It Pours

by C D Cain

  The pineapple and apricot sweetened my tongue as the wine trickled down my throat. I watched the woman behind the expression—watched the softening of her eyebrows as she returned my gaze. A woman who I once thought kept her feelings either ultimately controlled or didn’t feel at all sat across from me with an expression which told me the falseness of all of my previous beliefs. She had become a woman who held the ability to ease both my body and my mind’s struggle.

  Listen to the voices.

  “And how do you feel now? After our…experiences,” she asked.

  “You mean beyond incredible.”

  “Who’s the lady charmer now?” She shook her finger at me. “Yes, beyond that. How do you feel as far as the right and wrong we shared?”

  I hesitated for a moment to consider my thoughts. A part of me believed maybe the guilt wasn’t there with Sam because I already loved her when we shared our intimacy together. Maybe it was the love which kept the guilt at bay?

  “Hmmmm…maybe I shouldn’t have asked. You’re hesitating awfully long. Forget I asked.”

  “No wait. I’m thinking. I want to give you an honest answer.” There wasn’t any guilt, yet I wasn’t in love with Mo. I was in love with the moment in time she gave me and for right now, that was enough. I extended my arm across the table to grasp her hand. “It feels incredible because it feels all kinds of right.”

  Chapter 18

  “God, I missed you so much.” Grant reached across the gear shift to grab my hand. “And then I hardly got to see you when I got back. Who would’ve thought plastic surgery would be so demanding.”

  I didn’t acknowledge the condescending statement to my specialty. It was fair as he had not commented on the flinch of my hand with his touch. He also didn’t speak of the tightened thigh muscles which lay beneath our joined hands.

  Technically, I could have seen him more over the last couple of weeks since his return from New York. The extra hours he spoke of were volunteered hours. Some could say even begged volunteer hours as I had taken nearly all call others would trade with me. I wasn’t ready to answer Grant’s questions nor be alone with him in the same room. As I sat staring out his car window I realized it was more that I didn’t want to be alone with him in the same room. After the weekend with Mo, I knew in my heart there were things with Grant that I could never do again. Those things seemed to find their way to possibility when we were alone. There was safety in riding with him home for Thanksgiving because we had no time for a detour or stop over. Both of us had difficulty getting off earlier than the Wednesday before the holiday.

  “Rayne, you would’ve loved New York. I didn’t spend a lot of time outside of the hospital but, man, when we did get out, there was so much to do.”

  Man?

  “There was always something open. We could leave the OR at four in the morning and go anywhere we wanted. If we wanted a drink…yep, there was somewhere to go. If we wanted breakfast…dinner…there was a place for that too. It was crazy.”

  “Yeah. Sounds neat.” I hardly had interest in the conversation much less the desire to participate.

  He however, was full of excitement. He stared out through the windshield yet I wondered if he saw the road in front of him. His eyes looked out into the two lane highway as if he saw only the lights of New York. Its worn white-and-yellow lines were hardly visible under the overcast sky--not necessarily a cloud-filled sky but rather one with a uniform grayish color.

  “Yeah. The hospitals. Did they ever have their shit together? They had one whole wing for vascular patients. The whole OR team was specialized. Not once did I have to explain to a scrub what I needed.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “It was. You would really love it there. I was thinking maybe we could run up there before Christmas. Take a weekend trip you know? Maybe do a little shopping. Take a look around.”

  Christmas already. I was barely hopeful to get through Thanksgiving much less let my thoughts venture on to the next holiday. “I don’t know. We’ll see. Maybe after the first of the year.”

  He reached behind the steering wheel to turn on the windshield wipers. They screeched across the mist-covered glass and thudded back into their place above the hood. “Okay, but soon after the first. Like maybe the first week in January?”

  “Maybe. We have plenty of time to plan a weekend trip.”

  He turned the temperature knob to add a touch of heat to the circulating air. “Yeah, but they need to know my timeframe shortly after the first of the year.”

  “They? Timeframe?”

  “Yeah. New York-Presbyterian Hospital.” He looked at me as if I was somehow to know what he was talking about. As if I had forgotten something he had already discussed with me. “They offered me a residency position at their Vascular Institute.”

  “I was wondering when you were going to tell be about that.”

  He looked away from the road toward me. “What do you mean?”

  “Tyler told me you and Paxton were going for a year residency there. That this little stint up there was just a stepping stone to see who they wanted. You didn’t tell me anything about it.”

  He turned away from me shamefully. “I know,” he said as he sighed. “Truth is I didn’t think it would be a thing to discuss. They’ve been considering people from all over the world to join them. I didn’t think I had a snowballs chance. Hell I was surprised I made it as far as I did. But that’s not even the best news.” He was smiling when he glanced back over into the passenger seat. “I could finish out there with the likelihood of a staffing position once I’m done. Can you imagine, Rayne?”

  Could I imagine? What was he telling me? I turned from the window to look at him straight on. “No, actually I can’t. What do you mean a staffing position?”

  “Meaning they want me to stay on after I’m done. I would be part of countless studies and have who knows how many opportunities to publish.”

  “But what about home?” I turned down the heat I found stifling. “What about your family? I thought you wanted to move back home to open a practice.”

  “Well, yeah.” His knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I mean I did. But you and I both know I’m going to get few if any real good cases there. And I sure as hell won’t get to be a part of any major studies or grant opportunities. Rayne, this is my chance to be more. This is my shot.”

  “Real good cases. Is that what the people we grew up with mean to you? They’re cases? What happened to wanting to come back home and make a difference in the lives of the people we grew up knowing? What happened to the man who dreamed of that?”

  “He grew up.”

  “Ah. I see. He grew up, huh?” I looked out at the scenery I recognized. I sure as hell didn’t recognize the person in the car next to me.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Sure, I know what you mean.”

  “And just think of the opportunities you’ll have.”

  The muscles along the back of my neck twitched as I wrenched my head to look at him. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “You’ll be able to do any type of plastics you want. Burns…reconstructions…cosmetics. Think of the clientele base you’ll have if you go for cosmetic surgery.”

  “What makes you think I’ll be going there and when did I ever insinuate I wanted a cosmetic based practice?”

  “Well, if I am…then aren’t you?” He sounded surprised.

  “No. I absolutely am not.”

  The wind felt stronger against the car as I watched the speedometer needle move clockwise. “No. Just no? You wouldn’t even consider coming with me? I thought we wanted to live our dreams together.”

  “That was when our dreams were on the same path. Why would you even think I would all of a sudden want to move to New York?”

  “Maybe because we are engaged. Maybe because we are going to be husband and wife soon. I sort of thought couples did that sort of thing for one another.”

  Soon? “
Couples did what? Changed the game plan to fit their wants and then just expect the other one to follow.”

  “Don’t you do that?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Don’t you make changes I’m supposed to follow? Like your friends for instance. First there was Sam. You meet her and bam I’m like an annoyance to you. Like it’s a chore for you to spend time with me. And now you’ve made more. These I haven’t even met yet but I could hardly get you on the phone when I was away. I knew it was because of you being with them. So tell me again about changing the dynamics of the relationship and expecting the other to follow. Because that’s a conversation I’ve been waiting for.”

  “Grant, I don’t want to fight. Can we just change the subject?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought you would say.” His knuckles turned white again as he gripped the steering wheel tighter. “We have both made changes. I have accepted and gone along with yours and now I’m asking you to do the same.”

  I felt myself growing angry at him yet I knew the fact he was right in what he was saying was the real reason for my anger. I wasn’t ready for this particular conversation so I held my tongue from saying anything and sincerely hoped he would change the subject.

  In the distance I noticed a fast approaching small oak tree. Its branches were covered with brilliant yellowish-green leaves. They were a stark contrast against the dark green needles of pine branches surrounding its limbs. The tree glowed with life. Holding on to the last of its remaining color before the cold temperatures stole it in the night. It seemed to stand in defiance of the overpowering pine trees and gray skies. Its light would not be dampened…would not be shadowed.

  After we passed the tree, I focused on Grant—the stiffness in his jaw as he twitched his muscles. He was angry too. He was upset with my response as if I would have gladly changed my future dreams because somehow it was expected of a dutiful wife. He had accepted my changes without even commenting on the fact he noticed them. Now he expected the same. It was painfully obvious we had both made choices with the end result of us seeing a future that did not find us as husband and wife.

  Listen to the voices.

  Was this new development giving me my out to the future I wanted? Could I cower behind the simplicity of location as a reason to cancel our nuptials? Would I betray the small oak’s strength if I were to succumb to using another reason behind my choices other than being strong in the truth of who I was?

  ***

  The sound of the car’s tires was louder than I remembered as Grant drove along the asphalt drive lined by pecan trees. The trees had once provided a staple and source of income for the large plantation home.

  Crunch. Crack. Crunch. Crack.

  Quietly, I stretched my neck to look out the window at the ground. Hundreds of pecan shells, some freed from the black outer covering while others were naked of their shells, lay across the road and ground. The house came into view.

  “What are you guys like the fucking Kennedys of Mayberry or something?” Sam’s comment had once brought a laugh. Today it left me with a feeling fitting of the gray sky.

  Charlie Grace walked out of the large French doors of the house. Her movements were slow as she stepped down the brick steps. She looked radiantly put together. She looked elegant. She looked…older.

  “I had nearly put my mind to ya’ll missing dinner this evening.” Her dramatic flair was as much a memory as Sam’s voice. She opened the passenger door as Grant rolled to a stop. “Well, it’s about time you two got here. Oh dear Gawd, what did you do to your hair?” She flipped the short strands of hair that fell below my ear. “At least we have time to let it grow out before the wedding.” She frowned. “But those blonde highlights will take forever to grow out.”

  And there she is…Charlie Grace.

  “Hi, Mother. So nice to see you too.” I stood from the car and gave her our standard brief hug.

  She ran her finger across my bangs and touched them as if they stung her hand. “Really Rayne. What were you thinking?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose I was thinking ‘hey, I’d like to get a new hairstyle.’ You know something crazy like that. Kids these days.”

  “Such sass.” She looked over my shoulder. “Well, at least you shaved that crap off so I can see your handsome face again.”

  I looked over the hood to see Grant’s cleanly shaven face. Wait? He shaved his beard? The look on his face was as quizzical and questioning as the thoughts in my head.

  “You two have seen each other, yes?” Charlie Grace looked back and forth between us. “I mean you did just spend hours with each other in the car or am I wrong about that? Good Lord, you two look like you’re seeing each other for the first time.”

  “I don’t know about that but, Charlie Grace, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” Grant stepped around the hood of the car to lift her up in his arms.

  She laughed…literally laughed before patting his face with her hands. They looked smaller. I wasn’t sure if it was the actual size of them or maybe it was a new shirt. She usually didn’t wear her shirts this loose with the sleeves opening out over her wrists. Or is she smaller?

  “Hey look at you two!” Jacques took the brick steps more rapidly than Charlie Grace had. He took me fully in his arms and hugged me…a hug, close to a hold. “Rayne, you look beautiful. I love the new do.”

  I wrapped my arm around his waist as he pulled away from the hug. He kept his arm around my shoulder, squeezing slightly as he spoke.

  “Grant, thanks for bringing our girl home to us.” He looked down into my eyes. “We’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you too.”

  He dropped his hand from my shoulder. “Come on, son. Let’s get you unloaded.”

  I looked past Jacques as I waited for the others to come out of the house. “Where’s Glenn? Are they still in the woods?”

  Jacques looked over his shoulder toward Charlie Grace who hung her head as she retreated back into the house. The door closed softly behind her.

  “Not this time, honey. They didn’t come up this year.” He patted me softly on my shoulder. His and Charlie Grace’s actions spoke volumes beyond words. This was not a topic to be further discussed.

  Grant and I followed Jacques into the house. If not for the smell of basil and peppers warming my nose, I would have been uncomfortable with the chill in the foyer of the house. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jacket. Yet it wasn’t a temperature that chilled my body. It was the house. The sense of the house. Nothing was as I remembered of Thanksgivings past. I peered into the den where Charlie Grace sat quietly staring at a fireplace filled with burning candles. The rich fall colors were absent from the drapery. The purples and golds found during the beginning of football season still remained the focus of the room’s decorations.

  “Are you making pasta tonight?” I sat down on the couch beside her.

  “No. Pizza.”

  “Pizza?”

  “Yes this one here got a wild hair to learn to make pizza. A few thousand dollars later we have a renovated kitchen with a brick pizza oven,” Jacques said as he and Grant walked into the room. “If she keeps trying new things, I won’t be a bit surprised if she says she’s going parachuting next.”

  “Oh, please. I hardly think a brick oven is the same as jumping out a perfectly good airplane. I find the comparison to be utterly ridiculous.”

  “You’re right. I would’ve spent a helluva lot less money on the parachute jump.” He and Grant chuckled, although I could tell Charlie Grace was anything but amused.

  She stood from the couch and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “You’re in the doghouse tonight, old buddy,” Grant said as he sat in the loveseat closest to where I was.

  “It’s okay. I’ve been out there so much lately it’s like a second home to me.”

  “Where are all of the decorations, Jacques?” I placed a sofa pillow over my arms, when I felt the chill of the house again.

  Jacques l
ooked around the room. “Yeah. She said she didn’t feel much like putting them out this year.”

  “Is she not feeling well? She looks like she’s lost weight.”

  “She’s not eating the best.” Jacques winked at me. “She’s gonna be okay.”

  Charlie Grace cleared her throat. “She’s absolutely fine and happens to be back in the same room. She also doesn’t appreciate being talked about behind her back.” She sipped on the fresh martini in her hand as she sat back on the couch.

  “What? No Irish Coffees?” The chill grew.

  “I’ll make you one if you want.” Charlie Grace pulled a shawl from the back of the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  I shook my head. “No, that’s okay.”

  Everything was off. I recognized the look in Charlie Grace’s eyes as she stared into the burning candles. I saw the familiarity in the gray version of my own. The eyes which stared back at me when I thought of Memaw…when I felt the pain of her loss. Did I really see the same in hers? The signs of lines at her eyes drew her lids down into a frown. I caught the faint lines of clumped makeup around the sides of her mouth. When did she age so?

  “Come on, Grant. Let’s go ice down some beer to go with this delicious smelling pizza. Who needs Irish Coffee with pizza?” Jacques said while he walked toward the door.

  After the men left the room, Charlie Grace and I watched the flickering candles in silence.

  Chapter 19

  “I don’t know, Jazlyn. It’s just so weird here.” I sat on the porch along the back of the house as I hardly wanted to be inside a moment longer.

  “What? Being back home after so long or is there more to it?”

  “More. Way more. The whole place feels off. Charlie Grace. The house. The traditions. They’re all off.” I rocked the chair and leaned my head against the back of it. The chair squeaked in the too long silence.