Heaven Sent Rain

by Lauraine Snelling

  Danny. “I got the estimate prepared and I see you have pledges of three thou. That might cover most of the materials. I need to check further into that. But we have enough information to take it to the board. They meet tomorrow night. We can use volunteers on the finish work, but for the construction I need my crew, or we won’t pass inspection. The city meets Thursday night, and I would sure like to have this on their agenda.”

  So they needed more money. But he’d figured that and hadn’t put his contribution in yet. Was it time to ask for more or wait until he saw the final estimate?

  By the time he’d finished showering, he still had an hour and a half before he had to be back at the clinic. Time enough to paint.

  The ringing phone finally got through to him. He kept studying her eyes as he reached for it, knocking a container of mineral spirits onto the floor. “Yes!”

  “Ah, Garret, you were supposed to be here half an hour ago.”

  “Sue.”

  “Yes, it is I, and I have to leave. You sound remarkably awake for one sleeping so deep the phone didn’t wake him.”

  “I’m painting. I need to feed here and I’ll be there ASAP. You can go on home. Jason can handle it until I get there. Sorry.”

  “Okay, I’m leaving, but you will be here soon?”

  “Yes, I will be there.” He flipped the phone shut and stared at the three paintings. The third one was bothering him. Why did he want to put the three of them together? What did he know about Jonah’s real family? Why should he care? The kid was all questions, no answers. But those eyes…

  Instead of taking the paintings, he took a pad of paper and his markers. Perhaps he could sketch out something he liked. If it wasn’t busy.

  “Don’t fret, Dr. G. All is well.” Jason looked up from his position on the cage-room floor next to Valiant as Garret walked in. The dog was no longer on his side but up on his belly, the casted leg angled out beside him. “I think he’s embarrassed because he can’t make that leg work right. Will you do another blood draw and see what’s happening?”

  “Not until the morning. Thirty-six hours on the antibiotic ought to show us something.” He nodded at Jason. “You still thinking vet school?”

  “If I can get in. Get my bachelor’s degree first. I finally resorted to a tutor for the math.”

  “Wise move. Maintaining high grades in the math and sciences is what keeps medicine from being an easy field to get into. But then all medical programs are difficult. If they weren’t, then everyone would be doing it and there goes the quality of the program.” He rubbed Valiant’s ears one more time. “All the chores are caught up?”

  “They are. Being paid to comfort the animals is really a hard gig.”

  “One way to look at it. You have homework along?”

  “I always have homework.”

  “Then hide in a quiet corner. I’ll be in my office.”

  Garret got a bottle of soda out of the machine and a bag of pretzels from the cupboard and set up his sketch pad.

  The rest of the night was slow. Garret worked out several possibles for the third canvas, sketched a new panel for his comic strip, and dozed off for a while. He checked on Valiant.

  Occasional showers were still keeping everything outside wet as Sue came in. On time. Garret felt just a tiny twinge of guilt for his own tardiness.

  “Did you hear what happened to Dinah?” She shook out her coat and hung it up.

  “No. Do you know her personally or something? Why does this bother you so much?” Garret rolled his papers together and snapped a rubber band around them.

  “It bothers me because she is trying to help people and the media are out to crucify her. And she’s such a nice person. Quiet, but nice. I just don’t get it.”

  “It sells newspapers, gets ratings, all the same game.” He snagged his jacket off the row of pegs on the wall. “Beanpole and Lenny are about done. We got Valiant up on his feet. When Tessa comes in, tell her I think we should keep him a while longer. I’m out of here. See you tomorrow morning.”

  “At seven?” One of her eyebrows quirked.

  “Yes, ma’am. At seven.” If he woke early, perhaps he could paint for an hour or two. Or perhaps not. A yawn almost cracked his jaw.

  “Go on with you.”

  Instead of the Bagelry, he decided he needed more protein and stopped at the Extraburger.

  “Dr. G!” Jonah, at a table by the window, waved wildly. “Dinah, look who’s here! You want to eat breakfast with us, Dr. G?”

  “I—ah, umm…”

  Dinah Taylor turned from paying the tattooed boy behind the cash register. “I’m sure Dr. Garret does not have time this morning to eat with us, Jonah.”

  While that was the last thing he wanted to do this morning, the imperious tone of her voice set his teeth on edge. “Why, thank you, Jonah. I’d love to.”

  He could feel the questions her eyes shot at him. Eyes. Windows on the soul?

  He placed his order and stepped back to wait, but the young man said, “I’ll bring it out with theirs, sir. No problem.” Mr. Helpful. So he walked back to the booth by the corner window.

  At least Jonah was bubbly. He scooted against the wall and dragged his backpack onto the floor at his feet, making room for Garret. “How come you’re here, Dr. G? Isn’t your office a long way away?”

  “This is between our office and my house, so I stopped for breakfast. I worked last night.”

  Dinah slipped into the seat across from them. The feelings she radiated just now were not even close to friendly.

  The tattooed fellow plunked a tray between them. “Can I get you anything else?”

  Dinah smiled up at him. “Thanks, Eric, but I think that’s all. We appreciate your helpfulness.” So she was on a cheerful first-name basis with this guy, but she was an iceberg around Garret. Well, he didn’t care much for her, either.

  The fellow lingered. “How’s your dog, Jonah? Is she doing okay?”

  “She gets her stitches out on Saturday. Then she’ll look better. They shaved her a lot, too, but her hair will grow back. And she doesn’t have to wear that cone now.” Jonah’s chest swelled with pride. “And this here is her doctor. This is Dr. G.”

  The kid smiled and nodded toward Garret. “Next time you bring her, she gets a special treat if I’m here.”

  Jonah waited until the man left before announcing, “We do grace.”

  “Good. So do I.” Garret bowed his head.

  “Dear Jesus, thank You for our food and for making this a good day for all of us. Give Dinah Your special love. Amen.”

  Why had he added that? Dinah unwrapped her sandwich while Jonah went through what appeared to be a morning ritual that ended as he carefully laid his napkin on his lap.

  Garret asked, “So how is Mutt doing?”

  “She’s fine. She likes us living with Dinah, and the elevator works all the time. The first couple of days, she went slow.” Jonah looked up from his pancakes. “My mommy went to live with Jesus last Friday, and we came to live with Dinah.”

  Garret stared at him. No visible emotion, almost nonchalance. What the blue blazes was going on with this kid? With both of them, actually. This Dinah Taylor was obviously a close enough friend that she’d taken over Jonah’s care, so she should be at least a little sad. But there seemed to be nothing. Was the mother’s death sudden? As he thought back, Garret could not remember any evidence whatever of grief and sadness in either of them—apart from the obvious responses to the dog’s trauma. “You must miss her terribly.”

  “Mommy told me all about it, lots of times as she got sick. She said heaven with Jesus is better than here, and when she got there she wouldn’t be sick and she would be with my daddy.”

  “You’re his aunt, then—or something?” He shook his head. “Excuse me, that’s none of my business.”

  Jonah barreled on. “Dinah is my best friend. She even took care of Mutt when she needed help. I didn’t know what to do and Mommy couldn’t help me.” He mopped
syrup with his pancakes. “So I called Dinah and she came right away.”

  “I see.” He nodded as he finished off his sandwich.

  No, he didn’t see. This was a weird relationship. Beyond belief, all of them. And he thought his relationships were screwed up.

  Jonah laid his fork down. “May I get out, please? I got to leave.”

  Garret stood up and stepped back. Jonah slid out of the booth dragging his backpack and gathered up his garbage for the trash. “See you Saturday, Dr. G. I pinned your picture up on my wall.”

  Dinah crumpled her napkin and prepared to leave, too. “I’ll go out with you.”

  “You don’t gotta. I’ll wave to you.” And off he went.

  She looked disappointed. “See you this afternoon, Jonah.”

  She settled back uneasily and picked up her half-empty coffee cup.

  The tattoo guy paused at her elbow and gestured with a coffee carafe. “Would you like a refill on that?”

  “Ah, sure, why not.” She handed him her cup. “Two creams. Thank you, Eric. I appreciate your service.”

  Outside the window, Jonah smiled and waved to them both, jacked his backpack higher, and disappeared down the street.

  “He’s a remarkable little boy.” Garret slid back into the booth.

  “Yes, he is. He smiles every time he looks at your drawing.”

  Silence. Really heavy silence. Man up, Garret. You want to say something? Say it. “Why don’t you like me?”

  Her mouth dropped open. Her back sagged. She stared dumbfounded a moment. “What makes you…I don’t…why…” Extraordinarily heavy silence.

  He shrugged. “I don’t care, actually, whether you like me or not. I was just curious. You’re very open and friendly with others and freeze up when I enter the picture. I was just wondering about the reason. It must be a doozy.”

  She studied him a long moment, and the starch returned to her spine and jaw. “This is amazing. The reason I don’t like you, Dr. G, is that when you look at me, you turn icy. Angry, even. I have been surrounded by enough hostile people lately—I don’t need that. You don’t like me, so it irritates me. Hostility always irritates me. And since you mention it, I really don’t care a bit whether you like me or not.”

  It was his mouth’s turn to drop open.

  She scooted out and stood. “I have to get to work. Good day, Dr. G.” And she was gone before he could be enough of a gentleman to worm out of the booth and stand up.

  He settled back down to finish his coffee. He gazed off down the street where Jonah had disappeared. He gazed at the glass doors leading into the lobby of this office complex, where Dinah had just disappeared.

  Where in the world would she get the idea that…How could she?

  John said Jesus was the answer to confusion and fear and worry? Well, he was confused—terminally confused—and just now, Jesus wasn’t helping.

  Chapter Nineteen

  She strode into the office, spine straight, shoulders back, teeth gritted. What was it about that man that irritated her so much? Other than his mood that she interpreted as constant hostility toward her. That was a question for another time. Maybe in the next decade or so. If ever.

  “What’s wrong?” April asked as she came through the door.

  “Nothing. Why?” Dinah glanced up, carefully keeping her face washed of expression.

  “Dinah, don’t try to snow me. Something’s bugging you. More reporters?”

  “Jonah and I were getting our normal breakfast, when who should appear in line behind us but Dr. Miller, or Dr. G, as Jonah and a lot of his fans call him. The veterinarian.”

  April’s mouth opened. “That Dr. Miller?”

  “Yeah, why? What do you know about him?”

  “He’s a celebrity, cartoonist, animal rights activist, artist. He’s always on television when they need an animal specialist. His clinic is the one you took Mutt to?”

  “MapQuest said it was the closest urgent care open at that time of night. So that’s where we went.” She wrinkled her face. “So he’s full of himself; I guess that’s what irritates me, then.”

  “Where did you get that idea? He’s wearing a sign that says I am famous?” April snorted.

  “The way he acted. He was so kind to Jonah, but I really got the brunt of his whatever. He doesn’t like me any more than I like him. So as soon as those stitches are out, we’ll find another veterinarian. Although perhaps his wife would be a good one.”

  “His wife?” April gave her a strange look, clearly confused.

  “You know, Miller and Miller Veterinary Clinic.”

  “Sue Miller is not his wife. She’s his partner.”

  “So they didn’t get married. I don’t care.” Dinah started to leave, but stopped when April sputtered into laughter. “Now what?”

  “She is happily married to a very nice man—his brother. I think he introduced them, actually. They all attend the same church I go to. I really like them a lot.”

  More churchgoers. Was she being surrounded for a reason? No! This was simply a coincidence. Dinah deliberately shrugged. “Whatever. Jonah invited him to sit with us and then told him his life story.”

  “And you can’t handle that very well, can you?” April’s voice softened.

  Dinah sucked in a deep breath and fought back the sadness that bombarded her every time she thought of Corinne. So much sadness, so many lives screwed up, hers included. “I better go call Mr. Jensen. I didn’t get his call returned yesterday. I’m sure there is more to do in this crazy mixed-up new life of mine. I am really not used to having a small boy and a dog around all the time.”

  “It’s a big change, all right. How’s your all-white holding up?”

  “That’s not the problem. It’s the space. I really miss my office. I can’t close the door and work like I did before. I’m getting behind.”

  “And you are not used to taking care of anyone but you.”

  “Right. And in my mind, a boy and a dog need a yard and friends and—” Her purse burst into song. She dug out the cell phone and continued down the hall to her office. “Hello?”

  “Ace Delivery Service.”

  Jonah’s things. A fresh wave of grief rushed across her. And how would poor Jonah respond? His most familiar things, evoking memories; it would almost be better if all that simply disappeared. She gave the man her building manager’s number, then called Mr. Watson and gave him the message.

  She hung up her coat, setting her briefcase on the desk. The rose still looked as fresh as yesterday. Who had sent her this rose? Perhaps she could call Minda and ask if she’d sent a rose up here and then keep pushing her until she gave a hint.

  Dinah tapped the intercom for April. “I’m calling Mr. Jensen, so please hold calls.”

  “Will do. You know you have a meeting with Ms. Hunsaker at ten thirty?”

  “Yes, thanks.” She pushed in the numbers for Mr. Jensen, all the while searching for her list of the questions she’d been compiling. His assistant put her right through.

  His voice sounded jovial. “So, good morning, Dinah. Thanks for taking time to get back to me. I watched the TV interview and have been keeping up on the print, so I imagine how your time is running away from you. The real question is, how are you and Jonah doing?”

  “Better than I expected, I guess. Or maybe not. Still no clear signs of grief. And I didn’t realize how self-possessed and independent he is. I keep thinking he is far older than seven.”

  “That I understand. How is he dealing with his mother’s death?”

  “Very matter-of-factly. Corinne told him where she was going and what would happen, and it is business as usual. New home, just as Corinne told him, and new all kinds of things. But he reminds Jesus every night to say hi to his mommy for him and says that he misses her. I keep waiting for some kind of grief reaction, but none so far.”

  “I guess I am as surprised as you are. I see they are delivering his things today. Perhaps opening some of those boxes will trigge
r a response.”

  “Are there a lot of boxes?”

  “Seven or eight, I think. Gramma Trudy took Corinne’s personal clothes and possessions—to give to a thrift shop, as I understand it. So I had the furniture go there also, and the kitchen things. Since you bought him a bed and chest of drawers, those went with the other things.”

  “Thank you.” She caught herself doodling. “May I ask you some rather personal questions?”

  “I’ll answer what I can.”

  “Have they always been this poor?”

  “No, her husband used to send money for them. He bought the condo.”

  “That confuses me. Jonah refers to it as an apartment. And it seems quite shabby to be a condo.”

  “It started as an apartment house. The units went condo about four years ago. Three or four, just after he was deported. He retained me to oversee his family’s provision and I got an immigration lawyer on it—friend of mine—but before he could do much, the man died. Corinne got sick about that same time. Went downhill in a hurry. I tried several different ways to contact his extended family, even a private investigator, but never received a response. It was as if he never existed. The money dwindled to the returns on an investment I made for them. These last months used up the principal. When the condo sells, I plan to invest the money for Jonah. Corinne fought fiercely to stay off welfare and keep her son out of the Social Services system.”

  “I’m confused. Is your interest professional or personal?”

  “Both.” The voice softened. “Professional when Andre retained me as family counsel, standard lawyer-client relationship. It became personal when Immigration and Customs Enforcement broke into their home in the middle of the night and quite literally dragged Andre out of his bed. A wife and small son? That was unconscionable. And then her illness, which was subsequently diagnosed as terminal. Indignity and ill fortune heaped too high to climb. And the boy…Yes, Ms. Taylor, it’s now personal.”

  There was so much she wanted to know, but her mind was skipping all over.

  His firm voice. “Frankly, Ms. Taylor, I had serious reservations. I know we are asking a lot for you to take Jonah and rear him, but, more so, we don’t really know anything about you—about the real you, not just the search-engine information about you. But Corinne felt so strongly that God was sending you to take care of her son that I could only go along with her wishes.”