The Rain Began to Fall

by A. K. Hartline

  But when her father passed away - just before she went off to school - the independent, spirited girl she had been was relegated to the shadows. She simply couldn’t handle the emotional weight of a new relationship. Much to Gene’s delight, she had maintained communication with him on a regular basis, and they saw each other every chance they got. The comfort and familiarity of their relationship was a salve to her wounded heart and mind, and their paths ultimately led back to each other after she finished school. She felt she loved him. She had never allowed herself to seriously consider anyone else. Her phone rang, and she answered.

  “Hello?” she answered.

  “Hey Leigh,” Gene replied busily. He always talked busily.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” she inquired.

  “Doing fine. Did you make it on time?” She had talked with him briefly before leaving home, and had informed him then that she was running late.

  “Yes, although I had to race to get here,” she responded, smiling. “Looks like it’s going to be a pretty day for...”

  “Yeah, I know babe, but listen,” he interrupted. Here it goes. They had planned to meet for lunch today, and now he would back out. This had happened before, a few hundred times. “I’ve got the Roberson case to review and that deadline is all over me. I just can’t make it. You understand honey?” he pleaded. “I know we haven’t gotten together much lately, but I swear I’ll make it up to you the first chance I get!”

  “Well, that’s a bummer,” she replied dejectedly. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry babe, really I am,” he said remorsefully. “But I will make it up to you, okay darling? Hold on.”

  She used the moment to check her meeting schedule for the day, and then heard a beep on her line.

  “I’m back,” he announced. “Sorry...

  “Hold a sec,” she said, switching lines to answer the call. He buzzed his secretary.

  “Yes sir?” she answered.

  “Lillian, have you gotten hold of Judge Hatley yet?”

  “No sir,” she replied.

  “Keep trying okay?” he implored. “I need to talk to him asap!”

  “I’m on it,” she replied. He clicked off.

  “I’m back,” Leigh said.

  “Babe?”

  “Yeah, I’m here,” she affirmed.

  “As I was saying, I’m really sorry about canceling,” he continued. “We’ll do something nice this weekend, promise.”

  “Judge Hatley on the line sir,” his secretary announced over the intercom.

  “Great! Thanks Lil.” Then returning to Leigh: “Listen, I have to run. I’ll call you later, alright?”

  “All right,” she responded.

  “Bye love.”

  They hung up, and she was disappointed. They hadn’t gotten together much of late, given his work demands, and it promised to be one of the nicest days of spring so far. She had looked forward to lunching outdoors on the deck at Lyle’s Bistro, their favorite spot. Well, so much for that, she thought, and busied herself with the first item on her agenda.

  # # #

  The sky was a marvelous deep blue, and the air was crisp and clear. There was a slight breeze, and limbs on the trees that surrounded the lunch area at Falstead were sporting small buds, signs that full blown spring was just around the corner. Leigh sat down at a table under the shade of a large, old oak tree and removed her sandwich and bottled water from the sack. She had asked her friend and fellow employee, Accounting Manager Mindy Whitlow to join her, but she was too busy working payroll. Although Leigh had not ventured on the company grounds for lunch before, the day was simply too gorgeous not to enjoy outdoors.

  She had picked up her sandwich from Pernelis, where they served only eight inch subs. That was a bit too much for her, so she had instructed the deli to cut it in half. Too bad there was no one here to share it with. She bent her head to take a bite off the sandwich, and a strand of her long hair fell off her shoulders and onto her mouth in mid bite. Darn hair! I’m going to whack it off! she thought threateningly, for the umpteenth time.

  As she managed to take a bite, sans hair, she saw a pair of blue jean clad legs step smoothly over the bench across from her. Masculine, very male, she observed with the first glance of the bottom half she saw. Brushing her hair back, she looked up into Kyle’s face. Her heart fluttered as he proceeded to have a seat.

  “Okay if I join you?” he asked smiling. She waved a hand in front of her mouth, indicating she couldn’t answer at the moment. Not that it would necessarily matter, she thought. Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission is probably this guy’s motto. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, not surprisingly. She swallowed the bite, washing it down with a sip of water. She took her napkin and dabbed her mouth.

  “Sure,” she answered. What else could she say? She glanced down at her hands, then back up at his still smiling, handsome face. A million butterflies took wing in her stomach. It was an exciting, dangerous feeling, without precedent in her life, but she immediately attempted to subdue it. She was engaged (remember Leigh?), and she placed her left hand prominently on top of her right hand, slightly elevating her ring finger, just in case he had missed it the first time around. A blind man could see the dazzling shine off that rock.

  “Nice day, huh?” he said, noticing the not so subtle display of her ring, but entirely unfazed. He stared at it a moment, then looked around the grounds. “There’ll be leaves on those trees soon.” He was calm and relaxed; a confident man, she thought, that would not be easily dissuaded. He brought one foot up on the bench.

  “Yes it is,” she agreed. “Too nice to eat inside.”

  “Or alone,” he responded in a soft, lower voice, turning his eyes toward hers.

  The butterflies took wing again, and she stared helplessly back into his eyes for a moment before shifting her gaze away. Can’t take much of that, she thought weakly. She cleared her throat and looked at the sky, the trees, anything but him. Kyle looked at nothing but her. The silence stretched out between them, and she was growing uncomfortable. She felt her face getting warm, flushed. She had to think of something to say; he was certainly no help.

  “So… are you enjoying working at Falstead?” she finally managed.

  “It’s a job.” He did not elaborate, and the silence fell between them again. She had taken only one bite of the sandwich. She glanced down at it, then back at him.

  “You’re not eating?”

  “Well, you see, like you I was running late this morning, and didn’t have time to pack. But we made up for lost time, didn’t we?” His eyes twinkled playfully.

  “You haven’t told anyone about that, have you?” she asked apprehensively. “You promised.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he assured with a wave of his hand. “That’s just between you and me. But I’ve got to admit I was impressed. Can’t say I’ve ever seen a female drive like that.”

  “I’m no stranger to it,” she replied confidently. “My father was a team NASCAR owner, and I’ve gone around the track a few times.” She said this with some pride, and was pleased to see his surprised reaction.

  “Oh really?” he responded, raising his eyebrows. “I didn’t realize I was running against a pro. But on that curve you slipped huh? That’s all I needed. I figured you had trouble shifting.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. She didn’t exactly enjoy hearing his summarization of her mistake.

  “You’re right,” she admitted, her lips pursed. “But it wouldn’t happen again, I assure you,” she responded without thinking. She immediately bit her lip and regretted her retort. She didn’t need to be spurring this conversation on.

  “Oh yeah?” he replied, with an exaggerated smirk. “Well, I may not drop back early and give you a chance next time either.” Her mouth fell comically open. The arrogance!

  “Are you trying to say you played with me?” she replied, more than a little irritated. “You were doing all you could, mister!” She folded her ar
ms in defiance.

  I would love to play with you, he thought, but said:

  “Well, we both know who put it in park first.” He took his foot down off the bench and turned toward her directly, smiling. She stared at him, fuming. He’s just a little too cocky! But he continued smiling warmly at her, and as she stared into his eyes, into his brutally handsome face, she couldn’t maintain her irritation. The tightness left her, and she unfolded her arms. Leigh, you’re pathetic.

  “You’re so... truly... beautiful,” he said sincerely, and as the words rolled off his tempting lips, she felt the compliment plunge softly into her heart, an arrow from a hidden cupid. She blushed and dropped her eyes.

  “Thank you,” she replied in a whispery voice. She realized she was doing nothing to stop the forward progress of her feelings or his, and now was the time to tell him she was happily engaged, that she wasn’t sure what he wanted or expected of her, but she wasn’t available. She was attracted to him - what red blooded woman wouldn’t be? - , she couldn’t deny that; but it was purely physical at this point, nothing more, no way it could be. What about the way you felt when he said you were beautiful? a voice spoke up in her mind. What about that first day during orientation? What about that enchanted moment this morning?

  But she repressed those thoughts. She couldn’t allow her imagination run wild. She had to tell him that she was soon to be married, that he shouldn’t be here, she shouldn’t have raced him this morning, and they shouldn’t be having this conversation! So she looked straight at him, drew her breath and said:

  “Do you want the other half of this sandwich?”

  “Thought you’d never ask,” he replied, grinning. He reached over the table and took the sandwich in hand, taking a big bite.

  “Mmm,” he grunted. “Good. Where did this come from?”

  “Pernelis,” she responded, watching him chew his food. He swallowed and took another large bite. He was hungry, and seeing his satisfaction, she was glad she had offered to share her lunch with him. He has good, strong teeth, she observed. She was stone still, staring and helplessly admiring him. Kyle, noticing, stopped chewing in mid- bite and looked at her, smiling. She quickly dropped her eyes, and he resumed working on the sandwich. Why couldn’t I run him off? she wondered, as she picked up her sandwich. What’s wrong with me? After three bites, he was thirsty. He pointed at her bottled water.

  “Do you mind?” he asked.

  She looked up sharply. Is he really asking me to share my drink with him? That’s just a tad intimate for near strangers! She had instinctively taken the bottle protectively in hand as soon as he had asked. But as she paused in her response, he reached across the table and put his hand softly on hers, around the bottle’s neck.

  “It’s okay,” he said soothingly. She still held the bottle firmly, staring at him wide-eyed, saying nothing. A passing breeze blew a tuft of hair across his forehead. His eyes sparkled, and she felt the warmth of his touch. Her heart was galloping, and her face felt flush. This is definitely not okay, she thought. But her grip loosened ever so slightly as he gently tugged, and she realized she wouldn’t stop him, couldn’t stop him, no matter how unusual this was. Still staring into his smiling, assuring eyes, she released her hold, the bottle slipping out of her hand and into his, and Kyle, unscrewing the cap, turned the bottle up and drank deeply, never taking his eyes off of hers. Speechless and rocked to the core, she was suddenly sure that there was more than just the bottle slipping into his hands; he was reaching for her, aiming to take...

  No! she shouted in her mind. No, no, no!

  “I’ve got to go,” she said abruptly, standing up quickly. “I’ve got a lot of work to do, you know?”

  “Hey, you’re a poet, did ja know it?” he quipped. He pointed at her uneaten portion. “You’ve got a lot of sandwich left here.” She had barely touched it, but she couldn’t have eaten more if she wanted to. Her appetite had sailed away.

  “You can have it if it you want it,” she offered. We’ve shared a drink. What’s the big deal? She slung her pocketbook over her shoulder, took a deep breath and let it out. She stared at him for a moment, and shook her head. “Good luck on the job, Kyle.”

  She walked away quickly before he could respond. He watched her go, with a grin and a gleam in his eyes.

  “You can run,” he said softly, picking up the sandwich, “but you can’t hide.”

  As she walked across the yard, she looked around and saw a few of the employees staring at her. She was sure there would be some rumors spread around about their eating together, but she decided that would be okay.

  Just today. Just for today.

  CHAPTER 3

  Bob Dylan sounded out of the four way, six by nine speakers mounted to the interior of Kyle’s vintage Nova, and the volume was turned up full blast…How does it feel? To be on your own?... He drummed his fingers in rhythm on the steering wheel and stepped on the gas. The engine roared in response, and the car shimmered and sparkled in the clear evening sunlight as it rolled down the back streets. He had washed and waxed it, with great care, on Saturday, and now it was Monday evening. After a hard day’s work at Falstead, he had picked up his mail at the post office and the news he had received was not good. He wasn’t in the best of moods.

  He was now just a few blocks from his apartment, driving fast through the suburbs. Quaint, older homes lined either side, and big oaks extended their limbs out over the road, blocking the evening sun, creating a tunnel of shade on the street. Now one block from his apartment, he turned onto Pine Avenue and his rear tires squealed on the pavement. He gunned it immediately, and felt the exhilaration that always came with speed and power. Driving his beloved Nova, fast in particular, was his favorite past time when he had thinking to do, and right now his mind was in turmoil. Why? His frustration was growing deeper with every passing moment. They hold all the cards. They say what’s good and what’s not, and they’ve been saying I’m not good enough for too long now. A familiar voice, one that made itself heard more and more lately, spoke up in his head: What does that tell you, Kyle ole’ buddy? Maybe you oughta start thinking about hanging it up, huh?

  He now whipped sharply into the driveway, threw it in park, and killed the engine. The big motor ticked in the cool of the evening, as the sun began to drop behind the mountain. …With no place to call home? Like a rolling stone?… Dylan inquired. He ejected the CD and tossed it carelessly on the passenger seat.

  “My thoughts exactly Robert,” he said, and then climbed out of the car. He unlocked the apartment door and went inside, slamming it hard behind him. He tossed his keys on the kitchen table, then removed his jacket and slung it over a chair. The apartment was a small, one bedroom efficiency, sparsely furnished; being single, foot loose and fancy free, he didn’t require much in the way of living accommodations. He dug into a pocket of his leather jacket and produced a fresh pack of Lucky Strikes he had picked up on the way home. He had never been a heavy smoker, but he had quit altogether six months ago. This was a little fall off the wagon, but current circumstances screamed for a smoke. He lit one and pulled deeply, then dropped heavily into a chair. His anger was growing by the minute, and his mind was pounding with the merciless thought that he was a fool, had been all along. He took the object of his dreams and labors into his hands, looked hard at it, and in that moment it became the object of his greatest misery. He stood suddenly, flicked his Zippo, and lit fire to the papers. The flame licked hungrily up the outer edges -burn, baby, burn -, and he came dangerously close to letting them do their job. But then he came as suddenly back to his senses, and began beating out the flames, frantically smacking the stack of papers on the table. He succeeded in extinguishing the fire, and then he stood very still, staring at what he had done.

  What he held in his hands was a slightly charred manuscript. The casual observer would not remotely imagine that hidden beneath Kyle’s fast car, rebel image was an ambitious, prolific writer. He had, to date, written over thirty short stories
and completed five novels. He had submitted his first completed manuscript to as many editors as he could find, those accepting first time authors, shortly after his eighteenth birthday. There were no positive responses. Undaunted, he continued writing and submitting in the ensuing years, and although he had received some encouraging advice along the way, he had yet to have his work accepted. He did find an agent out of New York in the past year named Gary Pierce; but so far nothing had come of the relationship. The novel he had submitted this time was his latest: Terrence Tried.

  It was about a well- to- do high school jock that had been terribly arrogant and selfish before going blind due to a rare disease. More disaster followed when his parents died in an automobile accident, and it was discovered his father had milked millions from the insurance company in which he had held a high level position. Broke and handicapped, his friends deserted him, and the many whom he had disparaged gloated at his fall. His subsequent struggle led Terrence to the bottom, but he came through on the other side with, as he said, “a better vision of the world as a blind man than I ever had with my sight.”

  What a joke! he now thought bitterly. The latest rejection letter for this novel had come in the mail today, forwarded by Gary. It was from a mid-sized publishing house, and it read, in part:

  …unfortunately, we do not find this work to be a fit with regard to our interests. Thank you for the submission.

  His agent included his own scribbled note: