Heaven Sent Rain (9 page)

A child’s eyes. A dog’s eyes. But did he have to draw hers, too?

What was there about Dinah Taylor that would not leave him alone?

T
uesday felt like the first ordinary day Dinah had had in ages. In fact, it felt so normal that when her home phone rang that evening, she picked it up without looking at the caller ID.

“Dinah, this is Corinne, Jonah’s mother.”

“Well, what a treat. I take it Jonah and Mutt are doing well?”

“They are. She waits to go out until he comes home from school but he no longer lets her go on her own. He keeps her on a leash, not taking any chances. I have something to thank you for: making him change her name. His dad thought the world of his son, but that pup was so rambunctious he was always saying Downmutt and she began answering to that.”

“It was such an odd name, I just couldn’t imagine saying it. Especially when she seems so well behaved.”

“I know. I have a favor to ask. Could you possibly come visit me tomorrow afternoon, say one o’clock or so? I know you are terribly busy, but I would surely appreciate it.”

“Of course I’ll come. How about if I bring lunch? Is there something special you would like?”

“Oh, a fresh salad with grilled chicken on it. The one down at the Extraburger is so delicious, and I’ve not had it for a long time.”

“I’ll get two salads and be there around one.” After hanging up, she glanced through her daily calendar. April would just have to move things around, that was all. Nothing looked impossible. She emailed April the information and sat down in her chair, tempted to turn on the television. How she’d been able to resist that was beyond her. Tonight she just didn’t care. They would do what they would do and she’d have to deal with it. Easier said than done. Worry and guilt, two first cousins of extreme disquietude, took up residence on either shoulder, chanting their songs of misery.

The next afternoon, she picked up her order at 12:50 and rang the doorbell, right at one. She’d even been able to find parking. Luck was smiling on her today. From inside, Mutt barked, then whimpered.

“Come on in—the door is open.” Corinne sounded so feeble.

Dinah pushed open the door to see Mutt sitting, doing her quivering
I am so glad to see you
routine. “Just your friendly delivery service. I brought you a coffee and a tea since I didn’t know which you would prefer, and I like either.” She tried to figure which hand she could pet the dog with. “Sorry, girl, when I put this down I’ll pet you.”

“Could we please eat here in the bedroom? It uses up less energy for me that way.”

“Of course.” Dinah carried in the box and set it on the bed. Then she leaned over to stroke the fluffy ears, one of which stood half up. “You look good, Mutt. Big improvement.”

“I was so afraid she would not make it, and Jonah would have been crushed beyond measure.”

“He handled the whole thing so well.”

“He’s like his father, on the stoic side.”

Dinah wanted to ask questions about the missing man but instead handed the lunch container to the pale woman, who seemed to almost disappear into the bed. All but her eyes, her haunted, life-filled eyes. Jonah’s eyes. For some reason, Dinah had always thought Jonah had his father’s.

Corinne lay propped with pillows against the headboard of a single bed while another single bed filled the corner by the window, so the two were almost foot to foot. A chair and a rather scuffed dresser took up the remaining space, with a closet door opposite her bed. Obviously no man lived here, at least not recently. Dinah’s earlier assessment had been correct: shabby but clean. How did Corinne manage the housework and taking care of Jonah when she was so weak?

Dinah tried not to bite her tongue, but that might be what it took to curb her curiosity. “You didn’t say what kind of salad dressing, so I brought one of each: thousand island, french, blue cheese, and ranch.”

“Ranch is perfect.” She managed with a bit of difficulty to open the container and pour her dressing.

“Jonah is an amazing artist.” Dinah glanced around the room at all the drawings push-pinned to the walls. The contrast between this busy, filled room and Dinah’s immaculate white apartment struck her like a belly punch.

“He is. His papa was, too. He started Jonah drawing just before he had to leave.” A shutter dropped over her that warned Dinah not to question, as if she wished she’d not mentioned a man at all.

Perhaps next time Corinne would feel more free to talk. “Do you have friends around here who help you?”

“Oh, yes. Thank God for all the good souls He sends our way.” She took another bite of salad, smiling at the flavors. “Trudy next door is a saint of the first order. Her daughter, Claire, comes to clean once a week. Such good friends.” A few more bites and she set the salad aside. “Guess I’ll have a snack later. Trudy brought over peanut butter cookies because she knows those are Jonah’s favorites.” She smiled at Dinah. “Thank you for being such a good friend to my Jonah and to me. God will bless you for the love you share.”

There it was again. The God thing. “You’re welcome. Jonah is easy to love.”

“But you went an extra ten miles with Mutt. I will repay you if you tell me how much.”

“I don’t really know. We have another vet call, you know. Let’s talk then.” Dinah closed her salad. “I can see you are really tired, and I need to get back to work. Is there anything I can get for you?”

“Thank you, but no. I’ll take my afternoon nap before Jonah comes home.” She pointed to an envelope on the dresser. “Please, would you take that? In case Jonah needs you.”

Dinah started to ask a question, but the woman’s eyes were already drifting closed. The envelope was sealed, and Dinah’s name was written on the front. On the back a note said
Open only in case of an emergency.

“I…hope you never have to use it, but just in case.” A slight smile. “Bless you.”

Dinah gathered up the lunch things, put Corinne’s leftover salad in the refrigerator, and threw the trash away.

That night after she got home from the office, she set the envelope on the granite mantel above the gas log fireplace in the living room. Why not just open it now, just in case? No. It said
emergency
. She would honor that.

And then her thoughts went scattering again. They bounced off the walls of her world, arranged themselves in interesting ways. It was basically that process of wild, creative thinking that had led to success in their diabetes work. Now Hans wanted to start working on autoimmune problems and autism. Not that they were related, but his brain, like hers, skipped wildly. She got out her legal pad and penciled in thoughts and shorthand chemical formulas.

This was the part of the hunt that intrigued her most. In the 1930s, researchers discovered antibacterial properties in aniline dyes, attached to azo compounds. Eventually, they realized you didn’t need the azo component at all. She took immense pride that her company used that same outside-the-box approach. And look how it paid off—very occasionally, but profitably. Not to the degree that the discovery of antibacterials served humanity, but important in their own ways.

But before all that loomed the infernal interview on Friday. And it was to that interview that she must apply her galloping thoughts. Maybe she could reward herself by coming in on Saturday to putter in the lab. She fired up her laptop and stretched out on her formerly white sofa. She still had to call in a professional cleaner.

She made two lists: what she wanted to tell the reporter and what the reporter thought he, or she, wanted to know. The list of what she wanted to say was easy. But the other list? Of course! She could populate it with as many of the questions as she could recall being fired at her in that hasty press conference. Side effects, for instance, the one reporter had mentioned. Supplements and food additives were not required to undergo the kind of thorough analysis Food for Life had subjected their products to. But should someone suffer ill effects, their reputation would be tarnished enough to cripple and perhaps kill sales.

And of course, how would they feel if their customers got sick or even died? What if Jonah’s mother or someone took Dinah’s supplements trying to restore her health and instead got worse? Dinah was downright proud of their stringent testing.

She had the rat results; they were pretty impressive. She’d give him that and fudge on the human results, which weren’t completely crunched yet. And she would take him on a tour of the facility, introduce him to Hans and Sandy and Marcella. Show him the layout and some of their methods.

The reporters had been complaining about the just-one-person stipulation; they were pushy to the max. Hal and Dinah decided to allow three people—one reporter, a photographer, and a biochem expert or endocrinologist. If this was pandering to them, so be it. Allowing just one reporter was pretty rigid, even though it felt just a tiny bit like revenge for the way they’d acted. And April had the brilliant idea that in exchange, the reporter’s questions had to be submitted in advance.

Her mind bounced off in another direction. Should she feed them? Yes. Another couple deli trays from Braumeister’s grocery, and she would lavishly hype the store. In fact, Food for Life would throw a feast like the crew had just enjoyed, perhaps with champagne. And all their existing supplements and other products would be arrayed on the table in the corner, strategically illuminated by the track lights overhead.

The phone rang.

She answered with a noncommittal “Hello?”

Jonah’s voice. “Will you be eating breakfast at the Extraburger tomorrow?”

“Just like usual. And you’re invited.”

“Thank you.” A pause. “May I buy an extra breakfast tomorrow to go, and bring it to Mommy?”

“Certainly. Do you want me to take it to her and you go on to school, or would you like to take it to her yourself?”

“Take it myself.”

“Then we should meet fifteen or twenty minutes early. Think so?”

“Thank you, Dinah. Thank you very much.” Jonah hung up.

Dinah smiled.

When they met for breakfast next morning, she noticed that Mutt was on a leash. Good; Jonah was taking no chances. They ate as usual, Jonah sipping his hot chocolate. He told her about a new art project in school and how, now that a substitute teacher had explained long division clearly, he could do the math problems so much better. He had no idea why his regular teacher was not in class this week. All the usual kid stuff, important to the kid but not of much consequence in the fight to keep America safe for democracy. Or to ensure the Cincinnati team would take the pennant. Or—in fact, he seemed quite chatty compared to his usual stoicism. He left with the box of breakfast for Corinne, and Dinah went up to her office.

April seemed pleased with her notes, all of them, and only added a few details here and there. When April was pleased, you could rest assured the material was pretty much complete.

She spent the morning in the lab with Sandy, trying to remove a hydroxyl from a carboxylic acid complex cheaply,
cheaply
being the operative word. It was either that or do email.

By quitting time, they had received all the reporters’ questions that they were going to accept. Dinah was pleased that four of her guesses were on the “real” list, and a fifth was a minor variation of their question. She was as prepared as she was probably going to get.

She went to bed early that night in order to be fresh and bright when her torturers showed up the next morning.

At 1:30 a.m. the phone rang.

She was tempted to answer with, “Do you realize what time it is?” Instead, she answered with a polite “Hello?”

“Dinah?” Jonah, his voice quavering slightly. “I don’t know what to do.” Pause. “Please help me.”

J
onah needed her.

Why did he always need her in the middle of the night? She glanced at her bedside clock. Tiny little numbers glowed.

Slipping into sweats, she grabbed her bag and tennies. Emergencies. You rarely had emergencies in research labs. There were times when you suddenly had to act really fast, certainly, and times when things unexpectedly went wrong. Lots of those. But not emergencies like this. How she yearned for the good old days.

Wait; a little bell dinged.
Emergency.
That envelope Corinne gave her, to be opened in an emergency. She dropped it into her bag and headed out the door.

This would have to be about Mutt. Infection, sudden turn of health. The vet did say to bring Mutt back if anything went wrong. She didn’t speed, but neither did she dally. Everyone sensible was home in bed, so she had the streets to herself. Why oh why had all
this
come into her life? No parking near their building. Safe or not, she whipped around the block and parked going the other way, half a block away.

Good thing she had on tennis shoes, not heels, although she had been known to run in heels, too. She took the stairs two at a time, reminding herself to breathe. She was not in as good shape as when she’d been playing volleyball, that was for certain.

Jonah met her as she burst through the stairwell door.

“Mommy can’t answer me.”

“What?” It took a moment for Dinah to register what he’d said.

“Mommy won’t wake up and Gramma Trudy’s not home. They went somewhere.”

They hurried down the hall, but she stopped and took a deep breath before entering the apartment. Jonah tugged at her hand and led her into the bedroom. Corinne was still breathing. Faint and slow, but the covers moved.

“Mommy?” Jonah patted her cheek. “Mommy.”

“Take her hand, Jonah. She can probably still hear you even if she can’t answer.” It was what her gramma had told her back when…But this was Jonah’s mother, not him.

Jonah took his mother’s hand and held it to his cheek. “She hugged my hand.”

“You can talk to her, just like always. She can hear you.”

“Dinah is here, Mommy. Grammy Trudy and Claire went to see the new baby, remember?”

Dinah saw slight motion as the woman feebly squeezed his hand.

“Is there a cell phone number for them, Jonah?”

He looked over his shoulder. “No.”

Dinah heaved a sigh. Should she call 911? What made her even doubt that? She pulled her phone out of her bag. “I’ll call nine-one-one.”

“No! Uh, no. Please, no!” Those huge, deep, pained eyes grabbed hers. “Mommy doesn’t want that, she said.” Dinah could see that the hand was gripping his, vibrating.

“We have to. It’s the law.”

“Mommy’s lawyer said I didn’t have to. And Mommy said if there was an emergency to call Grammy Trudy or you.”

“But we…” Now what?

The envelope. Was this the kind of emergency Corinne intended? “Excuse me a moment.” She dug the envelope out of her bag and stepped into the brighter light in the kitchen. She ripped open the envelope with her thumb and pulled out a single sheet of paper. The handwriting was a bit shaky but legible and clear.

Dinah dug in her bag for a packet of tissues to mop the tears raining down her face. She blew her nose and dried her eyes so she could see clearly. She could hear Jonah talking to his mother.

Dinah laid the letter down and stared at the wall, where a framed painting, more an abstract than a photographic depiction, hung. The colors were vibrant like the scarves she wore, full of warmth and happiness, rippled and blended, seeming to move like a peaceful sea. Never still but always alive.

“Daddy painted that before he left.”

She looked down to see Jonah at her side and Mutt, too. “He’s an amazing artist.”

“He taught me to draw.”

“Your mommy told me that. She said you’re a lot like him.”

She returned to the bedroom, Jonah at her side. Light from the lamp by the bed lent a soft glow.

Jonah leaned against her. “Mommy likes you a whole lot. She said you made friends with me when you didn’t have to. Me and Mutt. She really liked that. She said don’t look at what people say, look at what they do. She said you would take care of me.”

Oh she did, did she.
Dinah perched on the edge of the bed and scooped up Corinne’s other hand, clasping it in both hers. “Corinne, I’ve never married, never had kids, never took care of kids. I know nothing about kids. Nothing about giving Jonah what he needs. I don’t think—”

The feeble hand squeezed hers.

“Corinne…are you sure I—”

Another feeble squeeze.

Dinah blotted away tears. Why wasn’t Jonah weeping?

Peace like a river attendeth my soul.
The hymn leaped into Dinah’s head unbidden. Gramma Grace’s favorite hymn. The smile on Corinne’s face, the serenity. How could life leave like this? But it did. It had, all those years before. Then, she’d watched the dearest persons in her world stop breathing and be gone. Michael Junior. Then Gramma Grace.

Please, Corinne, not now! Not while Jonah is watching. Believe me; I know. Not now!

“Mommy?” Jonah was carefully watching his mother’s face.

No squeeze. Corinne had joined Michael and Gramma Grace.

Jonah laid the flaccid hand on her abdomen. “Mommy looks happy.”

“She does. She—she…” Words disappeared, all of them. Dinah laid the other hand on the body.

“She went to be with Jesus. She explained it all to me so I wouldn’t be scared. She said she was going to go soon, but she didn’t know exactly when. She said Jesus would take her when He got everything ready. I think He’s ready because she didn’t squeeze my hand.” He looked up at Dinah. “It’s now, right? She’s happy up there with Jesus now?”

“That’s right.”
Dinah Marie Taylor, how can you lie like that?
To ease the mind of a small child who just lost his whole world and doesn’t even realize it yet. That’s how. And she would lie again if need be.

“And now I’m going to live with you.”

“Yes. Apparently. Would you like to gather your things?” What else could she say?

There had been nothing she could do then and nothing she could do now.

Rob. Gramma Grace. Corinne Morgan. Good people. So unjust. So cruel.

And a kid. A strange little kid. Corinne had prepared him as well as can be expected, but nobody had bothered to prepare Dinah. Now here he was in her lap, under her wing.

She wasn’t even certain she knew how to love. Care, yes. She cared about Hal, about her employees. But love? What was that, exactly?

While he fetched his backpack and plopped it on the bed, she retrieved the brown accordion file from the otherwise empty drawer and carried it out to the kitchen table. She sat. Corinne had left another note, this one taped to the front of the file.

Just follow the instructions,
she ordered herself.
You do not have to think.

She picked up the phone. A man’s voice answered on the fifth ring.

“I’m sorry about the hour. My name is Dinah Tay—”

“Corinne died.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you.” She hung up, utterly amazed at how swiftly that exchange had taken place. Dinah shook her head. Surely this was a dream. Surreal. And she would wake up soon.

She leafed briefly through the file, closed it, and laid it on top of her hobo bag so she would not forget it. She returned to the bedroom. Jonah was struggling to stuff some things into a faded duffle bag. She perched on his bed, the duffle between them, to help. “We still have to call nine-one-one. Here. You hold it open, I’ll stuff.”

“Mommy doesn’t want us to.” He held the duffle’s jaws wide as she forced things into the corners, the ends. Then he let her zip it while he snapped a leash onto Mutt’s collar.

The present tense. He was referring to his mother in the present tense. Perhaps that was a key to his peace of mind. Not dead. Transformed. Or temporarily gone. Sorrow was engulfing Dinah, and she hardly knew Corinne. When would sorrow strike this child? All she could think to do was keep him busy.

“No, but the law requires it. We’ll wait until the lawyer arrives. He’s on his way. He can explain exactly what we should do.”

That’s it, Dinah. Pass the buck. You who take responsibility for a whole company cannot bear to take the simple, basic responsibility to call 911. What is wrong with you?

“Wait. We need the dog food. I’ll get it.” He ran out to the kitchen and returned with a nearly empty bag of kibbles for a mature dog. He juggled it into the crook of his arm, hauled his duffle bag off the ground, and nodded. “Wait.” He put them all down. “Mutt’s dish.” He went back to the kitchen and returned with a dog dish greatly in need of washing.

Dinah raised a hand. “Let’s stop and regroup here. Take your backpack to the bathroom and get all the stuff you’d take if you were going on a trip. Like you’d be staying overnight in a hotel.”

“I never went on a trip. Or stayed in a hotel.”

“Oh. Toothbrush, toothpaste. Hairbrush. Comb. Favorite soap or shampoo?”

“I wash my hair with dish soap. Mommy says it does a better job.” There it was again, the present tense. He obviously didn’t realize…

“Ah. Then bring the dish soap.”
Keep stalling, Dinah. Keep him busy until the lawyer gets here.
She carried his duffle, the dog dish, and everything out to the kitchen, putting them down by the table.

He returned with a worn toothbrush sticking out of his backpack’s side pocket. He brought the foaming dish soap over from the sink. “It won’t fit, I don’t think.”

“Any grocery bags in the closet?”

He went back, returned with a plastic bag. They put the jug of soap in that.

School. Kids have school stuff. “How about notebooks, school things, homework? Got all that?”

That burned up another few minutes. Too few. He put his school things into the plastic bag and stacked it beside his duffle.

“How about stuff to draw with? Got all that?”

He nodded. “It’s mostly at school. Wait. My extra pencils.” He left and presently returned.

“Favorite toys, books?”

“No. Wait. You mean my bear?”

“Sure.”

He was headed for the bedroom when the door rattled and burst open.

Dinah jumped and yelped.

A large man, a very large man, with a neck like a tree trunk, entered.

Jonah paused; then said casually, “Hi, Mr. Jensen.” He continued to his bedroom.

The man’s build matched his deep male voice. “Sorry I startled you, Dr. Taylor. Lars Jensen. We spoke earlier.” He extended his hand.

Dinah rose and was rather embarrassed to see that her own hand was shaking. She took his in a business-type grip. “Thank you for hurrying.”

The man didn’t smile, but he managed to look fairly pleasant anyway. “I was afraid this would happen sometime soon. How is Jonah doing?”

“He is handling this far better than I am.”

“Corinne prepared him remarkably well.”

Dinah sat down again. “I’m afraid she didn’t prepare me. She gave me a letter, but we didn’t talk—Couldn’t this Grammy Trudy take him?”

He sat also. “Trudy is an elderly neighbor, no blood relation. Her health will not permit her to raise a child this young, and her daughter has a difficult special-needs child and can’t take on Jonah as well. We all felt it would not be in Jonah’s best interests for her to take him.”

“But a total stranger is just fine.”

The huge man smiled slightly. “I did a background check on you, Dr. Taylor. You’re not a total stranger. Your business acumen is demonstrated by your financial statement, charitable giving, the obvious happiness and confidence of your employees, the mission statement on your company’s Website. And they all attest to your strong moral character.”

She sighed. “Jonah already mentioned, ‘Don’t look at what people say, look at what they do.’”

The smile loosened, spread a little. He sat forward, both elbows on the table between them. “One of Corinne’s favorite lines, and mine, too. Corinne and I agreed it will be difficult for you in that you would be a single parent with no experience. We’re hoping that if you can pilot a company as complex as Food for Life, you can handle this job, too.”

“What are my choices?”

“I’m hoping you can take him in temporarily, at least, so that he has a roof over his head. In the longer term, you could at any time tell me that there is no way you can handle a seven-year-old boy and a dog and that I should come and get him immediately. What we hope most of all is that he not fall into the morass of Social Services. He’s a gifted child, a very special child, and fosterage in this area is very poor.”