Heaven Sent Rain

by Lauraine Snelling

  Dinah felt tired just listening to his enthusiasm. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Here is Mr. Hal.”

  “He is some boy,” Hal said.

  “I told you.”

  “By the way, I have a plan for the morning.”

  “I thought the crowd had all but left, but then recruits pulled up.”

  “They’ll find something else to do eventually. I’ll pick you up at the back entrance about nine forty-five. Jonah’s mother said she’ll call the school to let them know he’ll be out for the day, so never fear.”

  “And Food for Life?”

  “They will all go to work and you won’t, at least not until later. The boss can surely be tardy once.”

  Surely. The prisoner in her own home sighed and hung up.

  The next morning all went as Hal had planned. He was not driving his Beemer today. He had a big Ford Something this morning, and Jonah already sat belted into the back seat, grinning widely. She and Jonah walked into the clinic and immediately a dog in back started barking.

  “That’s Mutt. She knows I’m here.”

  “You sure?”

  He nodded and broke into a smile. “Dr. G, you’re here.” He ran to the man and threw his arms around him.

  “Good morning.” He hugged Jonah and did not smile at Dinah; it was a grimace disguised as a smile. She knew the difference. “Miz Taylor.”

  “Dr. Miller.” Why the sudden coolness? “Good morning. Thank you for taking care of Mutt.” Manners covered a multitude of misgivings.

  “My pleasure.” He left off freezing and smiled at Jonah, warm as sunshine.

  How’d he do that? She watched as Dr. G pulled a cardboard tube from behind the reception desk and opened it.

  “I have your picture done, Jonah. I hope you like it.” He unrolled the paper and held it up.

  “D-d-Mutt and me.” He stared up at the man. “It looks just ’zactly like us.” He turned and held the drawing at arm’s length. “Look, Dinah!”

  “A very good likeness, Jonah.” Dinah closed her eyes, but only briefly. There it was again. What had happened to the oxygen in the room?

  She’d never been a fan of cartoons or caricature, but the picture of Jonah and Mutt—why was it different? The eyes, that’s what it was. How did he draw with such power that she felt she was looking into the child’s soul? All with Magic Markers? Well, maybe they were a better brand than that, but still…

  Dr. Miller rolled the drawing and slipped it back into the tube. “Let’s go get Mutt.”

  Elated, the little boy bounded off through the double doors.

  “I’ll wait for you out here.” She crossed to the reception desk. “You have the bill ready?”

  “I do.” The receptionist reached low beside her desk as a printer down there stopped zipping, and laid out the itemized bill. “We had to do a lot to—”

  “I understand. The poor dog was near death. Jonah’s mother, Jonah, and I all appreciate the care your staff has lavished on Mutt and Jonah both. I understand that you are not usually open on Sundays, and yet you allowed—”

  “There is someone here every day, of course, to check the animals and care for them.” The receptionist smiled. “And we do whatever is best for our patients. We had one woman whose basset was so hooked up to machines that we couldn’t move him, so we let her bring a cot and her sleeping bag. That’s probably the only reason her dog made it.”

  “This includes meds and all she needs?”

  “We have written all the instructions here on this page. They are easy, really, and if you’d like, you could set up the appointment for us to take the stitches out. Of course if you have any questions, please call. Here are all our contact numbers.” She passed the paper across. “And congratulations on all your accomplishments. Our community is a far better place with your business here.”

  Dinah felt her cheeks flush as she handed off a credit card. “Actually, our new product does not do nearly what the press is claiming it does. Just a helpful supplement, certainly not a cure. Nowhere close to a cure.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t referring to that. My son plays on a T-ball team and my daughter plays softball. Both are on teams that your company sponsors. The science department at my daughter’s middle school is partially financed by a grant from Food for Life. She wants to be a biochemist like you.” She chuckled and shook her head. “I don’t even know what a biochemist does. But the day you spoke to her class…well let’s just say that was a highlight for her.”

  Dinah relaxed a little. “I’m glad to give back. And I failed to mention to the children: If you are a biochemist, remain a biochemist and work at your bench. Do not, I repeat, do not, become CEO of a company.”

  Dinah could feel heat creeping up her neck. So much for keeping a low profile. She knew Food for Life supported plenty of activities in the Eastbrook area; after all she approved each one; but this was different. Personal. She changed her tack. “Tell your daughter to keep in touch with us. As soon as she can work legally, we will find something for her to do.”

  The woman’s mouth opened. “Thank you. In case you want to run for governor, you have all our votes.”

  Dinah chuckled as she was meant to. “I’d like to meet your daughter one day.” She took her card back, signed the merchant’s copy, and slid her billfold back in her hobo bag. Glancing up at the pictures on the wall, she asked, “Does he really give each child with a pet a picture he drew?”

  “Children, yes, and sometimes a mother or grandparent. He draws the line at teenagers.”

  “Understandably so.” Dinah heard Jonah saying thank you, so she nodded to the woman and looked over to see Jonah leading Mutt out into the waiting room. The dog walked slowly and with a pronounced limp, but she was moving on her own. And she wore a cone. Dinah knew they put those on dogs to keep them from chewing on sores or stitches. Never had she seen a dog wear one without looking downcast and self-conscious. The Cone of Shame. Mutt spotted Dinah and her tail speed increased from casual wave to wag.

  She recognizes me. Why did that jolt her so? Dinah threw a thank-you in the direction of the frosty, brooding doctor and guided Jonah and Mutt out to the waiting car.

  As soon as she stepped out of the clinic, she felt the heavy air lift. She’d known people who were uncomfortable socializing, but that didn’t seem to be Dr. Miller’s issue. She’d also known people who relate well to children but not adults—or vice versa. But with him, it seemed personal. A specific issue with her. If she never went back there it would be too soon, but she knew she would in ten days to get the stitches removed, if not before.

  She buzzed Hal. He was surely waiting close by, because the Ford was at the door a minute later. Dinah waited for her charges to get in the back and sank into the passenger seat.

  So now what? Take Jonah home and then talk to Hal about the next steps. Brave the hordes? Call the police? Sneak in to work incognito? A Groucho moustache and horn-rimmed glasses, perhaps. This was getting old really quick.

  Tomorrow, regardless, she was going to work no matter what. What did real celebrities do in situations like this? Besides hire bodyguards? One thing she knew for sure: She was not going to remain in hiding, trapped by fear. Not in this lifetime.

  Chapter Nine

  Here we go.” Hal braked gently and turned into a side street. He pulled the big Ford up to a stop sign.

  Dinah leaned forward over the dash and looked down the cross street, the street running past her condo. She flopped back into the seat. “The hyenas are still there.”

  “You have to give them credit for persistence.”

  She sat erect again. “Hal, this is ridiculous. They’re a bunch of news reporters, not crocodiles. Surely we can just march through them and ignore them. What more can they do?” Was this a real threat or something about mountains and molehills?

  “Dinah, they’re pros. Masters of ambush. They have all sorts of tricks you don’t know about. They trick you into saying something, then tr
im away all your words except the ones they can turn into a twenty-second sound bite. The world of journalism has changed.”

  “Still…”

  “And we haven’t even heard from the big guns yet. I expect a volley any day.”

  “Meaning?”

  “There are a lot of possibilities. Buyout offers, injunctions, all manner of legalities.”

  She looked out the window. Beyond the corner sat a white TV station van with a dish on its roof. “Are we vulnerable?”

  “Technically, no. You were good about dotting all your i’s and crossing all your t’s. But they have all the money they need, even government backing. You know we talked about this so often and, yes, we’ve been excruciatingly legal, but someone will dig up something. Or possibly make up something, twist something just a bit. Don’t be surprised if you read about your childhood in one of the rags.”

  “But why?” It burst out of her. “All we’ve done is produce a product that can benefit millions of people.”

  “Who will no longer be forced to buy as much of the drug companies’ highly profitable diabetic drugs and paraphernalia. Come on, Dinah. We’ve talked about this over and over.”

  She heaved a sigh. “I know, but I refuse to live in fear and worry and what-if.”

  “There is only one real protection in all this.”

  “And that is…?”

  “Almighty God.” He grinned at her. “Thought that would stop you.”

  Dinah felt like sputtering and ranting about a God that is not real and never takes care of His people and all the other arguments she had perfected through the years. A picture of Gramma reading Bible stories to her did not flit through fast enough, followed by an image of her and Michael when she was swinging him on the tire hung from a huge oak limb. She clamped her teeth against the scream that threatened to blow them all up.

  She abandoned the God thing. “I know I’ve been hiding my head in the sand, but all I wanted was to get Scoparia out there and go back to my lab bench. We may be on to something, the mechanisms involved, and I want to pursue it further. It’s not rocket science; it’s bioscience, and I’m beginning to see all kinds of lucky little what-ifs. Is that so terrible?”

  “Luck. Or a series of continuous miracles. God has blessed you mightily.” Her snort made him smile. “Sorry, my friend, truth is truth, and we did not do all of this on our own. No matter how great a team we all are.”

  Gramma had said that one time, too, in her warm voice, or many times that morphed into one. “You can’t outrun God, Chicken Little. His shoulders are plenty broad enough to carry your anger and He will always love you no matter what. Not like those in your life who have let you down so terribly.”

  Those in her life whom she had loved and lost.

  I’m not trying to outrun Him. You can’t outrun something that isn’t there. All in people’s heads. She jerked her mind from such painful introspection and thought again of Jonah, and of taking Mutt in to see his mother. The little dog didn’t adore just Jonah; it was obvious she had a heart big enough for the whole family.

  The concept of the whole family led to another thought. Who and where was Jonah’s father? Shouldn’t he know how terribly ill his wife was? But if there had been a divorce—there were so many scenarios and no answers to any of her questions. So why didn’t she ask?

  She repeated it aloud. “Re: Jonah. When we left him and Mutt out at his place, I was so tempted to just take you upstairs to see his mother. We know so little, but I can’t figure out how he manages to sidestep me every time I start to ask questions. It’s as if a door slams and he leaves. At least now that I know where they live…”

  “You could go visit with her while Jonah is in school.”

  “I was about to say that.”

  He pointed and continued driving. “Someone is waiting by your back door, too.”

  Dinah sighed. “I think we need to just set up a time for a media interview. Or maybe a press conference. Get up, read a statement, and leave.”

  “We’ve talked about this.” There was a warning note in his voice.

  “I know.”

  He pulled over to the curb. “I could ask Horace to create some kind of distraction at the rear entrance so we can get in.”

  “I’d rather just go to the office if I’ll have to deal with them either way.”

  Her mind started bumping and bouncing from idea to idea, as it so often did once she made an initial decision. “We’ll do a media interview at one p.m.”

  He scowled at her as he took a right at the intersection. “That’s an hour and a half away.”

  “Right.” She pulled out her cell, hit the speed dial, then punched two for April and put it on speaker. “April, we’re doing a media interview at one. Send out an announcement, please.”

  April sputtered something. Her assistant was very good at sputtering; probably some sort of passive resistance when she disagreed and didn’t want to say so. But then she said so: “Dinah, you can’t! We have too little time, and they’re going to say whatever they want to say; this will just feed into their biases.”

  “I refuse to live like this.”

  “Run it past Hal first.”

  “He is right here, actually, and hasn’t said a word.”

  “Of course he hasn’t. What good would it do?”

  “None. I think deep down you agree, or you would be spouting advice at me.” She glanced toward Hal. He looked grim. “We’ll be there in about five minutes. Call a meeting so we can prepare a statement, please.”

  A give-up lurked in her voice. “I have one ready. I figured you would fold soon.”

  No, she would never get ahead of April. “Good, we’ll go over it, then. We’ll want everyone, so we’ll all be in the loop.”

  “Will do.” Was that a sigh of resignation?

  Dinah thumbed the button and dropped her cell back into her bag. “You think she will have a better idea?”

  Hal shrugged and turned into the parking garage, ignoring a reporter’s shout. “You’re not giving us time to set this up properly.”

  “What setup? A mic is all we need. I will read it, say thank you, and…”

  “No questions?”

  “I wasn’t going to do a Q-and-A. What do you think?”

  “I think we might be opening a can of night crawlers. Perhaps we say there will be a private interview at—”

  “And they can pick one person? That might keep them busy for a while.” She smacked her head against the car-seat back. “All I want to do is keep working. Get production under way and let people begin to reap the benefits.” A sigh. “So much for free enterprise in the land of the free and the home of the brave.”

  April met them at the elevator door. “We’re all ready in the small conference room,” she said, leading the way down the hall at a firm march. This was no time for extraneous conversation, but she asked. “Is the little boy okay?”

  “Yes, and his dog, too.”

  “Oh, good. I’ve been praying for him.”

  “Thank you, I’m sure.” This God thing was getting a bit insidious. Why can’t they just live and let live? I don’t go preaching my beliefs to them. But she put a smile on her face when April opened the door and ushered her in.

  Discussion dribbled to a halt.

  “Okay, let’s get right to this.” Dinah took her place at the head of the table. “I understand you all have a copy of the proposed spiel.” Glancing around the table, she caught all their nods. All of them: April; Hal; Hans Aldrich, the PhD in biochemisty, department of research; Sandy Dennison, their other PhD in biochemistry, who headed up their production department; and Marcella Kitman, MBA, department of marketing/publicity. All of them had been with her since within the first six months of opening the doors to Food for Life, and Randy and Alyssa joined the company not long after that. Their tight-knit little group, whom Dinah felt proud to acknowledge, truly cared about each other. And they cared about the work even more.

  “Are there any q
uestions?” Dinah looked up from studying the one sheet and glanced about. No one seemed unduly upset or scowly.

  Hans raised a forefinger. “Two questions. One: Where is this going to be held?”

  Dinah had no idea, but April was saying, “In the street out in front of the building. That way we’ll have the Eastbrook Police Department right at hand; traffic control, but if anything cuts loose, they’re there. I was going to use the big conference room so we could control the situation better, but then they’d be inside and we’d have to get them to leave. That wouldn’t be easy.”

  Hans nodded grimly. “Question two: Do you really think you can pull this off without getting trapped by overanxious reporters?”

  “I’ll jerk her offstage with my shepherd’s crook.” Hal stared at them over templed fingertips. “I think that all of you should be her flanking guard.”

  “Now that’s a fancy term for bodyguards,” Marcella, at five foot eleven, made them laugh. But they all had learned to stay away from the edge of her tongue when she went into full Irish temper. One had only to witness it once to learn that lesson.

  The chuckles lightened the gloom around the table. Dinah knew that they all knew how much she hated things like this. And so much was at stake. This whole mess had already gotten out of control.

  Sandy tapped her page. “I suggest we omit that paragraph about the good of the people. If we keep this on a strictly business level—”

  “And not let the emotions get involved.” Hans finished Sandy’s comment and added, “Forget the warm feely stuff and stick to the facts.”

  “Wait a moment,” Marcella chimed in. “Warm feely sells ideas; facts don’t. As much as the public thinks they’re rational, they aren’t. Emotion rules. Same goes for reporters, although I hesitate to call them human. We shouldn’t leave it out if we want to make a case that appeals to the people.”

  April added, “I doubt it matters at this stage. We’re just trying to get the hyenas to go away. They aren’t going to hear half of what you say anyway; they’ll be trying too hard to get a question in.”