Lullaby for the Rain Girl

by Christopher Conlon

  But as the sun dropped low in the sky and the apartment came to be infused with a deep rosy glow, my worries became academic. The phone rang; it was the front desk informing me I had a visitor and asking should he send her up? Yes, yes.

  “She’s here, kiddo,” I said. Rae looked at me without expression. I heard the elevator chuffing its way toward us, heard its door swish open. Muffled footsteps. Finally there was a knock.

  “Well, there you are!” I cried cheerily as I let her in. “Let me have your coat.”

  “Hi, Ben! Merry Christmas!” Sherry grinned, slipping off her winter things. She was dressed more casually than she’d been the other night: a peach-colored blouse, tan slacks.

  “Well, thanks. You too. Honey?” I looked toward Rae. “This is Sherry, honey. My old friend, the one I told you about. Sherry, this is my daughter Rae.”

  “Hi, Rae.” She smiled pleasantly.

  “’lo.” Rae did not rise from the sofa, instead scowling and burying herself in her book.

  Sherry and I exchanged a glance. “I brought you something, Ben,” she said, reaching into her bag and withdrawing a bottle of wine. “Season’s greetings.”

  “Hey, thanks.”

  “I, um—I brought something for Rae too.”

  “Hear that, honey? C’mere. Sherry has something for you. A Christmas present?”

  “Just a little one,” Sherry said.

  Rae got up lethargically, but no more so than many teenage girls would under the circumstances. Still smiling, Sherry said, “I didn’t know what you might like, Rae, but your dad said you’re a reader. I think that’s great. So am I.” She handed Rae a little envelope.

  “Should I open it now?” Rae asked, looking from one to the other of us.

  “Why sure, honey,” I said. “Go ahead.”

  She did. It was a festive-looking gift card from one of the local bookstore chains.

  “Hey, that’s great,” I said. “We can go there tomorrow, get you some more stuff to read. Okay, kiddo?”

  “Okay,” she said, not notably enthused.

  “What do you say to Sherry, honey?”

  She looked at Sherry blankly for a moment, then: “Oh. Thank you.”

  “It’s okay,” she replied. “Pick out something good, okay?”

  Rae looked to me, as if unsure how to respond. I’d seen Rae happy, I’d seen her miserable; but I’d never seen her perplexed. It was as if Sherry were speaking a foreign language of which Rae had mastered only a few words. But then again, I wondered, how many social situations like this had Rae ever found herself in? This was entirely new to her. When I realized it, I pulled her close to me and tousled her hair playfully. She squirmed and laughed.

  “We will,” I said. “Let’s sit down, Sherry. C’mon.” I play-pulled Rae along to the sofa. Sherry sat in the old armchair facing us.

  We talked for a long while of light things, superficial things. Safe things. How Sherry liked D.C. Her job. Oakland. My job. Living in Dupont Circle. We had a bit of wine—Rae had soda—and the conversation, while sometimes awkward, never stopped. Rae, anxious or just bored, started being silly after a while—giggling, pulling at my hair, biting my arm, rolling across my lap. Yet I wasn’t going to tell her to stop. She needed to know I was paying attention to her. I realized that. And she was quiet about it, anyway—quietly childish. It was all right. Sherry didn’t bat an eye. When it came time to order dinner, Rae enthusiastically brought the Chinese menu from where it was held on the refrigerator door by a magnet, and dropped down next to me discussing items as if Sherry weren’t there.

  “I like sesame beef,” she said, circling it with a pencil. “What do you want, Dad?”

  “Let’s ask Sherry what she wants, honey.”

  “Oh, anything’s good with me,” Sherry said. “Sesame beef’s great. Maybe some fried rice?”

  We made the selections. Rae volunteered to do the ordering and scampered to the phone with my credit card.

  While she was making the call, Sherry asked quietly, “How old did you say she is, Ben?”

  “She’s sixteen.” I wondered if Sherry would do the math in her head.

  “Really? She looks young.”

  “I know. She’s very small for her age.”

  “Seems sweet.”

  “She is. You—you just have to be a little patient. It’s hard for her.”

  “I understand, Ben. You’re the man in her life. She feels protective.”

  “Yeah. That’s it.”

  She smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s fine.”

  “I’m glad you came, Sherry. I really am.”

  “I am too, Ben.”

  I watched her as we discussed the pros and cons of various Chinese dishes. Sometimes, from certain angles, Sherry seemed all but unrecognizable. Wrinkles had carved themselves around her eyes and at the edges of her lips. Her hair was totally different. She was heavier. And yet, she could turn her head another way and suddenly it was as if no time at all had elapsed: it was the late ’70s, early ’80s again, and we were George and Mary with our futures laid out glitteringly before us.

  When she came back from the phone Rae returned my card to me, then dropped herself in my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck. “Thirty minutes,” she said, kissing my temple.

  “Great, honey.”

  She nuzzled me as Sherry and I kept up a light conversation. I was relieved when the food came; it got us to the table and put some distance between me and what Sherry might have felt, despite her sympathy, to be my overly affectionate daughter. Rae sucked in her chow mein noodles one at a time like a little girl, giggling while we talked. She speared pieces of meat with her fork and pushed them rapidly around her plate, making race-car noises. Finally she started flicking rice kernels at me with her finger.

  “Rae, cut it out!” I said, turning to her. “You’re being rude. Now stop it.”

  She looked at me, eyes wide with feigned innocence. Then she slammed her fist down on her plate, sending rice and meat pieces flying. She jumped up from her chair, knocking it backwards, and stormed off to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

  I looked sheepishly at my dinner guest. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Ben,” she answered, picking a bit of rice off her wrist. Luckily that was all that had hit her. “Should I go?”

  I looked toward the bathroom, annoyed. “I’d rather you didn’t,” I said. “She—Rae has got to learn how to act around other people. If you leave, then it’ll just be as if...she won the battle. You know? And—and I wish you’d stay, Sherry. For a while. Just for talk. Rae will be okay. She’ll calm down.” But I wasn’t certain of that.

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Definitely. Let me clean up here.”

  She smiled. “I’ll help.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Oh, shut up. How many times have we done the dishes together, Ben?”

  I smiled. “Thousands, I guess.”

  “So, there you go.” She picked things up, rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher while I took paper towels and cleaned up Rae’s mess. It wasn’t really bad, just some splattered sauce on the table and some rice bits on the wall (as well as a few on my shirt). Still, I felt my face redden with anger and embarrassment. Here I was, trying to show my old flame what a wonderful life I was leading, and my way-too-old-for-this-kind-of-nonsense daughter throws a food-flung temper tantrum. Jesus Christ.

  This was the first time, I realized, that I’d ever been mad at Rae—really mad. I understood, I thought, her clinging to me, her fear of others dividing my time and attention. But, damn it, this was the real world. We couldn’t live on our own on some faraway island. She was going to have to understand that. All the love I could give her wouldn’t keep reality from closing in on us.

  At some point in our cleaning, I noticed that the bathroom door had been opened and my bedroom door closed. She’d gone to lie down on my bed, or else to play around with the computer. Good.

 
; Sherry and I sat at the dining table again, half a glass of wine in each of our glasses. I think we instinctively chose the table because it was farther from Rae and we could talk a bit more easily.

  “So,” I said finally, “here it is. My life.”

  “It’s wonderful, Ben.”

  “Exploding daughter and all?”

  She smiled wanly. “I’d love to have an exploding daughter.”

  “Why don’t you, Sherry? Well, not necessarily exploding, but...?”

  She shrugged. “Never met the right guy, I guess.”

  “Never married?”

  “No. Came close, a couple of times.”

  “That’s a shame. I mean, if that’s what you wanted.”

  “Yeah, well, so.” She smiled. “You’ve really done well for yourself. You have a great life, Ben.”

  I laughed. “In some ways, yeah. But do you know where I was last week, for five days?”

  “Where?”

  “In the hospital.”

  “Oh, no. Why?”

  “I had a heart attack.”

  Her eyes widened in a way I remembered very clearly. “A heart attack? Oh my God, Ben. Are you kidding me?”

  “I’m afraid not. It was a mild one, so Dr. Nguyen says. But I’m on all kinds of medications now. An exercise routine. Rae helps me with that every morning.” I felt my face redden again. “She really is a good kid.”

  “I know she is, Ben. Stop it. But a heart attack? You’re my age. Thirty-six. How can you have had a heart attack?”

  “Well, you’d have to ask the heart attack. But, well, hell, look at me. I’m fat. I’m totally out of shape. I’ve smoked all these years—haven’t had one in a while, though. Not since the heart attack, for sure. But I’ve never really quit.”

  “Those Camel Filters.” She shook her head.

  “Do you? Smoke?”

  “Oh, no. Not since we were together.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Ben, I’m so sorry. About your health problems.”

  “Well, the doctor says I’ll be fine if I do what she says. It was like a...a warning shot. A down payment for something much bigger down the road, if I don’t change things.”

  “So change them.” It was an order.

  I smiled. “I’m trying.”

  We sat in what seemed a comfortable silence for a moment.

  “So how do you live, Sherry? House? Apartment?”

  “Condo. Bought it a few years ago. It’s in a neighborhood called Lakeshore. Just off Lake Merritt. Pretty nice. But I’m not home that much.”

  “Work keep you moving?”

  “Yeah, actually. But it’s all right. I like to stay busy.”

  We fell silent again. We sipped our wine.

  “Sounds like your life’s worked out pretty well,” I offered.

  “Yeah.” She shrugged. “I do all right.”

  I heard the sound of rustling bed sheets in the other room. I could hear Rae crying.

  “I should go, Ben,” she said, standing.

  “Sure?” I stood with her. “There’s no rush.”

  “No, it’s time for me to go. Dinner was lovely.”

  “Good to hear, since some of it ended up on you.”

  She smiled. “I’m tough.”

  “I know. I’m sorry about...” I nodded toward the bedroom.

  “I told you, Ben, don’t worry about it. Teenage girls can be tough. I was one once, you know.”

  I helped her on with her coat. “The funny thing is, she’s usually an angel. I’ve never seen her act like this.”

  “She’s protecting her territory.”

  “I guess.” I opened the door. “I’ll walk you back to the Metro. Give me a second to get my jacket.”

  “No, Ben, don’t. I can find it. Take care of her.”

  “I...” Standing there, I didn’t know what I felt. I was almost blind with rage at Rae’s behavior. Yet, moving into the corridor with this figure of my distant past, I was overcome with something...nostalgia? affection? tenderness? “How much—longer? Will you be in town?”

  “My ticket says I fly on Thursday.”

  “Well, then, you’ve got—what? Three, four days. Planning to see the sights?”

  “Yeah. I want to.”

  “I’m a pretty good tour guide,” I suggested. “Lived here a long time now.”

  She smiled. “That would be great. Sure.”

  “I’ll get Rae calmed down. Or we can—” I hesitated—“we can just go, the two of us.”

  “Either way, Ben. I’d love that.”

  I suddenly realized we’d begun to speak in low tones, hardly more than whispers.

  “Tomorrow, maybe?”

  “Sure. Is it okay, with your—your heart?”

  “Oh, yeah. The more exercise I get—‘moderate exercise,’ that’s the ticket—the better. I’m fine. Really.”

  “Okay. Great.”

  “It’ll be the day after Christmas...things should be open. The Washington Monument, Lincoln Memorial, all the museums. There’s no end to, you know, touristy stuff. But it’s worth seeing.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Yeah, it can be...” But words seemed to leave me then.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s...”

  We embraced then, very suddenly. I don’t even know who moved first. But all at once there we were, in each other’s arms. It wasn’t a particularly intimate embrace, what with her bulky coat shrouding her. In fact, it was downright awkward. We found ourselves laughing.

  “Oh my God, Ben,” she said, stepping away.

  “Memory Lane.”

  “That’s for sure. Look, I’d better get going.”

  “Okay. I’ll—can I call you tomorrow?”

  She smiled. “You’d better.”

  Within the apartment, my phone decided to take that moment to ring.

  “Oops,” she said. “You better get that. Thank you for dinner, Ben.” She squeezed my arm and headed toward the elevator.

  “Goodnight,” I called after her.

  I stepped back into the apartment, grabbed the phone on the fourth ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, little brother. Merry Christmas.”

  “Alice. How are things?”

  “Not too good, I’m afraid. This has been a Christmas like no other.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “We put Dad in a hospital.”

  “Did something happen?”

  “Yes. Something happened. I can’t tell you about it on the phone.”

  “I...Well, is everybody all right?”

  “Yes. We’re okay. Dad’s okay, too. He just won’t be living with us anymore. Can you go see him?”

  “Well—sure, of course. Where?” She named it—a hospital and home for the elderly in Northern Virginia. “Yeah, of course I’ll visit him. But...”

  “Can you stop by here first, Ben? I can drive you there. It’s not far. But I want to talk to you.”

  “Sure. I will. In the morning?”

  “Yes.”

  I thought about Sherry, decided we could always see each other in the afternoon. This was obviously a crisis. “I’ll Metro down there.”

  “Can you be at the station at nine? I’ll meet you.”

  “Sure. I’m sorry this has happened, Sis. And on Christmas, too.”

  “So am I. I hope you had a merry one, anyway.”

  Good Lord. I suddenly remembered that Alice didn’t know anything about Rae, about my heart attack, or about Sherry O’Shea’s reappearance in my life. Absolutely nothing.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Not too eventful.”

  “Well—tomorrow morning? You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. I’ll be there. Take care, Sis.”

  “Thanks, Ben. Bye.”

  I hung up, my mind swirling.

  It took me a moment to refocus and realize that Rae was still sobbing in the other room.

  I stepped in. The lights were off. She was huddled in my
bed, fetus-style, weeping and shivering.

  I sat beside her on the bed, stroked her shoulder gently. “Rae,” I whispered. “Rae, honey, don’t. Don’t do this.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “Shh.” I touched her hair. “It’s all right, honey. Calm down.”

  It was too dark to see clearly, but when she looked up at me her tear-dampened eyes seemed big, too big, her cheeks shriveled and sunken-in.

  “Don’t you understand?” she cried, her voice small, strangled. “You called me here. I’m only here because of you. Only you can keep me here.”

  “I love you, sweetheart. You know that.”

  “You have to love me more.”

  “I—honey, I don’t know how to love you any more than I already do.” I wasn’t sure anymore if there was sufficient love in my bruised and battered heart, or in the world’s, to satisfy her need, her terrible need.

  “Shhh,” I repeated, pulling her to me, holding her. “Try to calm down, Rae. Try to sleep.” The slow motion of my hand stroking her hair seemed to pacify her a little. Her breathing slowed. Her sobs lessened.

  Then, suddenly, absurdly, I found myself whisper-singing to her—a lullaby, of all things. I’d made no conscious decision about it. It just came out of me, very quietly, naturally, soothingly. I’d never sung a lullaby to anyone in my life. It seemed to escape from me almost beyond my own will. I knew the song, remembered it as someone else had sung it to me over thirty years before.

  Rock-a-bye baby, on the tree top,

  When the wind blows, the cradle will rock,

  When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall,

  And down will come baby, cradle and all.

  I cradled my daughter in my arms. At last she slept. We stayed like that all night.

  8

  “We didn’t have any choice, Ben,” my sister said.

  “I’m sure you didn’t, Sis. I saw how he was.” We were in her gargantuan, tank-like Hummer, rolling down Arlington Boulevard. Though it had only been nine or ten days, it felt like an eternity since I’d seen Alice. Her hair was loose, spilling in blonde waves over her lavender sweater. She wore blue jeans and boots and looked very tired. “So what exactly happened?”

  She sighed. “He was—standing at the doorway of Mindy’s room, looking at her. She said something like, ‘What do you want, Grandpa?’ And he said he wanted to...Well. You can imagine.”