Spring Rain (3 page)

Now there was just overwhelming sadness whenever she thought of him.

She reached for the door to her apartment. It had been a long, long day at school. Usually her fourth grade students were fine, but a week of spring vacation began with the close of school today, and they were more than ready. So was she. All she wanted was to climb the stairs and flop in her favorite chair, a good book in one hand, a sweetened iced tea in the other.

“Oh, Leigh!”

Her hand on the doorknob, Leigh turned back to the main house. The main house. It always sounded like some great manor house in an English novel with lots of outbuildings dotting the vast estate, but there was no vast estate here, no mansion, just a large cream Victorian with dark green, crimson, and white gingerbread trim. The garage with Leigh’s apartment over it sat at the back of the property and was painted the same colors as the house. Leigh and Billy had lived here for four years now, a wonder she still had trouble comprehending. There was no location in Seaside as wonderful as this property, reaching directly to the dunes, the beach, and the Atlantic Ocean.

Nor was there anyone as wonderful as Julia Wharton, resident angel. Leigh smiled at Julia as she came out the back door of the house. She didn’t look like an angel, just an attractive widow in her late fifties with carefully colored blond hair and unbelievably thick brown lashes rimming her clear blue eyes, but Leigh knew from experience that she was one. She was also a crackerjack realtor, Ted’s mother, Leigh’s landlady, and a very good friend.

“Will you and Billy come for dinner?” Julia asked as the women met in the middle of the small backyard. Property in a shore resort like Seaside was so valuable that no one wasted much land on lawns, especially since the salt air and the summer heat made keeping a decent one nearly impossible. Julia brushed a curl behind her ear with a hand covered with flour. “I’m making a lemon meringue pie.”

The mention of the lemon meringue struck a chill through Leigh, and her hand went to her heart. “Are you baking as therapy? Is Teddy worse? Did the nurse give you bad news before she left?”

In the weeks after it became obvious that Ted was dying and Julia had taken an indefinite leave from her job to be available in whatever capacity she was needed, she had baked so many pies and cakes and cookies that the rescue mission in Atlantic City took to sending a van over every day to pick up the bounty.

Julia blinked in surprise. “Ted’s fine. I just felt like baking.”

Leigh smiled in relief. “From scratch as usual?”

“Of course.” Julia’s eyes flashed. “I would never cheat with one of those store-bought crusts.”

“If I baked like you, I wouldn’t either,” said Leigh who regularly bought her crusts premade. “We’d love to come.”

Even if there weren’t years of rescue and reclamation to Julia’s credit, that invitation alone proved her angel status, coming as it did at the end of a long month, a long week, and a longer day. The mere thought of coming up with a nutritious dinner for Billy and herself had been draining Leigh’s few remaining energy reserves.

“I’m indulging in celebratory baking,” Julia said in a happy rush. She grinned, absolutely delighted with her good news. “Clay’s coming home.”

Leigh shivered as a dark chill raced through her. She felt turned to marble just like in the game she had played as a kid when you were flung away and had to freeze in whatever position you found yourself until whoever was
it
came to wind you up.

Only this was real.

“—this weekend.”

Leigh shook her head and managed to hear the last part of Julia’s continued comments. “He’s coming for the weekend? That’s nice.”
And we can go away for the weekend, Billy and I. He will just have to miss his Little League game Saturday, and the choir will never notice my absence Sunday morning.

“No, no.” Julia patted Leigh’s hand again. “He
arrives
this weekend, probably tomorrow, and he’s staying until after Ted—” Julia’s voice broke, and tears shimmered in her eyes.

Until after Ted dies. Words no mother wanted to speak.

Selfish, selfish!
Leigh berated herself as she watched Julia blink back the tears.
Worrying about your feelings, your embarrassment in a
situation like this. Are you so petty you’d deny Julia the consolation Clay could bring? After all she’s done for you?

“I’m glad for you, Julia. Having Clay here will be a wonderful comfort.”

Something in Leigh’s voice made Julia look at her quickly, apparently misunderstanding the restraint. “Not that you aren’t a comfort,” she hastened to say, reaching out and hugging Leigh. “I don’t know what I would have done without you over the past three years since Will’s death. And Billy. It’s just that Clay’s—”

“Clay’s your son,” Leigh finished, forcing her voice to be warm and excited. “And Ted’s twin. You need him. And he should be here.” Though why she hadn’t realized that before, she’d never know. Something so blatantly obvious shouldn’t have been a surprise. But it was, probably because he came back to Seaside so rarely and stayed so short a time. His last visit of any length had been at his father’s funeral, and she had managed to keep out of sight by burying herself in the kitchen or staying in her apartment. When he came for just a weekend, she and Billy always conveniently managed to be away.

Julia rubbed her floury hand across her forehead. “Sometimes I hate what’s coming so much I can hardly stand it. And I hate facing it alone.”

This time Leigh wrapped her arms about Julia. When Will Wharton had died suddenly three years ago, she had been almost as lost as Julia. “I know.” Leigh kissed Julia’s cheek. “He was such a great guy. We all miss him.”

Julia pulled back and took a deep breath. She straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. “I can do all things through Him who strengthens me,” she quoted. “I can.”

Leigh watched Julia walk back to the house and marveled at the woman’s strength. She turned back to the garage and slowly climbed the steps to her apartment, emotions roiling.

Dear Lord, on one hand I know Julia’s right. I can do all things through Your strength. But I don’t know about Clay, Lord. I just don’t know.

C
LAY WHARTON TURNED
off the Garden State Parkway and onto the Ninth Street Causeway, driving across the salt marshes and bay to Seaside. He inhaled deeply, the smell of salt water, marsh, rotting vegetation, and fresh briny air filling his lungs. He realized with surprise that he had missed this distinctive aroma, the smell that meant the shore. There was simply no other smell like it.

He scanned the bayside of the barrier island he had called home for the first eighteen years of his life. Though it was located only a few miles south of Atlantic City and was as tourist intense as any shore community could be, he was pleased to see that skyscraper condos still hadn’t taken over. Motels of two and three stories, private homes with docks housing boats of all sizes, marinas, and undeveloped marshes lined the bay.

He had been in grade school when the town had voted to outlaw any construction over three stories.

“High rises would block the view of almost everyone and make Seaside another Atlantic City without the casinos,” his father had explained carefully. Dr. Will Wharton was a councilman at the time, and the outcome of the vote was very important to him. He saw it as life or death to Seaside as a family-oriented resort.
“Our goal is to keep the people-friendly atmosphere and to allow the sea breezes to reach everyone.” Will had looked earnestly at Clay and his twin, Teddy. “Believe me, boys, sometimes ‘progress’ is not beneficial.”

The young Clay hadn’t grasped the significance of the vote. He’d been too easily impressed with the glitz and sophistication of any new idea, and rebuilding Seaside to resemble other ocean communities had seemed reasonable to him. Bigger was obviously better. Only old guys like his father missed that evident fact. Clay had thought his hometown a “quaint” community that needed a touch of modernity.

Now as he looked at the low rooflines of the houses, motels, and restaurants that lined the bay, he was thankful for men and women like his father and the building codes they’d had the foresight to put in place. Seaside was still Seaside, tourism still its primary business, but it was a comfortable, livable town.

He glanced at the passenger seat where his long-haired Jack Russell terrier sat, trying to keep his balance as he strained to see out the windows.

“Terror, you’d see better if you stood with your front paws on the edge of the window. You know. Like I showed you before we left home.”

Terror looked at him, smiling happily, his tongue lolling. He didn’t seem to mind that he saw mostly roofs and sky. As long as he was along for the ride, he seemed to say, it was enough.

Clay reached over and stroked the dog’s head. “At least you aren’t trying to sit at my feet any longer.”

Clay had spent the first half hour of the trip grabbing Terror as the dog, unused to riding in a car, tried to get comfortable on the floor between the accelerator and the brake, as close as he could get to Clay, what with the bucket seats and gear console.

Terror, now convinced that the seat was preferable to the floor, licked Clay’s hand, devotion shining in his brown eyes.

“Do you know why Emilie bought you?” Clay asked conversationally. “Given the fact that you’re not going to be any threat to Lassie or Rin Tin Tin intellectually, I’ve begun to suspect that she saw the handwriting on the wall and got you for me for Christmas as a revenge gift that would keep on giving for years.” Clay grinned as he scratched the dog’s ears. “The laugh’s on her, though.
Did you know that? I happen to like you.”

In response, Terror sneezed and lost his balance.

Poor Emilie, Clay thought as he grinned at Terror. She’d never stood a chance with him, but she hadn’t seemed to get the idea. Apparently she believed in the if-he-sees-me-enough-he’ll-like-me school of relationship development. Accordingly she managed to be everywhere he was for over two years. It had been, to put it mildly, wearing.

Since he was very active with the high school program at church, so was she. When he decided that singing in the choir might be fun, she joined too. When he played on the church baseball and basketball teams, she came to every game and cheered him on. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she’d liked high school kids, had a decent singing voice, and understood the nuances of either game.

Still, he had to admire her single-mindedness even as he dreaded her sticky-sweet, “Hi, Clay. Whatcha doing?”

It had taken a long time, but she finally seemed to grasp the idea that he was a lost cause when for Christmas she gave him Terror with a red bow about his neck, and he gave her a Point of Grace tape in a colorful little bag with no tissue stuffed in the top—the same gift he gave to everyone else on the youth group leadership team.

“Not even a CD,” he’d overheard her tell one of her girlfriends. “A tape! Like everyone else!”

He’d smiled to himself, relieved, though he hadn’t meant to be unkind. He’d just seen her as a friend who would never be anything more and gifted her accordingly. He hadn’t been terribly surprised when the youth pastor said she was no longer working with the high school kids and the choir director noted that she’d dropped out of choir. He hadn’t seen her at a basketball game since Christmas.

“Lost your cheering section?” the guys teased him. He just grinned noncommittally though he was jumping up and down inside.

But he had Terror to remember her by—Terror who had made the last few months of living in his no-pets-allowed rental house something of a challenge.

“I didn’t buy him, Mr. Kelly,” he’d explained to his always grouchy landlord. “He was a gift. I can’t give him back.”

“Gift, schmift. He’s not allowed.”

“He’s little, Mr. Kelly. He’s not hurting anything.”

“Yet.
He’s not hurting anything yet. Just give him time. He has to go.”

“Did a dog bite you as a boy, Mr. Kelly?” Clay kept his face as innocent and open as he could. “Because Terror will never bite you. I promise. He’s completely nonviolent.”

The landlord looked at the little brown-and-white dog smiling at him and almost smiled back. Clay was sure he saw the man’s lips twitch before they settled into their customary scowl. “He’ll ruin my yard with his—” Mr. Kelly gave a delicate clearing of his throat—“biological needs.”

Clay, a career navy officer used to the earthiness of navy men, bit his tongue to keep from smiling. After all, Mr. Kelly saw him every week at church and so was trying to respect his tender Christian sensibilities. “I promise to clean up after him.”

“One week,” said Mr. Kelly. “You can keep him one week and one week only. I’m not a hard man. One week for you to find him a good home.”

But Clay knew Terror was staying even if his landlord didn’t, so he and Mr. Kelly played Keep the Dog tag until the day Clay resigned from the navy and left for Seaside, Terror beside him.

Clay hit the brakes when the car in front of him slowed suddenly. Terror went flying forward, sailing off the seat and landing in a heap beneath the dash, rear legs over his head.

“Are you okay, buddy?” Clay bent to lift the dog and place him back on the seat. “Didn’t mean to upend you. It was that guy’s fault.” He gestured to the car with his head. “You should buckle your seat belt.”

Terror looked at him and smiled.

For not being an intellectual, Terror had done an outstanding job of teaching Clay something he hadn’t realized before: He no longer liked being alone. He no longer had to prove whatever it was that demanded he be independent, whatever it was he had been trying to prove to himself and the world. Coming home to the click-click-click of doggie toenails on Mr. Kelly’s hardwood floors and the whuffle of a canine hello filled a need Clay hadn’t even known he had. It also made him aware that he was still lacking somehow.

And all this turned his mind to the people in his life, the
people he had carefully held at arm’s length for the past decade, the people who held a special place in his heart though they wouldn’t know it by his actions: his mother, his brother. Sweet Leigh.