Heaven Sent Rain

by Lauraine Snelling

  At least they were not open for urgent care tonight. They swapped with a clinic across town so that each of them were closed two nights a week. But while they had the schedule posted front and center on their Web page and on all ads, they still got calls. Even their answering service referred the callers automatically on the closed days. He threatened to get an unlisted personal phone number but, for some reason, never had. If someone needed him that desperately, he wanted to be available.

  “You want me to bring you supper?” Ken Steiger, their beanpole walking assistant, asked before he left.

  “Naa, I’ll have Pizza Castle deliver. But thanks.” This most certainly would not be the first night Garret had slept on the cot in the room with a sick animal.

  After the others left, he returned the phone calls, one to an elderly lady who treated her shih tzu like fragile china. The caramel-and-white bit of fluff knew how to work his mama. Garret told her what to do in case Baby threw up again and to bring him in in the morning if it continued. Baby often threw up when he got something to eat he shouldn’t. But that didn’t stop him from snatching.

  He left a message on the answering machine for the next caller, closing with “If you feel you need to see a vet tonight…” and gave the contact information for the other clinic. Perhaps they had already taken that recourse, since no one answered.

  Restless after doing catch-up work for a couple of hours, he ordered the pizza, ate that, and tried to settle into the cot. Getting up about an hour later, he checked his charges—all were resting well—and went back into the break room for a cup of decaf. He hated decaf, but he knew the leaded would keep him awake for sure.

  Why could he not sleep? His charges were all snoozing soundly. He mopped urine for Valiant, who was now incontinent due to the meds, and made sure he was clean and dry. He changed an IV bag and, having run out of things to do, returned to his cot.

  Half an hour later, he was back up. He took out his markers and a half-sheet tablet. Jonah’s eyes, so full of emotion he didn’t have the words to express, kept invading his thoughts. Garret drew and redrew, ripping pages off, doing multiple studies on different sheets.

  Why could he not get them right? He had finally done so on the picture he gave to Jonah. Why not again?

  He closed his own eyes to draw on memories.

  But when he picked up his fine-point pens the eyes turned to blue that one moment could look like a storm-tossed sea. Lake Erie, mid winter when waves crashed great ships onto rocks and wind ripped roofs from houses. Or like a high mountain lake he’d seen on a backpacking trip into the Rockies. That trip had forever stayed front and center in his memories. A sky reflecting blue, clear and pristine so you could see all the way to the bottom where fish swam and rocks shimmered. Or down into her soul.

  His pens flew over the paper, making him wish he had something more substantial. Like brushes and canvas. But he worked with what he had—and the papers littering the floor attested to his feverish preoccupation.

  The eyes turned canine, warm brown, full of love, darker, distant. Narrowed, warning. Mutt’s eyes. Like Jonah, eyes that shared her soul.

  He threw away a couple of drained-dry markers and ripped the last page from the pad. He was finished. In more ways than one.

  A child’s eyes. A dog’s eyes. But did he have to draw hers, too?

  What was there about Dinah Taylor that would not leave him alone?

  Chapter Eleven

  Tuesday felt like the first ordinary day Dinah had had in ages. In fact, it felt so normal that when her home phone rang that evening, she picked it up without looking at the caller ID.

  “Dinah, this is Corinne, Jonah’s mother.”

  “Well, what a treat. I take it Jonah and Mutt are doing well?”

  “They are. She waits to go out until he comes home from school but he no longer lets her go on her own. He keeps her on a leash, not taking any chances. I have something to thank you for: making him change her name. His dad thought the world of his son, but that pup was so rambunctious he was always saying Downmutt and she began answering to that.”

  “It was such an odd name, I just couldn’t imagine saying it. Especially when she seems so well behaved.”

  “I know. I have a favor to ask. Could you possibly come visit me tomorrow afternoon, say one o’clock or so? I know you are terribly busy, but I would surely appreciate it.”

  “Of course I’ll come. How about if I bring lunch? Is there something special you would like?”

  “Oh, a fresh salad with grilled chicken on it. The one down at the Extraburger is so delicious, and I’ve not had it for a long time.”

  “I’ll get two salads and be there around one.” After hanging up, she glanced through her daily calendar. April would just have to move things around, that was all. Nothing looked impossible. She emailed April the information and sat down in her chair, tempted to turn on the television. How she’d been able to resist that was beyond her. Tonight she just didn’t care. They would do what they would do and she’d have to deal with it. Easier said than done. Worry and guilt, two first cousins of extreme disquietude, took up residence on either shoulder, chanting their songs of misery.

  The next afternoon, she picked up her order at 12:50 and rang the doorbell, right at one. She’d even been able to find parking. Luck was smiling on her today. From inside, Mutt barked, then whimpered.

  “Come on in—the door is open.” Corinne sounded so feeble.

  Dinah pushed open the door to see Mutt sitting, doing her quivering I am so glad to see you routine. “Just your friendly delivery service. I brought you a coffee and a tea since I didn’t know which you would prefer, and I like either.” She tried to figure which hand she could pet the dog with. “Sorry, girl, when I put this down I’ll pet you.”

  “Could we please eat here in the bedroom? It uses up less energy for me that way.”

  “Of course.” Dinah carried in the box and set it on the bed. Then she leaned over to stroke the fluffy ears, one of which stood half up. “You look good, Mutt. Big improvement.”

  “I was so afraid she would not make it, and Jonah would have been crushed beyond measure.”

  “He handled the whole thing so well.”

  “He’s like his father, on the stoic side.”

  Dinah wanted to ask questions about the missing man but instead handed the lunch container to the pale woman, who seemed to almost disappear into the bed. All but her eyes, her haunted, life-filled eyes. Jonah’s eyes. For some reason, Dinah had always thought Jonah had his father’s.

  Corinne lay propped with pillows against the headboard of a single bed while another single bed filled the corner by the window, so the two were almost foot to foot. A chair and a rather scuffed dresser took up the remaining space, with a closet door opposite her bed. Obviously no man lived here, at least not recently. Dinah’s earlier assessment had been correct: shabby but clean. How did Corinne manage the housework and taking care of Jonah when she was so weak?

  Dinah tried not to bite her tongue, but that might be what it took to curb her curiosity. “You didn’t say what kind of salad dressing, so I brought one of each: thousand island, french, blue cheese, and ranch.”

  “Ranch is perfect.” She managed with a bit of difficulty to open the container and pour her dressing.

  “Jonah is an amazing artist.” Dinah glanced around the room at all the drawings push-pinned to the walls. The contrast between this busy, filled room and Dinah’s immaculate white apartment struck her like a belly punch.

  “He is. His papa was, too. He started Jonah drawing just before he had to leave.” A shutter dropped over her that warned Dinah not to question, as if she wished she’d not mentioned a man at all.

  Perhaps next time Corinne would feel more free to talk. “Do you have friends around here who help you?”

  “Oh, yes. Thank God for all the good souls He sends our way.” She took another bite of salad, smiling at the flavors. “Trudy next door is a saint of the first
order. Her daughter, Claire, comes to clean once a week. Such good friends.” A few more bites and she set the salad aside. “Guess I’ll have a snack later. Trudy brought over peanut butter cookies because she knows those are Jonah’s favorites.” She smiled at Dinah. “Thank you for being such a good friend to my Jonah and to me. God will bless you for the love you share.”

  There it was again. The God thing. “You’re welcome. Jonah is easy to love.”

  “But you went an extra ten miles with Mutt. I will repay you if you tell me how much.”

  “I don’t really know. We have another vet call, you know. Let’s talk then.” Dinah closed her salad. “I can see you are really tired, and I need to get back to work. Is there anything I can get for you?”

  “Thank you, but no. I’ll take my afternoon nap before Jonah comes home.” She pointed to an envelope on the dresser. “Please, would you take that? In case Jonah needs you.”

  Dinah started to ask a question, but the woman’s eyes were already drifting closed. The envelope was sealed, and Dinah’s name was written on the front. On the back a note said Open only in case of an emergency.

  “I…hope you never have to use it, but just in case.” A slight smile. “Bless you.”

  Dinah gathered up the lunch things, put Corinne’s leftover salad in the refrigerator, and threw the trash away.

  That night after she got home from the office, she set the envelope on the granite mantel above the gas log fireplace in the living room. Why not just open it now, just in case? No. It said emergency. She would honor that.

  And then her thoughts went scattering again. They bounced off the walls of her world, arranged themselves in interesting ways. It was basically that process of wild, creative thinking that had led to success in their diabetes work. Now Hans wanted to start working on autoimmune problems and autism. Not that they were related, but his brain, like hers, skipped wildly. She got out her legal pad and penciled in thoughts and shorthand chemical formulas.

  This was the part of the hunt that intrigued her most. In the 1930s, researchers discovered antibacterial properties in aniline dyes, attached to azo compounds. Eventually, they realized you didn’t need the azo component at all. She took immense pride that her company used that same outside-the-box approach. And look how it paid off—very occasionally, but profitably. Not to the degree that the discovery of antibacterials served humanity, but important in their own ways.

  But before all that loomed the infernal interview on Friday. And it was to that interview that she must apply her galloping thoughts. Maybe she could reward herself by coming in on Saturday to putter in the lab. She fired up her laptop and stretched out on her formerly white sofa. She still had to call in a professional cleaner.

  She made two lists: what she wanted to tell the reporter and what the reporter thought he, or she, wanted to know. The list of what she wanted to say was easy. But the other list? Of course! She could populate it with as many of the questions as she could recall being fired at her in that hasty press conference. Side effects, for instance, the one reporter had mentioned. Supplements and food additives were not required to undergo the kind of thorough analysis Food for Life had subjected their products to. But should someone suffer ill effects, their reputation would be tarnished enough to cripple and perhaps kill sales.

  And of course, how would they feel if their customers got sick or even died? What if Jonah’s mother or someone took Dinah’s supplements trying to restore her health and instead got worse? Dinah was downright proud of their stringent testing.

  She had the rat results; they were pretty impressive. She’d give him that and fudge on the human results, which weren’t completely crunched yet. And she would take him on a tour of the facility, introduce him to Hans and Sandy and Marcella. Show him the layout and some of their methods.

  The reporters had been complaining about the just-one-person stipulation; they were pushy to the max. Hal and Dinah decided to allow three people—one reporter, a photographer, and a biochem expert or endocrinologist. If this was pandering to them, so be it. Allowing just one reporter was pretty rigid, even though it felt just a tiny bit like revenge for the way they’d acted. And April had the brilliant idea that in exchange, the reporter’s questions had to be submitted in advance.

  Her mind bounced off in another direction. Should she feed them? Yes. Another couple deli trays from Braumeister’s grocery, and she would lavishly hype the store. In fact, Food for Life would throw a feast like the crew had just enjoyed, perhaps with champagne. And all their existing supplements and other products would be arrayed on the table in the corner, strategically illuminated by the track lights overhead.

  The phone rang.

  She answered with a noncommittal “Hello?”

  Jonah’s voice. “Will you be eating breakfast at the Extraburger tomorrow?”

  “Just like usual. And you’re invited.”

  “Thank you.” A pause. “May I buy an extra breakfast tomorrow to go, and bring it to Mommy?”

  “Certainly. Do you want me to take it to her and you go on to school, or would you like to take it to her yourself?”

  “Take it myself.”

  “Then we should meet fifteen or twenty minutes early. Think so?”

  “Thank you, Dinah. Thank you very much.” Jonah hung up.

  Dinah smiled.

  When they met for breakfast next morning, she noticed that Mutt was on a leash. Good; Jonah was taking no chances. They ate as usual, Jonah sipping his hot chocolate. He told her about a new art project in school and how, now that a substitute teacher had explained long division clearly, he could do the math problems so much better. He had no idea why his regular teacher was not in class this week. All the usual kid stuff, important to the kid but not of much consequence in the fight to keep America safe for democracy. Or to ensure the Cincinnati team would take the pennant. Or—in fact, he seemed quite chatty compared to his usual stoicism. He left with the box of breakfast for Corinne, and Dinah went up to her office.

  April seemed pleased with her notes, all of them, and only added a few details here and there. When April was pleased, you could rest assured the material was pretty much complete.

  She spent the morning in the lab with Sandy, trying to remove a hydroxyl from a carboxylic acid complex cheaply, cheaply being the operative word. It was either that or do email.

  By quitting time, they had received all the reporters’ questions that they were going to accept. Dinah was pleased that four of her guesses were on the “real” list, and a fifth was a minor variation of their question. She was as prepared as she was probably going to get.

  She went to bed early that night in order to be fresh and bright when her torturers showed up the next morning.

  At 1:30 a.m. the phone rang.

  She was tempted to answer with, “Do you realize what time it is?” Instead, she answered with a polite “Hello?”

  “Dinah?” Jonah, his voice quavering slightly. “I don’t know what to do.” Pause. “Please help me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Jonah needed her.

  Why did he always need her in the middle of the night? She glanced at her bedside clock. Tiny little numbers glowed.

  Slipping into sweats, she grabbed her bag and tennies. Emergencies. You rarely had emergencies in research labs. There were times when you suddenly had to act really fast, certainly, and times when things unexpectedly went wrong. Lots of those. But not emergencies like this. How she yearned for the good old days.

  Wait; a little bell dinged. Emergency. That envelope Corinne gave her, to be opened in an emergency. She dropped it into her bag and headed out the door.

  This would have to be about Mutt. Infection, sudden turn of health. The vet did say to bring Mutt back if anything went wrong. She didn’t speed, but neither did she dally. Everyone sensible was home in bed, so she had the streets to herself. Why oh why had all this come into her life? No parking near their building. Safe or not, she whipped around the bloc
k and parked going the other way, half a block away.

  Good thing she had on tennis shoes, not heels, although she had been known to run in heels, too. She took the stairs two at a time, reminding herself to breathe. She was not in as good shape as when she’d been playing volleyball, that was for certain.

  Jonah met her as she burst through the stairwell door.

  “Mommy can’t answer me.”

  “What?” It took a moment for Dinah to register what he’d said.

  “Mommy won’t wake up and Gramma Trudy’s not home. They went somewhere.”

  They hurried down the hall, but she stopped and took a deep breath before entering the apartment. Jonah tugged at her hand and led her into the bedroom. Corinne was still breathing. Faint and slow, but the covers moved.

  “Mommy?” Jonah patted her cheek. “Mommy.”

  “Take her hand, Jonah. She can probably still hear you even if she can’t answer.” It was what her gramma had told her back when…But this was Jonah’s mother, not him.

  Jonah took his mother’s hand and held it to his cheek. “She hugged my hand.”

  “You can talk to her, just like always. She can hear you.”

  “Dinah is here, Mommy. Grammy Trudy and Claire went to see the new baby, remember?”

  Dinah saw slight motion as the woman feebly squeezed his hand.

  “Is there a cell phone number for them, Jonah?”

  He looked over his shoulder. “No.”

  Dinah heaved a sigh. Should she call 911? What made her even doubt that? She pulled her phone out of her bag. “I’ll call nine-one-one.”

  “No! Uh, no. Please, no!” Those huge, deep, pained eyes grabbed hers. “Mommy doesn’t want that, she said.” Dinah could see that the hand was gripping his, vibrating.

  “We have to. It’s the law.”

  “Mommy’s lawyer said I didn’t have to. And Mommy said if there was an emergency to call Grammy Trudy or you.”