When It Rains: The bittersweet romance you won't want to miss

by Brooke Harris

  A barely noticeable gap appears in the hedging that grows neatly along the grass verge. We turn into the gap and onto a bumpy backroad. It’s narrow and full of potholes. My father curses the uneven terrain as his car groans and objects to the torture. I grip my belly and try to hold my baby steady inside me as we bounce around inside the car like popcorn on a hot pan.

  ‘Take a left here,’ my mother instructs.

  We take a sharp left onto an even narrower lane.

  ‘Are you sure this is the right way?’ My father shakes his head.

  ‘God, I hope so,’ my mother says.

  My father doesn’t say another word, but I see him place his hand on my mother’s knee and give a gentle squeeze as we drive on.

  ‘Ben and Nate are still behind us,’ Marcy announces.

  ‘Good,’ my mother and I echo together.

  ‘Oh, I recognise this tree.’ My mother points to an old oak tree with its bark split so badly in half one side drapes entirely over the road like an arch while the other side points tall and straight towards the sky. ‘There was a really bad storm one time when I was a kid. I was only about six or seven, but I remember this tree was hit by lightning. That’s why the bark is damaged the way it is, see?’

  ‘It looks pretty,’ I say.

  ‘S’pose it does,’ my mother says. ‘I never really thought about it like that. I used to use it as a landmark when I was little. I’d go exploring the fields with my friends, and I knew if I could see the wonky oak tree then I wouldn’t get lost. And after all these years, here it stands, making sure we don’t get lost.’

  ‘Is it much farther?’ I ask

  ‘There are a few more turns. The road gets a little narrower, so we’ll have to take it slow,’ my mother explains.

  ‘Narrower than this?’ Dad objects. ‘Jesus, Blair.’

  ‘George, please?’ Mom says, and my father doesn’t say another word.

  I try to pull my handbag up off the ground at my feet, but the strap is wedged under Nana’s oxygen cylinder, and I’m afraid to tug too hard in case I topple the cylinder over. Nana’s manuscript is in my handbag. Now might be a good time to read some more. The story might take everyone’s minds off our bumpy journey.

  I wriggle and squirm and try to release my bag.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Nana’s gentle voice rattles.

  ‘I’m fine, Nana.’ I smile warmly. ‘I’m just trying to fish your book out of my bag. I thought you might like to hear more of your story.’

  Nana shakes her head, and her eyes slowly flicker open. ‘Wait,’ she manages.

  My busy hands immediately still. ‘Okay, Nana,’ I say. ‘We’ll wait.’

  I try to catch Marcy’s eye, hoping she can reassure me at a glance that Nana has plenty of time to wait, but she’s distracted, staring out the window at the beauty of the untouched countryside. I don’t call to her and disturb her. Besides, anything she can say won’t change the inevitable anyway. Waiting is all I’ve done since I left my office and sat in my car two days ago to drive to Nana’s house. I waited to hear my brother’s voice tell me I wasn’t too late. I waited as Marcy tended to Nana in the familiarity and comfort of her own bed. I waited as doctors at the hospital spoke to my parents. And all along, all I was really waiting for was the time to say goodbye. I’ve been waiting to say the one word I never want to say. Yet there isn’t anything else to do except wait.

  ‘This is it. We’re here. We made it,’ Mom says, pointing out the window. ‘Look, there’s the gate.’

  A sudden burst of energy shoots through my body like an electric shock. My fingers tingle with excitement.

  ‘We made it,’ I blurt, surprising myself to hear the words I was only meant to think in my head burst past my lips with euphoric enthusiasm.

  ‘The road ends here,’ Mom says, ‘Can you see somewhere to pull in, George? We’ll have to walk from here.’

  I look out the window and all around. The road is barely as wide as the car. There isn’t any room to veer left or right, never mind find a spot to park. I wonder where Sketch used to park his bottle green Morris when he and Nana used to come here. I scan the hedging on both sides of the road. It’s wild, bristly, and completely overgrown. I guess unattended hedging grows a lot in fifty years.

  ‘Jesus, Blair. We can’t walk from here,’ Dad says, ‘Annie will freeze.’

  ‘I brought blankets,’ I say. ‘Furry ones.’

  ‘Holly, hop out and open that gate,’ Dad says. ‘I think it’s wide enough to drive through.’

  ‘You’re not going to drive in there, are you?’ Mom squeaks. ‘The road ends here. It’s just grass after this. Your car will be ruined. You love this car more than you love me.’

  She’s right. My father is obsessed with his flashy Mercedes. He sold his landscaping company six months ago and has been enjoying early retirement ever since. He bought my mother her first pair of Louboutins that she can’t walk in because she’s not used to stilettos, and he bought himself this overpriced car. The rest of the money will be spent on sensible stuff. A few grand each for Ben and me to put towards deposits on our first houses, and although no one has said anything, I think Nana’s medical bills are all taken care of.

  ‘It’s just a car.’ Dad twists around and looks at Nana with bright eyes and a huge smile. ‘Hold on tight, Annie. Let go make some memories.’

  I make sure Nana is sitting comfortably, supported by Marcy, before I open the door and hop out. I’m shocked by the cold outside the car, and my teeth instantly chatter. I curse myself for leaving Nana’s house in such a rush this morning that I forgot to grab my coat. I wrap my arms around myself and rub my hands up and down to keep warm as I march towards the gate. My mother’s shoes are a size too big for me, and they stick in the mud and almost fall off, but I wriggle my toes to hold them on as I begin to run.

  ‘It’s not locked,’ I shout back, unsure if they can hear me.

  It’s rusty. And the bolt doesn’t want to slide back. I pull the sleeve of my hoodie over my hand to give me a better grip, and I tug hard. It jerks back suddenly and pinches my fingers, but I ignore the pain and push on the gate. Bubbles of nervous excitement pop in my chest like fireworks as the gate swings back. I look up at the sky. Thick, grumpy clouds smear across the sky like a winter duvet and block out the sun. A sharp breeze whizzes past me, blowing my hair all over my face. I can’t see a thing. I reach up and grab fistfuls of my hair, parting in the middle and holding it by the side of my face with my hands so the wind can’t catch it again. I find Nate and Ben standing in front of me. Nate takes off his jacket and opens it out to me. I slip my arms in gratefully. His puffy jacket is way too big for me, but he tucks it around me like a blanket.

  The wind attacks him too. It finds its way between the buttons of his blue and white pinstripe shirt, inflating his clothes until he looks like a sumo wrestler. He must be freezing, but he doesn’t let the discomfort show on his face.

  ‘C’mon. Let’s follow them,’ Nate says.

  My father’s car brushes past us, bouncing like child’s toy car on a trampoline as it navigates its way through the gate and across the bumpy grass.

  ‘Are you just going to leave your car there?’ I ask, staring at Nate’s car sitting stationary at the very point where the road stops suddenly and meets mucky, long grass.

  ‘Yup.’ Nate nods.

  ‘Well, it’s not as if we’re going to block traffic now, is it?’ Ben says, trudging through long grass as if he’s wading out to sea.

  I look around at the beautiful landscape. Wild, overgrown hedging boxes in green fields that stretch on as far as the eye can see. Winter berries add a splash of colour, and I can understand why Sketch loved to paint here. It’s too beautiful not to capture. If I had time, I’d take out my phone and snap a photo for Facebook, but Dad’s car is getting away and Ben’s face is turning the same colour as the berries with anxiety.

  ‘Seriously,’ he grunts. ‘Let’s go.’

  Nate takes my hand in h
is, and the three of us run after my father’s car. Adrenaline drives energy into our tired bodies like a bunch of crazy kids.

  Apple trees soon come into view and take my breath away. The winter has stripped their branches bare of fruit and leaves, but they’re beautiful nonetheless as they stand tall, dotted around haphazardly like nature’s soldiers greeting us.

  Dad’s car comes to a stop where some trees huddle too close together for the car to pass by. Ben runs over to the car. I run in the opposite direction, running my hand over the bark of the first tree I encounter.

  ‘We need to find the tree with Nana and Sketch’s initials carved into it,’ I explain, frantically making my way to the next tree.

  Without me asking for help, Nate hurries to the nearest tree and runs around it, scanning the knobbly old bark for letters. We scan several trees without any luck. Finally, exhausted, I stop and look around. The orchard is dense with trees. There must be hundreds. It could take us hours to find the special tree. My heart sinks.

  ‘Holly, Holly,’ my mother calls, her voice carrying in the wind.

  I abandon my tree search and hurry toward the car; my size too big shoes make jogging through the long grass even more difficult.

  ‘Fetch the blankets, quickly,’ my mother instructs when I’m close.

  I do as I’m asked, my hands shaking with a mix of cold and adrenaline. I tuck an oversized fleece cream blanket against my chest and watch as my father scoops Nana out of the car as if she were a little girl. She winces as he lowers her into the waiting wheelchair, and I know that although she won’t say it and worry us, she’s in pain.

  My father slots the oxygen tank into a pocket on the back of the wheelchair as if Nana is a scuba diver getting ready for an adventure, and I wish she was.

  ‘Aren’t her meds working?’ I whisper to Marcy as I tuck the blanket around Nana, taking care not to press too firmly on her aching bones.

  ‘As best they can,’ Marcy whispers. ‘If she took anything stronger, she wouldn’t be alert enough to see the stars, and we wouldn’t want that.’

  I glance at the sky. The clouds are darkening and showing no sign of parting.

  ‘Don’t worry, Holly,’ Marcy says, reading me. ‘We’ve another little while before it’s dark, and maybe the wind will blow a gap in the clouds for us.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’ I sigh.

  ‘It’s this way,’ Nana says, calling us all to attention with her barely audible words.

  ‘What is, Annie?’ my father asks, staring into the depths of the orchard.

  The grass is long and the trees seem older and more stressed in that part of the orchard. Their branches tip towards the ground like arms exhausted from carrying apples for over half a century.

  ‘Her tree,’ I explain so Nana doesn’t have to. ‘It’s a special tree. Nana and Sketch carved their initials into it more than fifty years ago.’

  ‘Sketch who?’ my father says, and I realise he’s still not aware of Nana’s book.

  ‘Someone very special,’ I swoon. ‘I’ll explain everything later; we just really need to find this tree now.’

  My father looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. And maybe on some level, I have.

  ‘Okay,’ he says, crinkling his nose. ‘We’ve come this far; let’s go a little farther and find this special tree then.’

  He takes my mother’s hand in his, and I study the way he looks at her as if we would walk a thousand orchards if it could ease her pain. It’s the same way Nate looks at me a lot recently. Helpless and wishing there was something, anything he could do to make everything all better.

  ‘Do you know the way, Holly?’ Dad asks.

  ‘No,’ I admit. ‘But Nana does.’

  ‘I know this place like the back of my hand,’ Nana mumbles. ‘I couldn’t ever forget.’

  ‘Okay,’ my father says, grabbing the handles of Nana’s wheelchair and ploughing forward through the stubborn grass. ‘C’mon, everyone,’ he commands, smiling with uncertainty. ‘We have a tree to find.’

  Forty – One

  Nana directs us to the tree with as much ease as if she visits this place every day. And I wonder how many times she has sat in this very spot over the years. It’s exciting to finally be here, to finally share this place with her, but I wonder why she never brought us here before. All those family picnics we had growing up, she never once suggested we have a picnic here, and if this is so special to her, I don’t understand why she didn’t tell us about it sooner.

  Nightfall descends so subtly that when it becomes difficult to navigate where we are going, the sudden darkness takes us by surprise. Ben, Nate, and I use the torch app on our phones to light the way.

  ‘Here it is,’ Ben says, racing ahead of us to touch one of the most haggard trees.

  He runs his hand over the bark and shines the light of his phone onto the carved area. ‘A and S. September-third, nineteen sixty,’ he reads. ‘My God, Nana. Wow.’

  I’ve never thought of my brother as a romantic, but he’s practically gushing right now.

  ‘Is September-third a special date, Nana?’ I ask.

  My grandmother moves her head slowly up and down. ‘Very special,’ she replies with a warm smile.

  ‘Do you want to tell us about it?’ I encourage.

  Everyone waits with bated breath for her answer, but Nana doesn’t speak. She lifts her head towards the sky and sighs. The cloud cover is too thick to see the night sky. My heart sinks when I hear her disappointment.

  ‘I’m sorry, Nana,’ I say, ‘I know you wanted to see the stars.’

  ‘It’s okay, Holly,’ Nana wilts. ‘I see them in my mind every time I close my eyes.’

  ‘Here,’ Nate says, his voice cracking with the emotion he tries to hide. He turns off the torch app on his phone and passes his phone to me. ‘I downloaded an astrology app earlier.’

  I glance at the phone screen. It’s black except for tiny white dots scattered randomly all over. ‘Stars,’ I whisper, almost bursting into happy tears.

  ‘It’s an app for studying the constellations. I know it’s not as good as the real thing, Annie,’ Nate admits. ‘But I thought ...’ Nate runs an awkward hand through his hair. ‘Well, I thought you’d still be able to find the star you’re looking for here.’

  ‘Thank you, Nathan,’ Nana murmurs.

  Hot, salty tears trickle down my face as I look at Nate, so thankful he’s here. He smiles back at me, and I know there isn’t anywhere else he’d want to be right now. I crouch down on my hunkers and place Nate’s phone gently on Nana’s lap.

  ‘Can you see?’ I ask.

  ‘I can see.’ Nana smiles.

  My mother sniffles back heavy tears, and my father gathers her into his arms and kisses the top of my forehead.

  ‘When I was a little girl, you told me when it rains to look for rainbows and when it’s dark to look for stars. I’ve always looked, Mom. I’ve always looked,’ my mother says, heartbreak dripping off her words. ‘I’ll keep looking. I promise.’

  ‘We came here tonight to find one special tree,’ I say, my eyes scanning the carving again. ‘But is Nate right; are you looking for one special star too?’

  ‘He’s a clever boy.’ Nana nods as she runs her slender, shaking finger over the smooth phone screen. ‘It’s this one. This star right here.’

  ‘Why is it so special, Nana?’ Ben asks.

  ‘Because of him.’ Nana sighs, her eyes dancing with memories.

  ‘Sketch?’ I say.

  ‘Holly,’ Nana barely manages my name. ‘Could you read some more? We’re at the good bit.’

  I sniffle and nod. ‘Sure, Nana. Of course.’

  My mother reaches into the tray under Nana’s wheelchair and pulls out a couple of blankets and Nana’s manuscript. She spreads the blankets out to cover the cold ground next to Nana and she passes me the mound of paper as we all sit. Nate drapes his arm over my shoulder, and I tuck my hip next to his as I sit crossed-legged on the fluffy blanket. Our baby soft
ly kicks inside me as if letting me know he’s ready for Nana’s story too. I clear my throat with a gentle cough and begin.

  Forty – Two

  ‘Good morning, beautiful,’ Sketch says as I open the car door with trembling fingers. ‘I hope you slept well.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ I ask, ‘This is all very sudden and very odd. I’m not sure I’m even awake.’

  ‘You’re not dreaming, Annie. Don’t worry.’ Sketch smiles. ‘Hop in.’

  I glance at my mother standing behind me, and she nods her approval. ‘Go on, good girl.’

  ‘Are you coming?’ I falter. ‘Wherever it is that we’re going. Aren’t you coming with us?’ I’m thinking of my father sleeping inside the house. I don’t want to leave my mother here.

  Ma smiles. ‘I’ll meet you there.’

  ‘Meet us where? And how will you get there. On foot? Can someone please tell me what is happening now?’ I say firmly and losing patience as I stand with one foot in and the other out of the car.

  ‘Annie, take the next step.’ Ma sighs. ‘You deserve it.’

  I look in the car where Sketch is sitting confidently behind the steering wheel. He has one hand on the wheel and the other is reaching out to me. I twist my head over my shoulder and meet my mother’s bright eyes with mine. Her cardigan is wrapped around her with one side folded over the other as usual, but she stands taller and bolder than I’m used to. She actually looks happy.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere until I know you’ll be okay,’ I say.

  ‘I promise I will be fine.’ Ma nods. ‘I never break a promise, Annie.’

  I may not have any idea what’s going on or how Ma even knew Sketch would be waiting at the gate this morning, but one thing I do know is Sketch would never put her in danger. And Ma would absolutely never, ever break a promise.

  ‘I’ll be right behind you,’ Ma assures. ‘My ride will be along any minute.’

  I’m about to ask what ride, but I don’t waste my breath. I know neither of them will tell me and spoil whatever this big surprise is. I don’t like surprises because they usually end with a fist pounding into my face. But today is different. Suddenly, I’m so excited about what lies ahead I finally realise what a surprise is supposed to feel like.