Heaven Sent Rain

by Lauraine Snelling

  He froze at a greeting he heard. She was back. How could he even remember her voice? She’d hardly spoken. Frantic, he pushed open the first door he came to and there she stood.

  “Hello, Doctor.” Cool, stiff. Was she like this all the time?

  He nodded and immediately shifted his gaze to Jonah. No smile, only fear. “Don’t worry, son, D—”

  “You can call her Mutt.”

  “Thank you. Mutt is doing very well. I hear she gobbled her food as soon as you came in the door.”

  “That’s what they said.” His grin lit the room. “She is better, huh?”

  “She is that.” Garret tried to pay polite, though scant, attention to Ms. Taylor, while all his senses screamed for information about her. Scent—something fresh and blooming. Circles under her eyes. Hands slightly shaking. Guarded. A soft and gentle hand on Jonah’s shoulder. Maybe she was the boy’s aunt or—as if that mattered. Viewed objectively, she was certainly attractive. And here she was wearing white again. The only splash of color was her scarf, a beautiful silk number, probably Japanese, with bright flowers.

  Garret, Garret, get a grip. She’s the one who will pay the dog’s hefty bill. Be polite, even unctuous. The voice beat a tattoo.

  He smiled at the boy. “You want to see her again?”

  “Can we take her home?”

  “I am sorry, Jonah, but to help her get better faster, she needs the IVs, quiet, and we need to be able to check her vitals regularly to make sure nothing changes.”

  His shoulders slumped. “I figured. Thank you.”

  “Monday will be the best.”

  “Not tomorrow?”

  “’Fraid not. Come on, let’s go see her again. Do you need something?”

  “No, I forgot to give her this.” He pulled a much-gnawed bone from his pocket.

  “I’ll wait by the aquarium.” The woman watched for Jonah’s nod and turned away.

  Instantly the air lightened. Garret pushed open the door to the cage room. Now he could breathe unimpeded.

  Garret, you dork, this is ridiculous! You outweigh her by a hundred pounds—well, eighty, maybe—and you’re scared of her! Yes, scared. She’s quiet, probably an introvert, and you’re scared of her! What the blazes is the matter?

  Then little Jonah grabbed his attention. The boy had both arms in the cage, cooing to his dog, patting her, stroking her. This was not just a family pet; the two were devoted to each other. Utterly devoted. You could read it in their body language, both of them. He checked the antibiotic and fluid in the IV. Good. He checked the diaper mat. Dry.

  The kid stepped back and looked up. “Thank you, sir. I’ll be okay now ’til this afternoon.” He turned and left as Garret stared after him.

  What kind of child was this?

  Chapter Six

  So much had happened in the last forty-eight hours, Dinah thought. The rollout felt as if it had taken place last week.

  She stared at the aquarium, the same one as in her dream. One fish darted in and took a bite out of the angel’s wings. No, this was a Moorish idol, not an angelfish. The nip was so fast she wasn’t sure it had really happened. The idol continued its stately patrol of the front glass, back and forth. How long had she been standing here totally lost in her thoughts? She glanced around to see several people, pets in hand, waiting on the bench seats that lined the wall—a wall bright with his artwork. No matter what she thought of him personally, as if she had any thoughts, since they had barely met, his caricatures captured her interest. At least now that she’d left off studying the fish. She crossed to study a smallish drawing.

  She wandered around the room, lost in delight at the whimsy. How could a man who seemed so stern and cold possibly see these things in children and create them for the rest of the world? The two things did not fit, not at all. But maybe someone else did the artwork and they had the same initials, or…She could not come up with another scenario other than that he paid an artist and put his name on them. That certainly seemed plausible.

  Her cell rang, and a most familiar number popped up on the ID. She stepped outside to answer it. “Hi, Hal. I’m back at the vet’s so Jonah can visit Mutt.”

  “I thought you were there earlier.”

  “We were, we left, we returned. Long story.” A sign on a rather unusual house across the street advertised palm reading and other helpful offers. Dr. Miller had managed to choose a less-than-great neighborhood for his thriving practice. Reading the sign beside the office entry, she realized there were two Millers. So he was married? Why did that surprise her? He was good-looking, personable—at least to others if not to her. Perhaps he was even a father, or a father wannabe or…

  Hal was asking, “Where did you go?” She forced her attention back to the conversation.

  “When?” she asked.

  “Just now. You were making no sense whatsoever. I asked you if you’ve read all the media hysteria.”

  “No, I haven’t. Why?” She frowned.

  “Good. Don’t.”

  “Hal, there wasn’t anybody there. A couple independent agencies, but not the big guns, like AP. Why would there be a frenzy?”

  “There’s a lot of negativity out there right now, and we don’t want to feed into it. And leave your TV off.”

  She snorted a response. He knew she never, or at least rarely, watched television.

  He continued barking. “Radio, Internet, and do not agree to any interviews. So far they are calling me, as we requested in the press release, but someone is going to dig deep enough to find you.”

  “Oh, I hate this. I’m a chemist, Hal, a researcher. I find new uses for old chemicals. I’m—”

  “I know, I know. All food is chemicals. I talk about the tasty fat in a steak and you draw a picture of a long-chain fatty acid. You’re a lab worker, Dinah, but you are also a CEO, and you have a blockbuster on your hands here. Not a positive blockbuster, either. That one reporter for the indie is sure the FDA is going to nail you to the wall, and she wants to help them do it. I—”

  “Why can’t things just go on as usual? Ignore the little indie and perhaps she will go away.”

  “I won’t say I warned you, but…”

  “I know. Is there anyone I should stay away from the most?”

  He rattled off a stream of nonsense that filled her ear but did not gain entrance to her brain.

  “Thanks. I gotta go. Jonah is coming out. Oh, and by the way, you mentioned you had sources to research Jonah’s parents. Would you go ahead and see what you can find out about his mother, please?” She clicked off as he was saying Will do and shoved her phone into the bottom of her bag.

  The last thing she wanted right now was more attention. All these years she had managed to fly under the radar, which was just the way she liked it, but now…As Hal had reminded her more than once, she was going to be forced to face the world at some point. But she wanted to do it on her terms, not in desperation. Yes, the launch of a new product is intended to generate attention and interest, but nice, polite, manageable attention. Not a negative feeding frenzy.

  She smiled at Jonah. “Ready?”

  Jonah nodded. “She was happy to get her bone.” As they walked out to the parking lot, he grinned up at her. “Dr. G makes good pictures, doesn’t he?”

  “He does.”

  “He said he would have one for me, of me ’n’ Mutt.”

  “Really?” Good way to get faithful clients.

  “But we can’t take Mutt home until Monday and please can we come back? Today?” He searched her face.

  “If your mother agrees.” She clicked open the car doors and slid into the driver’s seat. He had the seat belt buckled before she could even remind him. One had to tell him something only one time and that was it. The child was not normal.

  “So, we are going to your house now to talk with your mother, right?”

  He nodded. “She said so.”

  Had he hesitated? Why? Was he ashamed of his mother? That thought brought up the
idea of substance abuse again. Something was strange here; perhaps Hal would uncover some answers soon.

  Jonah showed her where to park about three blocks from the Extraburger and led the way to a second-floor apartment. They climbed the stairs, since he informed that her the elevator did not work again. Shabby but clean would be the best description. Dinah had feared graffiti on the walls, but this seemed more like a place for elderly or longtime clientele.

  He slid his key into the lock on 203 and called “We’re here” as he pushed the door open.

  Dinah breathed a sigh of relief; this was so different from what she’d feared. Aged furniture with no extras. A couple of dog toys and a bookshelf with Jonah’s books and a few games. She noticed a picture of a man in a Kansas City uniform of some sort and a family photo, both framed.

  “Please come in.” The voice sounded weak but welcoming, so Dinah followed Jonah into the bedroom.

  The woman propped up in the bed smiled and extended her hand. “Dinah, I am so glad to finally meet you. Please call me Corinne.” Hands and voice shook in tandem, but the smile fought to obliterate the effects of whatever disease was ravaging her body.

  Questions bubbled and snapped, but Dinah kept her smile in place and, she hoped, the confusion from her eyes. Why all the secrecy? “Thank you for your invitation. I’ve been wanting to meet you so I can tell you what a fine son you have. Jonah is—”

  Jonah interrupted, so unlike his usual behavior. “Mutt…Ah, we decided to call her that instead of the other name.”

  “Oh, thank You, Lord, I hated that name. Mutt isn’t a whole lot better, but it’s better.” She touched his cheek with her hand where he sat beside her on the edge of the bed. She smiled up at Dinah. “Please be seated so we can visit. Or are you in a hurry?”

  “No, not at all.” Dinah sat on the straight-backed wooden chair and set her bag on the floor. Pencil drawings papered one wall. “Oh, no wonder Jonah said you didn’t mind his giving me his drawing.” Her eyes moved from the wall to Jonah; she was sure her mouth made an O. “You really did all those?”

  “All but one. My dad did that.” He pointed to a picture in the center of the wall, the only one that had a kind of frame, in black. The stuffed puppy and the little boy made her smile. “That was your first dog?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Corinne added, “He named the puppy Droopy. He was three then.”

  “And you’ve been drawing ever since?”

  Jonah shrugged. “The early ones weren’t so hot.”

  “I wanted to keep them all, but one day the box just disappeared.” Corinne cocked an almost nonexistent eyebrow at her son. Jonah did innocent well.

  Dinah smiled. “I want to frame mine so I can keep it in my office.”

  Jonah did a boy-type eye roll. “You can have more if you like.”

  They chatted like old friends for a few more minutes until Corinne flinched as she shifted in the bed.

  Dinah rose immediately, certain that the woman was nearing the end of her strength. She asked Jonah, “How about if I come back and pick you up to go see Mutt?”

  The boy shrugged. “We can meet at the corner.”

  “An hour?” She turned to smile at the woman in the bed. “How about if Jonah and I get something for supper and he can bring some back for you when he returns?”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “I know, but I’d like to, please, if that would be all right.” When another mist of pain flashed across the pale face, Dinah picked up her purse. “See you in a while.”

  Jonah walked her to the door. “Mommy likes you—she knew she would.”

  “And I like her.”

  Back on the street, Dinah realized she still didn’t have their phone number. Resolving to get it from Jonah, she slid into her car and drove back to her apartment building. So close and yet so far. If only she’d been able to help Corinne and her son before. When she flicked the turn signal for her parking garage, a thought hit her. Whatever made her think that they either wanted or needed her help? What a bigoted idea. She went upstairs in an elevator that worked.

  A blinking light on her house phone announced a message. The building manager’s voice intoned, “There have been obnoxious people demanding to see you. I refused. Take my beater when you go out again. Beware.” The car key had been slid under the door.

  Visiting a hospitalized ragtag mongrel. What a way to spend a weekend. When Dinah got home that evening, it was a good thing the day was done, for she certainly was.

  Why not working was more tiring than working was beyond her, but it was true. She could spend a whole day perched on a stool at the bench, doing things no one else thought of, and it would seem like a few leisure hours. Like isolating the sulfur compounds in oysters; oh, she loved that one. Everyone from college organic classes on up knew the sulfur was there. But why? She asked why, and learning why was what got her her first major supplement, a food additive that actually worked to enhance hair growth in men and women. It was still one of the company’s better sellers. Or the time she decided to explore why cells use beta-carotene, and…

  And now she was a slave to budgets and personnel management and all the headaches of heading up a company, however small it might be.

  She glanced up at the ding of the phone but ignored it, along with all the other calls piling up on her answering service. She answered her cell, however.

  No greetings. Just, “Be glad. A major emergency; something big enough to take over the news. You are no longer front and center.”

  “Thanks, Hal.”

  “By the way, I hit zero on information on the family.”

  “When I picked him up this afternoon he had a change of clothes on. I don’t know if that’s his mom’s doing or his. Strange child. So we visited Mutt again.” She usually forgot bad dreams immediately, but the one she’d awoken to this morning was still stuck in her head—no oxygen to breathe when that vet entered the room. “And we bought a bucket of fried chicken, I hope his mother can eat some of it. I’m using the building manager’s Chevy, by the way. Did you suggest that, or did he come up with the idea?”

  “All I said was ‘protect her as best you can.’ God Himself is keeping the hyenas from your door, but I know you don’t want to hear that so I didn’t say it, just thought it out loud.”

  “Right.”

  “So what does tomorrow look like?”

  “We go visit Mutt; she won’t eat unless Jonah’s there, and his mother’s in no condition to take him, but perhaps tomorrow will be different. We bail her out on Monday, so I assume Jonah will go to school late. We’ve not discussed logistics yet.” To forestall more questions, she added, “I already cleared all this with April.”

  “Then sleep well and turn off your ringers.”

  “We’ll see.” She knew perfectly well that he knew she would not do that, in case Jonah needed her. Since when did her life revolve around a small boy and his dog, relegating the biggest success of the year to a distant second place? Life sure did change in an instant. But was it for the best?

  Only time would tell.

  Chapter Seven

  Garret was on the third rendition of Jonah and DM, as he had come to refer to the dog.

  Why could he not get the boy out of his mind?

  Or the woman, either. He saw dozens of patients every day. Yet, since he’d met them, one or the other of those two had dwelt front and center in his thoughts. For both of them, it was the eyes he couldn’t seem to capture. Windows into the souls. Old souls. Souls with heavy secrets and heavier burdens. Lord God, what’s with this? You know I have a stack of stuff to do four feet tall minimum and here I am fixated on a woman who bothers and intrigues me and a boy who…Pondering did not help. Drawing did not help.

  While Jonah thought he was taking care of his dog, Garret knew better. DM, alias Mutt, had one purpose in life—Jonah.

  All the while his mind roamed, his hand flew with the marker pens. Finally! He stood and walked back, a
lways a good test when painting, drawing, or whatever. Get a new perspective. He nodded. At last the eyes matched, Jonah’s and Mutt’s. The rest was framework.

  Haunted. Was that the word he wanted?

  He ripped the page off the easel—Jonah and Mutt version three—and pinned it to the wall. Other people would say the first two versions were typically Garret Miller, but this one? Maybe he should give Jonah one of the others and keep this one here. Why? So it could drive him crazy?

  Instead of leaving it on the wall until he took it to the clinic, he unpinned it and rolled it up carefully, sliding it into a protective cylinder. He’d post one of the others on a wall at the clinic. Unlike this version, the boy and dog in the first two attempts had ordinary eyes. He only posted the ones he loved seeing on a regular basis.

  The clock reminded him that he should consider going to bed. But instead he moved to a drafting table where he worked on his comic strip. In spite of considerable pressure to go daily, he kept to his one strip a week. He did not want to be an artist full time; he was a veterinarian who got a kick out of drawing. Not the other way around.

  This was the first he’d had trouble coming up with a concept. Sometimes keeping away from political innuendo was not only difficult but impossible. He stared at the drawing of a howitzer cannon. That was it. “The day I ran the world, I played with guns. Oops. Sorry, God.”

  Sorry indeed. Playing with guns, with people’s lives. But what if? He drew furiously and leaned back, laughing. That worked. He rose and stretched, nodding and smiling all the while. He figured he’d fallen asleep smiling, because too few hours later he woke, still smiling.

  “Thank You, Lord God, for this new day. I missed Your glory sighting, but from the look of outside, I wouldn’t have seen it anyway.” Although sometimes God managed to sneak a fiery peek through a veil of rain.