Heaven Sent Rain

by Lauraine Snelling

  Why could she not keep her thoughts under control? “Would a judge grant a single woman guardianship or adoption or whatever we would need to do?” And why me? But the last she kept to herself, along with the rest of her questions. This was enough to deal with right now.

  “Yes, since all the paperwork is in order. There will be a formal court appearance. The judge will ask if you understand all the ramifications of adopting a little boy and if you are prepared to provide him with a home and care for him until he is grown. Grown in this case meaning the age of eighteen.”

  “Mr. Jensen, I agreed to this, and as far as I know, I will not change my mind. But what if—I mean—she didn’t know me. How could…”

  “I understand.” She could hear him shuffling papers. “As I said, Corinne believed implicitly that this is God’s way of providing for her so much loved son. That’s how she could do this.”

  Again the how nearly whacked her. Did she really have any idea what she was getting into? Single parenting. No grandparents or relatives to help her. Oh, Gramma Grace! Why did you leave me? What did she know about good parenting based on the way she grew up? Not a lot. Could she learn? Apparently she was going to have to.

  Confused? She saw with a jolt how much more she felt than just confusion. Terror. Doubt. Fear. But then there was that ragged little boy with huge, dark eyes and a best friend who was furry and even more ragged. Did he realize how totally his world had been destroyed?

  “Here, I have it.” Mr. Jensen put his phone on speaker mode. You could tell by the slightly bottom-of-the-barrel echo. “The court calendar. We have a possibility of a hearing before a judge two weeks from tomorrow. That’s the Wednesday after next. Once I know for certain, I will let you know. Jonah will have to be there, too.”

  Dinah flipped through her own calendar. “I’ll mark that Wednesday, then. I was going to ask you, what about Jonah’s doctor and dentist? Any specialists?”

  “Sorry, I have none of that information. I have his school records here, shots, vaccinations, that kind of thing. I’ll send them over to you.”

  “Did Corinne ever mention her family?”

  “No. I asked her more than once, especially when that final diagnosis was made, and she said there was no one.”

  “And Gramma Trudy and Claire are their only friends?”

  “To my knowledge. You will have to ask them. I know they want to know how Jonah is. If you could take him to visit them…”

  “As soon as I can find the time. I planned to.” Time. Dinah didn’t have any time.

  His voice purred. “That would be very thoughtful of you. Is there anything else?”

  “Not that I know of at the moment. Thank you. Oh, I do have a question for you. How are you being paid to handle all this?”

  “Don’t you worry about that. It’s taken care of.”

  They hung up.

  She sat there staring and pondered his statement. It’s taken care of. And yet he’d said they had used up all their money. So this was pro bono. He meant what he’d said about personal involvement, then. And, thinking of Jonah, she understood completely.

  Chapter Twenty

  Why did he get the feeling she had grabbed the first chance available and run?

  Garret sipped his cold coffee. How had he happened on this Extraburger, anyway? Obviously it was not his usual stop, but clearly it was Dinah and Jonah’s. Rather than taking the bypass like usual, he’d driven through town. If he thought about it, there were no accidents; all was planned by God. His devotions the night before had said to watch for the treasures God had planted in his day. If this was a treasure, he certainly could not see the value of it.

  Other than for Jonah. To lose his mother so recently. And his dog got beaten up. And he’d gone to live with someone else. How had he ever met the recluse Dinah Taylor? And why on earth was Garret painting all three of them in oils? So maybe he’d picked up some of their turmoil, things reflected in their eyes that they wouldn’t otherwise express. Not to him. It must have awakened the artist in him, that was all. Wasn’t it?

  He slid out of the booth, dumped his trash, and headed for his car. Sometimes life was just hard to decipher. Was there anything he could do for Jonah? Lord God, if there is, show me. He’d see them Saturday. Maybe something would come to him before then.

  When he returned to the clinic, he checked on Valiant, who was now standing by himself. “Good for you, big boy.” He rubbed the dog’s ears. “Sure wish we had better news for Tessa.”

  At her name, the dog perked up his ears and looked to the door.

  “Not yet.” He checked the chart by the cage. Morning stats said low-grade temp, all else normal. “You tried walking yet?” He went to the intercom and called for Jason to come help him. He buckled the dog’s collar back on and snapped a lead into the ring. Turning at the sound of the door opening, he greeted Jason and told him they were going to walk Valiant.

  “I’ll get a sheet.” They kept lengths of old bedsheets for such a purpose as this, since often a towel just wasn’t long enough to use comfortably on a really big dog. When Jason returned, he waited while Garret encouraged Valiant to try to walk out of the cage. The dog moved his front feet and the good back leg, but swayed on the casted one. He looked up at Garret as if asking, What happened?

  “Reach in and get the sheet under him.” Together they got the dog out of the cage and standing. “Here we go. Give him only enough as a backup.” They maneuvered partway around the room and stopped for Valiant to catch his breath.

  “He’s working hard at it.” Jason’s brow suggested he was working hard, too.

  “I know. Would it be easier if he just let you carry his rear end?” Garret stroked Valiant’s head. “Let’s do that. Show him.” With Jason half carrying him, they went on around the room. “Set up the portable fence. We’ll put him in there.”

  “You sending him home?”

  “I’d like to. See how well her friend does.”

  Amber stuck her head in the door. “Dr. G, you have a patient in One.”

  “Okay, thanks. Dog, cat?”

  “Nope, cockatiel. Pretty sick.”

  “Benny isn’t eating, huddles in the bottom of his cage,” said his owner after their greeting.

  Mr. and Mrs. Murphy, older folks; their cockatiel was older, too. Garret had seen the bird before when he’d ripped a toenail out and it wouldn’t quit bleeding. “When did this start?”

  “He wasn’t right yesterday, but overnight…”

  Garret picked up the gray bird with orange cheeks and examined him. Benny had tried biting him the other time, but not now. “Got to be an infection of some kind. Most likely digestive tract. I’ll give him the initial dose of antibiotics, and then show you how to treat him.” He held Benny in the palm of one hand, the little head trapped between his index and middle finger. “This way he can’t bite you. The syringes will be prefilled and you just insert the needle in one side of his breast or the other. Then use the eyedropper to give him this pink stuff down his throat.” He did both and looked at the older man and woman, who exchanged looks. “You can do it. Wrap him in a towel if it would be easier. I’ll warn you, if you don’t get the pink stuff down his throat and he shakes his head, you’ll both be covered in pink dots.”

  “We’ll manage,” the missus said. Her husband paused before nodding.

  “Benny should show signs of improvement by tomorrow. Keep his cage covered so he can sleep.” Garret patted the man’s shoulder. “You’ll do fine.”

  He saw a sick Siamese cat next.

  About half an hour later, he watched Tessa’s friend helping the dog out the door. Jason trailed them to assist getting Valiant up into the van. They assured him they had a ramp to put in place at home. He would see them again for X-rays in three weeks.

  This was one of those no-win situations, but they all agreed on one thing. They would do what was best for Valiant. That was one of the things he admired most about people who depended on service dogs; they
put the dog first, no matter how heartbreaking the separation was for the people.

  By the end of the day, he realized with relief that he had not given Dinah another thought. Sue came back in at seven. Sometime during the day, Amber had set up job-applicant interview appointments for Monday afternoon. Perhaps they would have help soon. The one in California would be done via a video conference call. Garret and Sue would do the interviews together.

  But on the drive home, Dinah invaded his mind. What was it about her that made him want to run the other way? And yet this morning he had agreed to join them for breakfast. He could have said no thanks, but he hadn’t.

  His menagerie met him at the door, at least the four-footed ones. The full-throated macaw call of “You’re late” made him shake his head as he bent to greet those at his feet. At least it wasn’t “Shut up” this time. And, yes, the macaw did indeed know the meanings of the rather extensive vocabulary he had acquired. “Shut up” was for any time he disagreed with the macaw in the other cage. Again, he used his words correctly.

  Since he had grabbed a sandwich on the way home, Garret fed the others and retreated to his studio. Dogs and cat followed and lined up by his chair.

  “Sorry, kids, not tonight. I am going to make some progress on these.”

  He erased his pencil drawing on the third canvas, drew the boy and his dog in front and a vague female form behind them. He didn’t need to know what Jonah’s mother looked like; he gave her raw umber hair with a touch of burnt sienna. Not to be confused with blonde. He was going for a feeling, not a likeness, at this point. How would he show love and concern? He drew Jonah kneeling and Mutt with her front feet on his chest. One little boy cared for by two angels. There would be no wings in the painting to denote angels, so what would convey that? He studied the concept. Painting the boy and the dog would be easy. A half-skewed Royals cap, a faded blue jacket. Worn but not ratty. Mutt’s ears, one at half mast, one erect, her tail whipping. He wished he had met Jonah’s mother. But would that have made a difference?

  He left that painting and studied the head shot of Dinah. The eyes were still not right. The jawline, the hair, were easy. He’d not done her mouth yet, either. He’d painted her brilliant fuchsia, purple, and cerulean blue scarf with varying shades of each. The white sweater set it off. Why did she always wear white?

  What did it matter to him? He ignored the ringing phone and let it go to the answering machine. “Pick up, Garret. I need to talk with you.”

  His mother. You do not say “Not now, Mom.” He did as told, laying the brushes carefully aside and sinking down into his chair. Might as well get comfortable; most conversations with his mother were not short.

  “So, what’s up? I’m coming Sunday. I said I would.”

  “I know. But since you are the medical one in our family, I wanted to let you know what is going on.”

  “Going on? Is this what you wanted to talk about Sunday?”

  “Yes. Your father insisted I call you.” He could hear something different in her voice. Please, God, don’t let her say cancer.

  “Tell him thank you.”

  “You tell him. He’s on the other phone.”

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “I told her this could wait until Sunday.”

  Garret wisely kept his mouth shut. His attention wandered back to the paintings. If he…

  “Garret?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, what do you think?”

  Had his attention gone away that long? “I’m sorry, I got distracted. Could you repeat that, please.”

  Her voice flinted. “I said, the doctor told me that I am diabetic. That is why I’ve been so tired and out of sorts.”

  Not cancer. A load he didn’t realize he’d been carrying flew out the window. “I was afraid you were going to say something much worse. At least this is treatable. Type II, I assume; adult onset, obviously.” He paused. “Does this run in our family?”

  “That’s what the doctor asked me. Not in my immediate family, but on your dad’s side your uncle Walt had it.”

  “Uncle Walt doesn’t count. Your relatives.”

  “None.” She paused. “I guess it’s just the shock of it. I’ve always been so healthy.”

  “So what do they say to do?”

  “I have to talk with a specialist; I have an appointment for next week. In the meantime, I need to start keeping track of my blood sugar. You know how I hate getting stuck.”

  “You do what you have to do.” Dad chimed in. “Making your finger bleed is no big deal.” Dad was into platitudes.

  “Not to you, maybe,” she snapped back. “It’s not your finger.”

  Garret smiled to himself. “So, have you gone online and looked up treatments, diets, life changes, things like that?” Garret’s phone blipped, letting him know another call had come in and switched to the answering machine. “Dad, you can go look it up, can’t you?”

  “I will. Your mother just wanted to hear your take on it.”

  “Don’t panic is first. This isn’t life threatening, at least not right now. And with all the new findings and things, I’m sure you’ll be able to control it with no problem. Mom, you’re made of tough stuff. You have more self-discipline than anyone I know. You’ll do fine.”

  “The doctor said that all of you should have this checked out. They call it the silent killer.”

  “I thought that was high blood pressure.”

  “They’re both silent, Garret.”

  Another call blipped in.

  “Mom, I need to check these calls in case there is an emergency. Let’s talk about this when I see you Sunday.”

  “Okay. If we learn anything, I’ll call you.”

  He clicked Off and stared at the ceiling, tapping his phone against his chin. He’d heard something lately about a new product. A picture of Dinah Taylor played on the screen of his mind. Wasn’t that what her company had come up with, something that could help diabetics? He’d have to look into that. He checked his messages, returned the call to Danny.

  Danny sounded enthusiastic. “The board okayed it as long as no finances are needed from the budget. I am ready to submit this to the city planners. Have you done any more on the money end?”

  “We have another two thousand dollars, and there are several who said they will pitch in more if we need it.”

  “Just so I can pay my crew.”

  “Thanks, Danny. We’ll have it covered.” He hung up and thought down the list of others he could ask. After all, that room was used for a lot more than their one class. He listened to the other message. That could wait.

  But when he went back to his painting, he had trouble concentrating. Nine o’clock. He could paint for another hour. He stood squinting at the third easel. He could fill in background or—he backed up. Sometimes seeing work from a distance helped. He did the same with the other two.

  This time of night was not a good time to get involved in a difficult part, like her eyes, or her whole face. The middle easel held the painting of Jonah holding Mutt and she licking his chin. Time to do the dog. He closed his eyes. Where, what, were her markings? More splotchy than delineated. He switched brushes to get more texture. Wiry hair. A smooth coat would be far easier. He’d have to look at her more closely when he took the stitches out. How much brown was there? Her eyes. More problems with eyes.

  He painted hair going every which way, knowing he’d put the white and light grays in later.

  Soandso and Sam, the sibling yellow Labs, got up stretching and went to stand at the sliding glass door. Clearly they were announcing it was time for an out and then bed. Not that they’d done anything more taxing than sleep, but then dogs were good at that. The cat sat in front of the glassed wall. Unless there was a bird out there or a squirrel, he had no desire to escape. Garret leaned down to pick up TC, who now decided that twining about his legs was more fun than staring out into the dark. As soon as Garret rubbed the cat’s neck and chin, his motor started and vibrated the who
le relaxed body. Had he been sitting reading, the cat would have been in his lap. Were he on the computer, TC would be sound asleep right beside the keyboard.

  TC, Tiger Cat or simply The Cat, depending on how much trouble he was causing, looked up, slightly disdainful. He would take his rightful, God-given spot on the bed. He knew when to ask for cuddling and when to claim it.

  The dogs reappeared from the dark, tongues lolling from their run around the perimeter. At least they’d not found something to bark at tonight. The neighbors were not excited when his dogs discovered a strange critter in their yard and tried to let the whole world know.

  When he gave in and put his tools away, the dogs raced ahead of him while the cat padded, straight-tailed, alongside. By the time he’d climbed the stairs, he realized he was indeed tired. After reading his devotional for the day and the accompanying Bible verses, he jotted a couple of notes in the notebook he kept beside the bed, checked that all three pets were in their assigned places, and turned out the lights.

  Passing through that perfect place for creative thinking, he jerked awake. His mother was diabetic. There could be serious consequences: blindness, kidney failure—what if she were unable to maintain healthy blood sugar levels? And, yes, in this day and age there were a lot of good products to assist, but…it was his mother. Mothers weren’t supposed to get sick. Well, not dads, either. And he had pretty much blown her off. God, what is the matter here? Mighty selfish, huh? He couldn’t call now, but he figured he’d better be taking flowers along on Sunday. Why had she called him and not Carolyne? While he was the eldest, his oldest sister was usually the confidante, or Becky, who was his younger sister by two years. But, as Dad said, he was the one with the medical background; even though his training was in the animal field, he had always been interested in all medical issues.