatory.

She had promised Hal and April she would do the same. Only a promise would keep her from at least Monday-morning quarterbacking. What she would do with the morrow was still not decided. She knew how she was going to finish today. She opened the book she was reading to her place on page 81 and stretched out on her bed, but she fell asleep before she got to page 82.

Jonah and Mutt were ringing her doorbell. She knew it was them because…

Coming awake, she swallowed her pounding heart, so grateful it was a dream. Or was it? Was it night or morning? The clock said
a.m.
She had slept the night through.

She grabbed her robe, tying it as she headed for the ringing door. Checking the peephole, she saw that of course it wasn’t Jonah, but a grinning delivery woman hiding behind a basket of white glads, roses, and who knew what else.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Dinah opened the door and gestured the emissary in.

“Hope it’s not too early. The instructions were confusing. I hear congratulations are in order.”

“Thank you, Minda. How you always manage to know what’s going on astounds me.” Dinah pointed to the four-foot-square coffee table in front of the sofas. The two requirements for all furniture had started years earlier: white and comfortable. None of that modern-just-admire style.

The lady set down the flower arrangement and stepped back. “Part of my job. Anything else I can get for you?”

“Can’t think of anything. The flowers are stunning, as always.”

“You enjoy your time off now, you hear?” She grinned and headed out the door. Delivery girl? Hardly. Minda Martin owned C’s Floral Shop, and she always made sure Dinah received the best. They went back a long way.

Dinah inhaled the fragrance of roses and stocks, smiling at the baby’s breath and yellow-throated gladiolus. Much as she loved fresh flowers, she never bought her own, a holdover from early days when one rose was an extravagance. She plucked out the card and nodded as she read. The same as always. No matter how she had tried, she had never learned who sent her the flowers, but she strongly suspected Hal was behind it. He covered his tracks well.

One of the roses and a sprig of baby’s breath in her hand, she ambled into the kitchen. She would keep these separate on the kitchen table. After putting the flowers in a tall ivory bud vase, she started the coffee maker and set out grapefruit, yogurt, half-and-half, and granola. The sun kissing the rose on the table brought on another smile. No rain. It seemed like it had been moping and raining all winter, but the weather had been just as varied and crazy worldwide. At least they had not been flooded or blizzarded or scorched or blown off the planet.

Allowing herself a leisurely breakfast at home instead of at the Extraburger reminded her: what if Jonah was there and he’d not eaten? A glance at the clock told her he was already in school, hungry or not. Perhaps someone else fed him when she wasn’t there. Or perhaps not. That was what she would do today, learn more about Jonah. How, she had no idea, but now was the time. She had put this off far too long.

Two hours later, steeped in total frustration, she was no nearer the goal. There was one elementary school within walking distance of the Extraburger. School records were closed for reasons of privacy, they said. His father’s namesake? No Jonah was listed in any of the apartment houses in all of Eastbrook, let alone the immediate vicinity. All the
W
s came up with zero: the who, what, why, when, and where. Wondering how to break into this set her staring out the window.

Should she have him followed? One possibility. Ask him direct questions? He’d not answered any before. She slapped her hands on her desk and returned to pacing, which had not helped previously. Going outside was the last remaining option, short of banging her head against the wall.

Bundled up against the deceptive March weather, she headed for the park. She could wait for him and walk him home from school! Why had that not occurred to her before? For someone supposedly so brilliant, she knew she sometimes lacked common sense. Hands thrust into her pockets, she continued walking, rejoicing in the slivers of green heralding the coming bulbs, the purple-, gold- and violet-streaked crocuses blooming riotously. Her boots tapped out a sharp rhythm counterpointed at times by the thrum of passing tires, a barking dog, and some birdsong she did not recognize.

Sometime later, she realized she had made a complete circle and stopped at the Bagelry. One should always go there early in the morning, not after the lunch crowd. She ordered her usual, the all-seeds bagel with a schmear of lox and cream cheese, with a tall vanilla latte, and settled into a wrought-iron chair outside in the sun. Only one other person braved the chill and smiled at her. Returning the smile, she dug into her bagel, tonguing the cream cheese off her upper lip. After draining the latte, she tossed the papers in the trash and turned into the grocer three doors up. The small mom-and-pop store held on in spite of the mega–shopping centers, all because of their loyal clientele and personal delivery when ordered. The way they catered to their customers made Nordstrom service look patchy. They delivered day or night, 365 days a year. The only time they had even been closed since Dinah moved into the neighborhood was the day of their daughter’s funeral.

Dinah had forced herself to go, fighting the memories the service generated. Mrs. Braumeister held her close as they cried together. Dinah never cried. Today she dropped Greek yogurt, honey-blueberry granola, seven-grain bread, romaine, a chicken breast, and pork steak into her basket. She eyed the Swiss chocolate, searching for milk chocolate with hazelnuts.

“I kept one back for you,” Mrs. Braumeister said, reaching under the counter when Dinah stopped at the cash register. “I figured you would be by someday soon.”

“You spoil me.”

“It’s the mother in me. Don’t you need some half-and-half by now?”

“Thank you.” Dinah shook her head as she stopped in front of the dairy case. Surely these people were angels who happened to inhabit earthly bodies. When she hauled her groceries home and put them away a few minutes later, she found a container of applesauce included. She always had applesauce with her pork steaks.

Glancing at the clock, she hurried back down the three flights of stairs, drove to her office to park, then walked the few blocks to the school. Surely she had waited too long; what if she missed him again? She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the lined-up cars and waiting parents—she’d made it. She leaned against the front fender of an empty SUV and smiled at the man in uniform who strolled up to her.

After a friendly greeting he asked, “Who are you waiting for?”

“Jonah.”

“Jonah who?”

“I don’t know.”

He studied her. “Obviously, you are not his mother.”

“No, just a friend.”

“I see, and do you have permission to be waiting for him?” His face changed to deadpan.

“Not specifically. We’re friends. I just thought I could walk home with him and—”

“His parents’ names and address?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come inside with me, please, and we’ll see what we can do.” He barked into his radio, “Visitor coming in, code one.” The officer led her not to the check-in desk but into a small room off to the side. “Please be seated. May I have your ID?”

“Of course, but…” She dug in her bag and handed him her driver’s license.

Two police officers entered. Not campus security. Police. The security man gave them her driver’s license and left.

Grimly, one of the two radioed in her name and address and license number.

She looked from face to face. “What’s going on here? I just stopped by to walk home with a friend.”

The hubbub of school being let out, children laughing and parents calling, penetrated the windowless office. Jonah was leaving now.

She started to rise. “If you will excuse me…”

“Please remain seated, Miss Taylor.” It was not a polite request.

“Wait a minute. Why…You think I’m some pervert or stalker or…”

“If you don’t mind, we’ll ask the questions.” However masked in politeness, it was an order.

Jonah’s name? Address? If he were a friend, why did she know nothing about him? And she discovered that buying him breakfast was also strongly suspect. It’s the opening door perverts use, like candy and help-me-find-my-lost-puppy.

They grilled her for over half an hour, apparently trying to squeeze blood from a turnip. Or information from someone who really, truly, did not know anything. Finally, with a dire warning not to associate with Jonah or appear in the neighborhood of the school, they let her go.

She walked back to her car in a daze. She had parked in her office space because she had wanted to walk with Jonah. Still numb, she drove home.

The light on her phone was blinking. She tapped the playback. It must have been a wrong number since she heard only a noise, hissing in the background, and a cough. Caller ID said the number was blocked. Between that and the frightening fiasco at the school, a little snake of fury slithered into her consciousness. If she considered it, the snake owned a triangular head and curved fangs.