After the Rain

by Karen White

  “I miss my mama!” Maddie cried, her sobs loud and choking now. Suzanne wrapped her arms around her, in a way that she must have been taught many years before, and cradled Maddie, not with the hands that had held her as a baby, but with hands that now held her heart, and it was enough. They held on to each other until their tears mixed together in a single stream of sorrow for imperfect lives and absent mothers.

  As Maddie slept on the couch in the newly refurbished front parlor, Suzanne moved to the kitchen and called Joe. He answered on the first ring.

  “It’s Suzanne. Maddie’s here.”

  There was no hesitation in his voice, as if he hadn’t slept yet. “Thank God. I’m coming over right now to get her.”

  “No, Joe. Don’t. She’s resting right now. I think it best if we let her sleep. I’ll bring her over in the morning.”

  “Why is she there, and why is she sleeping?” His voice held a note of agitation, no less aggravated by worry and lack of sleep.

  “Can we talk about this in the morning? I really don’t think—”

  “Is something wrong with Maddie?”

  Suzanne paused too long. Joe’s voice cut in. “Has she been drinking?”

  “I’d rather she tell you herself.”

  He cursed under his breath. “Is Rob involved?”

  “Not in the way you’re thinking. He did the right thing and brought her here. Joe, look, we’re both tired. I just wanted to let you know that she’s okay and that she’s here, and I’ll bring her by in the morning.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No. She and I go running every morning at six thirty. Tell her she better be ready and waiting to go when I come downstairs or she’ll be grounded for a month longer than I’m already going to ground her.”

  “Joe, she’s really in a bad way. I don’t think—”

  “I’m her father. I set the rules.”

  Suzanne was silent for a moment. “All right. I’ll make sure she’s there.”

  Joe didn’t hang up right away. “Suzanne?”

  “I’m still here.”

  “Thank you.”

  She smiled, easing the tension of the past few hours. “You’re welcome.” She hung the phone up slowly, hearing the click as it fell into the cradle.

  When Maddie awoke an hour later to use the bathroom, Suzanne was already dressed and waiting. As Maddie emerged from the bathroom, Suzanne said, “I’ve made a cup of coffee for you and laid out a couple slices of bread. I’m going to walk you home now, and you can bring it all with you.”

  Maddie regarded her with a dazed expression. “What time is it?”

  “Four o’clock in the morning.”

  “You talked with my dad, didn’t you?”

  “All I did was call to let him know where you were. I didn’t want for him to worry anymore about where you were. He wants you home and ready for your morning run by six thirty. I figured if I got you home now, you could sleep in your running clothes and be ready when he is.”

  “I’m in big trouble, aren’t I?”

  “Probably. But he’ll likely go a lot easier on you if you’re ready for your run, which is the only reason why I’m doing this at this insane hour.” She yawned loudly, not even trying to hide it.

  Maddie shook her head, rubbed her eyes, then headed for the kitchen to get her coffee and bread before the short walk home.

  The predawn air stung as Suzanne led the way down the front walk, remembering other early mornings spent waiting for her mother. They slowly made their way through the sleeping town, cutting through the Methodist church’s parking lot. Suzanne glanced up at the sign, weakly lit by a nearby streetlight: LIFE IS A TEST. PRAY HARD.

  What should have been a five-minute walk lasted almost fifteen as Maddie dragged her feet and walked as slowly as she possibly could. With more patience than she knew she had, Suzanne waited for her to catch up, then continued until they stood in front of Maddie’s house.

  The light in the front window shone out at them, and Suzanne stopped, marveling at the rush of warmth that flooded through her as she stared at it. No matter how mad Joe might be at Maddie, he had left the light on for his prodigal daughter.

  Maddie stopped, too. “He’s going to kill me.”

  Suzanne put her arm around her shoulders and led her up the stairs to the front door. “Nah. He might dismember you, but then he’ll duct-tape you back together.”

  Maddie opened the unlocked door and took a deep breath. “Can you come in with me?”

  Suzanne turned toward the deserted street, then back at the house with the beacon of light. “Sure. Just for a few minutes, to make sure everything’s okay.”

  They stepped through the door into the quiet entry hall, closing the door softly behind them. A light glowed from the kitchen, casting a small circle of light into the entranceway.

  Keeping her voice to a whisper, Suzanne said, “Your dad is probably still up. You go on to bed. Neither one of you is ready to talk right now. I’ll go let him know you’re here.”

  Maddie nodded and handed Suzanne her coffee mug, then turned toward the stairs. As soon as she reached the bottom stair, she ran back to Suzanne and threw her arms around her. “Thank you. I don’t care what people say about you not liking children. I don’t believe it.”

  Suzanne rolled her eyes. “Take two aspirins before you go to bed. You won’t feel as bad in the morning.”

  “Okay.” Maddie headed up the stairs.

  “And drink lots of water. The alcohol will dehydrate you and make you feel more tired than you already are.”

  Maddie paused on the landing and looked down at Suzanne, still lightly swaying. “How do you know all this stuff?”

  Suzanne braced herself for the wave of pain that usually came when a question regarding her mother’s alcoholism came up. She was surprised to feel only an old, dull ache in her heart, as if the pain had been wrapped in something soft and cushiony to protect her. Without resentment, she said, “Years of practice taking care of my mother. She was an alcoholic.”

  There was a long pause as Maddie stood staring at Suzanne over the banister. “I’m sorry. Not just for your mama, but for getting drunk and making you deal with it. It was really immature.”

  “Yeah, it was. Don’t do it again.”

  With a nod, Maddie headed back up the stairs, and Suzanne watched her until she disappeared into the dark hallway above. Then, with a deep breath, she walked to the kitchen, preparing to do battle.

  The small light over the stove was on, but the kitchen was empty. As she walked forward to turn off the light, she peered into the family room and stopped midstride.

  Joe was asleep on the sofa, the TV’s remote control still dangling from his hand. A muted infomercial selling cellulite cream flashed on the screen. After tiptoeing across the room, she gently took the remote from his hand and turned off the TV. She pulled an afghan off the back of the couch and covered him with it, making sure not to wake him.

  Then she slid off her flip-flops and curled up in the opposite corner to wait for him to awaken. She wanted to make sure he knew Maddie was safe upstairs before she left. Feeling chilled, she pulled a corner of the afghan up over her bare feet and laid her head back on the back of the couch and watched Joe sleep.

  His face was soft and relaxed, like that of a young boy, his dark hair tousled on his forehead. The lines of worry on his forehead seemed smoothed by the fingers of sleep, erasing all except pleasant dreams. A small smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, and Suzanne remembered something her mother had once told her about talking to the angels in dreams.

  She smiled back, feeling how heavy her eyelids were, until she, too, fell sound asleep.

  She awoke to weak daylight slapping her in the face and the smell of coffee emanating from the kitchen. Opening her eyes, she noted that Joe was gone and that the afghan had been pulled up under her chin. Sitting up quickly, she spotted Joe, perched on the coffee table in front of her, his hazel eyes watching
closely.

  “You look different when you sleep.”

  She rubbed her eyes and tried to sound coherent. “So do you.”

  “I meant that in a good way.”

  “So did I.” She yawned, and he put a cup of coffee in her hand. “I was only supposed to wait until you woke up and let you know that Maddie was upstairs asleep. Sorry.”

  He grinned one of those heart-stopping grins, and she shifted uncomfortably. “People will be talking, you know—seeing as how you’ve slept with the mayor.”

  She blushed and looked down in her mug before taking a long sip. “Hope that doesn’t ruin your chances of reelection.”

  He hesitated for a moment before reaching to pull something out of his back pocket. “Probably not. But this might.”

  He handed her ten crisp one-hundred-dollar bills, folded neatly in half. “Joey gave them to me. He saw them in your purse when you were pulling out money for Candy Land. He didn’t think they were real.”

  She took the money and looked at the brightness of the new bills. “I . . . I didn’t notice it missing. Thanks.”

  “We don’t see wads of cash like that around here.”

  Still looking down, she said, “No, I don’t guess that you would.”

  He waited for a moment to speak. Then he said, “Where did it come from?”

  This time she faced him, noticing how his eyes seemed to have darkened to match the green of his shirt. “I sold something that belonged to me. For cash.”

  “I see.” His eyes told her that he didn’t. “Wouldn’t that kind of money be better off in a bank?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not planning on being here much longer. It would be silly to open an account.”

  “Right. I forgot.”

  The house was completely silent except for the ticking of the hall clock. The sky outside had lightened to a pink-tinged gray, announcing a new day. “I should go,” she said, putting her emptied mug on the coffee table and standing. Joe stood with her.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me what happened tonight with Maddie?”

  She tilted her head as she looked up at him. “No. That’s between you and her. But be gentle with her, Joe. She misses her mother more than she lets on.”

  “I know.” He bowed his head for a moment. “Not that getting drunk is something I’m going to allow her to get away with.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do the right thing. You seem to have a gift for this parenting thing.”

  “And so do you—which is odd, considering you don’t even like children.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Why does everybody keep saying that?”

  “You know, first impressions and all that. Not that all of mine were totally off base.”

  Half of her mouth turned up. “Really? Well, I’m sorry I said that thing about the leash laws. I didn’t really mean it.”

  “Yeah, sure.” He opened his mouth as if to say something more, then stopped before starting again. “Would you like to go out with me sometime?”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Like a date, you mean? You, me, dinner, movie kind of thing?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Why?”

  It was his turn to raise eyebrows. “Because I think we’d have fun together.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I thought I made it clear at the creek. Because I could be bad news for you. And because it can’t lead to anything.”

  “I know. I don’t want it to. I don’t have the time or energy for a relationship. Or the heart. I already gave it to someone else, and I buried it with her. I just need, oh, I don’t know. I just need to get out. And I figured that you probably do, too.”

  She looked down and stubbed her toe into the carpet. “Aren’t you worried about being seen with me?”

  He touched her chin and lifted her head to face him. “I’ll deal with that. Don’t you think we could just go out and have fun? I think we both could use a dose of fun in our lives.”

  She backed away, making him drop his hand. “Good-bye, Joe.”

  Turning from him, she left the room. He didn’t follow, but his voice called out to her, “Is that a no?”

  She paused at the front door. “I don’t know.”

  Before he could say more, she let herself out of the house and closed the door behind her. Filling her lungs with the damp morning air, she walked down the steps to the sidewalk and noticed the dim moon above, pale against the dawn sky. It was full and heavy again, the cycles of its phases completed. She stopped and stared at it for a moment, thinking it was telling her that even change had its pattern, bringing one back to the starting place.

  Pulling her sweater tight to ward off the chill, she walked down the sidewalk toward home.

  CHAPTER 13

  Darlene Narpone lived in a well-kept but small two-bedroom cottage that was painted an unexpected shade of pink. It was similar to the shade of Lucinda’s car, and as Suzanne walked up the front walkway, she envisioned the car parked in front of the house, like one of Lucinda’s matching lipstick and compact sets.

  The wreath on the front door was a handcrafted concoction consisting of dried eucalyptus branches, a fat permanent marker, a fake camera, and a large pair of scissors. Suzanne reached her hand through the wreath and knocked.

  Darlene answered the door after the second knock, her appearance making Suzanne stare longer than politeness allowed. Darlene wore her scrapbooking apron covering a full skirt, panty hose, and high heels. The smell of baking bread wafted from the kitchen to complete the June Cleaver effect, and Suzanne shifted her own feet to hide the scuffed flip-flops under her denim skirt.

  She looked at her watch. “Hi, Darlene. Did I get the time right? It looks like you’re expecting company.”

  Opening the door wider, Darlene said, “Don’t be silly, sugar. Being forty and still single, I figure I always need to be prepared in case Prince Charming rings my doorbell. Come on in.”

  Suzanne felt as if she’d been thrown into an episode of Leave It to Beaver. Every available furniture surface was covered with crisp white doilies, and atop those were small white porcelain figurines of plump cherubs with oversized eyes. Fresh vacuum marks were lined in geometrical precision from one wall to the other like marching soldiers, and Suzanne had the feeling that if she’d had white gloves to run over the furniture, Darlene would have passed the test with flying colors.

  This homey icon to domesticity had once been the sort of place she’d imagined for herself and Anthony: a home to raise a family. And now, she realized with a start, she was comparing it to the unruly clutter of Joe’s house, a house whose disorder seemed to embrace you and pull you in and sit you on a worn couch before you realized what had hit you.

  Straightening a doily on the coffee table, Darlene said, “My workshop’s in the back of the house. Come on with me and I’ll get you what you need.”

  With a backward glance at the immaculate front parlor, Suzanne followed Darlene into a small bedroom right off the kitchen.

  “This is my workroom, where I can scrap and leave it a mess. I just close the door and don’t worry about it when I have company.”

  Darlene smiled and folded her hands in front of her as Suzanne surveyed the room. Shelves of printed paper, markers, cutters, die cuts, and stickers covered the lower third of the four walls. A large paper cutter and other items were laid out in an orderly fashion on a card table in the corner, while a large, flat-surfaced table occupied the center of the room. Suzanne looked at a black metallic object clamped to the edge of the table, and moved to give it a closer look.

  Not able to figure it out, she asked, “What is this?”

  Like a kindergarten teacher empowering a student with wisdom, Darlene proudly announced, “It’s an official scrapbooking cup holder. I designed it myself, and I’m applying for a patent. It’s so you can drink while scrapbooking and not have to worry about spilling anything on your pages.”

  “Wow. I
guess some people take this scrapbooking thing pretty seriously.”

  Darlene pursed her lips, and a stern expression came over her face. “It’s about preserving your history for future generations. That’s a very serious endeavor. I know that’s how Harriet Warner felt about it. She was going to do an album for each of her children, showing their history. Who they were, where they came from—that sort of thing. Like I said before, she never got to finish the first one—Maddie’s.”

  She walked over to a tall cabinet and pulled out a plastic storage bin. A large square photo album, covered in a soft blue linen, lay on top. When Suzanne looked closer, she saw a name embossed in gold on the front. She read the name out loud as her fingers fell to touch the gilded letters. “Madison Cassandra Warner.” Smiling to herself, she said, “Funny, I didn’t know her full name. I guess she’s named after her aunt.”

  “Oh yes. Harriet wasn’t going to let hard feelings stand in the way of doing the right thing. She and Cassie had always been close—until Joe—and it never occurred to her to name her firstborn after anybody but her sister.”

  Suzanne picked up the album, gingerly holding it as if she held the hopes and dreams of a mother for her child. “What was she like—Harriet?” The name felt odd on her lips.

  Darlene smiled. “She was beautiful, and not just on the outside. She had a heart of gold, that one. She loved everybody and everybody loved her. Joe thought the sun rose and set over her head.” Darlene looked away and dabbed at her eyes. “She also had a spine of steel. If anything ever needed to be done, Harriet Warner was always the first one in line. The Methodist church would still be without a steeple if she hadn’t had the whole structure put on the National Historic Register. The entire congregation had been hemming and hawing and doing bake sales for years to raise funds, and it took Harriet less than a year.”