Falling for Rain

by Gina Buonaguro

  “When the glazier replaced the broken glass,” she continued, “he used only old glass so it would match the original. It's like this,” she said, indicating the kitchen windows. “It's full of bubbles and imperfections and distorts everything you see through it. The effect is marvellous. When you walk through the apartment, the outside world seems to dance in time with your steps.

  “Each apartment is an entire floor. The first floor is just an entranceway. It’s like the others: surrounded with windows, but completely empty except for the elevators. I left the exterior fire escapes on the building, but I had the interior stairs removed and replaced by four elevators, so that each apartment has its own private one. The most striking feature of the entranceway is the black marble floor. It's original.”

  “I take it these aren't your average low‑rental apartments.”

  "They're condominiums, actually. I had them all sold before they were finished. Let's just say that they were a big success, and I live rent free. Graham Richards, the concert pianist, lives on the second floor. His apartment was the one featured in Architectural Digest. Since that article, I've designed two other similar buildings, one in Vancouver and one in Montreal."

  “They sound wonderful. And if you were to hire yourself to renovate this house, what would you do?"

  Emily, on a roll now, didn't stop to consider this could be a loaded question. She looked around her at the kitchen of the house she'd grown up in. She looked at it objectively, as if for the first time. She didn't look at it as the room her mother spent most of her adult life in, where she had cooked their meals, washed their dishes, cleaned their clothes in the old wringer washer, while Emily did her homework on this very table.

  Neither did she look at it as a room that she had hated after her mother was no longer there to fill it with love and cheer. Instead she looked at the walls with their peeling paper, the low ceiling, the tiny windows, the sloping floor. She envisioned the other cramped rooms, the narrow dark staircase, the tight halls, with a critical, professional eye.

  “I'd tear it down,” she said in all seriousness. The fatigue she had felt earlier was dissolving into a light‑headed drunkenness. She topped off their glasses even though Rain's was still full, and with her attention thus diverted, missed the unmistakable flash of anger in Rain's eyes. Had she caught that look, she wouldn't have continued so recklessly. “Why are you so adamant about staying in this place?”

  “Why are you so adamant I should leave?” His tone indicated their tentative truce had been broken, but Emily, judgement impaired by wine, continued to press him.

  “But you were so bright....”

  “Still am. Or at least I like to think I am.”

  “So why don't you do something with your life?”

  “Like become a rocket scientist?”

  “Well, maybe not a rocket scientist, but you could get a trade. How about mechanics? You've always been good at fixing trucks. Or a carpenter. You fixed up the cabin. You've always been pretty handy.”

  Rain took a careful sip of wine before setting the glass down on the table. “Thank you for your confidence in my abilities. Would it make a difference to you if I did?”

  Emily was confused. “Did what?”

  “I said,” he spoke very slowly and deliberately, “Would it make a difference to you if I was something other than a farmhand? Would you still try to kick me off your father's farm like a stray dog?”

  “That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?” she said defensively.

  “No, I think it’s a pretty fair assessment. I haven’t heard from you in years.”

  “That’s not true,” she protested. “I was at the funeral.”

  “I would hardly call your little appearance ‘being there.’ But let’s get back to now. You waltz in here like the lady of the manor and tell me, for all intents and purposes, to get lost.” He took a sip of wine. “You fired me, Emily, and kicked me out of the only home I’ve ever had.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Not only was it melodramatic, it was cruel.”

  She looked him in the eye. All the protective shields she had put around herself locked into position. She wasn’t going to let him get the better of her. “Okay, so I should have called first with a warning. But you knew a year ago I planned to sell. That’s pretty good warning in my books. You should have been prepared. I think you’ve been acting rather childishly about this.”

  He leaned forward in his chair, the front legs of the chair hitting the wooden floor with an angry thud. “Childish? Me? Who went berserk when she found out the place wasn’t hers to sell?”

  “I did not.”

  “You most certainly did.”

  “I didn’t!”

  Rain laughed softly and shook his head sadly at her. “I think I just proved my point.”

  “You bastard,” she snapped.

  “Yes, I am a bastard. Literally. That’s why I feel so strongly about my home.” He got up from the table and stood with his back to the stove, arms crossed over his chest. When he spoke again his voice was quiet but nonetheless commanding. He was serious, and he intended to be heard. “I don’t know where you got the idea that you’re my superior, Emily, but I do know it drives you crazy to discover that I’m not quite the fool you took me for. I’m not going to be pushed around by you.” He really did feel sorry for her. All that anger and resentment could only result in unhappiness. Nevertheless, he intended to tell her what he thought of her. He took a deep breath and continued with genuine pity in his voice. “I can't believe what you've become, Emily. The most generous thing I think of to call you right now is a snob. Your mother must by turning in her grave with shame.”

  Emily jumped up from the table. She tried to think of something to say but a blinding anger paralysed her voice. She didn’t know which was worse: his words or his tone. But how dare he talk to her like that, after all she had accomplished. And to use her mother against her! Once again she opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. She hated him at that moment but couldn’t find the words with which to lash back. Then, without even being conscious of doing so, she grabbed her glass of wine from the table and threw the contents in his direction.

  Rain reacted instinctively and leaned to one side. The wine landed against the hot wood stove, sizzled, and evaporated in a cloud of pungent steam.

  Rain laughed bitterly, pity replaced with contempt. “That veneer of sophistication is pretty thin, Em. Scratch it and you find under all the expensive clothes, makeup, and education that there's nothing but a country hick. What was that you said earlier about taking the girl out of the country?”

  “Get out,” Emily interrupted, choking out the words.

  “Sure.” He almost seemed to be enjoying her discomfort. He unhurriedly drank the last of his wine and put the glass down with a sigh. “Good wine, thank you,” he said with deliberate politeness before getting up and going to put on his coat and boots.

  Emily, disoriented by the ugly turn the evening had taken and already embarrassed by her theatrics, found herself reflexively mumbling, “You’re welcome.”

  “Too bad you didn't get to finish yours.”

  His sarcasm refuelled her anger. “Go away,” she said in low voice, her tone more characteristic of the city‑hardened Emily. It was a tone she had hoped would indicate that the conversation was over, but Rain only laughed quietly, contempt dissolving into tired sadness for what might have been, for what could be, if the real Emily wasn’t lost forever.

  “Do you remember, Emily?” He was beside her and she caught his scent, the masculine smell of soap and fresh-cut hay, of rain and the outdoors. She kept her face averted, hoping he did not hear the catch of her breath as the memory of being in his arms all those years ago became so vivid. She felt desire replace anger and possess her body in a raging fire.

  “Rain, rain, go away. Come again some other day,” he whispered, his lips so close to her ear she could feel his breath on her cheek. It was a
rhyme she had used to tease him when she was sure they would be in love forever. “It wasn't all that long ago, was it, Emily?” He reached up, brushed a wisp of hair from her eyes, and lightly stroked her cheek. Powerless against his touch, her eyes closed momentarily and an almost inaudible moan escaped her lips. But it was more than enough to give her away.

  “I thought so,” he whispered, withdrawing his hand. “You don't mean it any more now than you did then.” And not waiting for a reply, he left, the door clicking softly behind him.

  Chapter 3

  She’d had this nightmare before.

  She is running through rolling hills of ripe golden hay, a warm fall breeze fresh on her face, her long hair streaming behind her, her feet flying beneath her.

  She is so happy she cannot help but laugh out loud. Her happiness is a sense of contentment with her life and the world around her. Nothing could ever improve on this moment – the sky couldn't possibly be bluer, the sun brighter, the breeze sweeter.

  Of course it is love, and of course it is Rain she is in love with. She is amazed by this new emotion, amazed by its power over her body. She is running now because she cannot contain all the happiness sitting still.

  It was his kiss while they were swimming in the lake that had roused these feelings, had turned her from a girl to a woman in love. They had lingered by the lake until the late summer sun began to soften and fade. They had said little to each other; after knowing each other all their lives, a kiss had made them strangers.

  On the Sunday morning after the kiss, she had awoken with his name on her lips, her body dizzy with desire. She pulled on a pair of jeans and ran to the barn. She saw hay bales dropping from a chute onto the barn floor and knew that he would be in the loft. He heard her feet on the stairs and went to meet her, pulling her into his arms and kissing her mouth with a desire that matched her own.

  And on the Monday, the day seemed to be played in slow motion. Her teachers droned, the clock seemed to stand still. Finally it was over, and here she was, flying through the fields, to where she knew he would be cutting late hay.

  She relived this happiness every time she had this dream. Felt the warmth of the summer sun on her skin and hair, tasted those sweet kisses. But she also relived what came next – the horror of the discovery.

  She can see the whole field from here. It is small and slopes from where she stands at the crest of the hill, to the lake, bordered on her right and left by the maples that give the farm its name.

  The tractor is at the far end of the field. It is on its side, wheels turning uselessly in the air. She runs down the hill, euphoria giving way to terror, knowing that from that moment, nothing will ever be the same again.

  She forced herself awake moments before reaching the tractor and seeing her mother’s body pinned beneath its weight.

  She had never told anyone her first thoughts on finding her mother. She was too ashamed to admit that it was relief. Relief that it was her mother who was dead and not Rain.

  Relief soon gave way to horror and grief, but she was unable to forgive herself her initial reaction. Feeling unworthy of love, she cut off those who loved her. She came to hate the farm she once adored, leaving as soon as she was finished school.

  She knew it wasn’t right to be this angry, this bitter, to keep punishing herself all these years later. But she was too afraid to feel anything else; better to be angry than to risk pain. But in her drive to avoid further hurt, what else was she missing? She didn’t think she cared until now, but seeing Rain again had made her realize that maybe she was missing a lot.

  She looked at her alarm clock. 8 a.m. She sat up in bed and held her head in her hands for a few minutes. The dream, as always, had left her feeling as if she’d been up all night drinking whiskey: tired, depressed, and with a throbbing headache. Better to have stayed up all night; she’d have felt more rested. Summoning all her strength, she pushed back the covers and swung her feet onto the floor. But just as she was about to stand up, her cell phone rang.

  She had left her phone turned on the night before in the hopes that Rain would call. He hadn’t, of course. Now she picked it up from the nightstand and looked at the display. Damn, she thought. It was Jonathon. She thought of ignoring the call but decided against it. She’d have to talk to him at some point. Might as well get it over with.

  “Hello, it’s me,” she said resignedly.

  "You sound horrible, baby. Did I wake you?" Emily cringed at his voice and fought the urge to hang up. "Are you there?" he said impatiently.

  "Yes.”

  "Don't sound so excited."

  "Sorry. I just woke up. It was a long day yesterday, and I didn’t sleep very well.” The room was cold, and she reached for her dressing gown at the foot of the bed, pulling it on over her flimsy silk nightdress.

  "I hope that means it's all settled."

  "Not exactly,” she said, pulling on her socks, the phone pressed between her cheek and shoulder. Jonathon was going to be furious. Funny how she didn’t really care. “A will has emerged that leaves half to Ray Storm-"

  "Damn,” he interrupted angrily. “We'll just have to dispute it." He sounded confident of success.

  Emily straightened up and switched the phone to her other ear. "No good. The lawyer said he'll get half of it anyway."

  "Why?"

  "Because he was like a son to my father," she said as though that explained everything.

  "What?" Jonathon almost shouted.

  "I'm just quoting the lawyer," she said with irritation as she got up and went to the window. Condensation had gathered on the inside of the glass, clouding the view. She wiped it away with her sleeve and peered through the streaky glass. Another grey day. She wondered what Rain was doing at that moment.

  "Sounds to me like you believe him."

  Emily was desperate for the conversation to end. She gathered all her energy and, in her best Toronto business tone, attempted to conclude the call. “Trust me on this one. I’ll take care of it, and I’ll tell you about it when I get back.”

  It didn’t work. "Like hell you will," he shot back. Emily recognized the cold edge his voice got whenever he was in danger of being thwarted. But he had never used this tone with her before. She said nothing, and after a pause she heard him sigh. He went from angry to cajoling. "I'm sorry, baby. You know how I get over a big deal. Actually, I miss you. I wish I was curled up with you in front of a nice big fireplace right now. I can’t get down today but I’ll come first thing tomorrow. Have you got a fireplace in your hotel room?”

  "No," she said. This wasn't the time to tell him she was at the farm. She could just imagine his reaction.

  "Well, tomorrow night, we'll get one that does and celebrate our victory with a bottle of champagne. Okay?"

  "Okay," she agreed quietly. There was no point in saying no. He’d come anyway. And right now she’d agree to anything so long as it would end this call.

  "I'll meet you at the farm tomorrow. I wouldn't mind seeing it with my own eyes, and this Storm character too. If I leave here at six, I should get there around nine.”

  "Fine. See you then,” she said, trying not to let her voice betray her impatience.

  "That's my girl. Bye.”

  She wanted to tell him not to call her “his girl,” but, deciding there was little point, instead murmured goodbye and hung up. Gratefully, she put the phone back on the night stand and went to her dresser in search of something suitable for a walk in the woods. She decided on a pair of jeans and a deep green wool sweater with a fair isle design. She made the bed and propped the one-eyed teddy bear against the pillow. This teddy bear had kept the monsters away when she was a child. Maybe it could do the same for her now. Me and Teddy against the world, she thought with a wry smile.

  After putting the coffee on, she went to the bathroom to brush her teeth and hair. She caught sight of herself in the mirror in the deep green sweater. It looked good on her, she decided, though she could imagine what Jonathon would think. Jona
thon wouldn’t be caught dead in anything that didn’t have an exclusive designer label. He preferred the label stitched to the front so that no one could miss it.

  The last thing she needed right now was for Jonathon to get involved in the farm. If it was war now, the presence of Jonathon would raise the level of combat to apocalyptic proportions.

  When Jonathon decided he wanted something, he didn’t quit until it was his. It was his ruthlessness in business matters that had brought them together in the first place. After seeing him in action, Emily decided she wanted him on her side. Before long their professional relationship became personal. It was not a relationship based on love or any other romantic notion. It was based on convenience. They did business together and, when business included a social function, they went as dates. Occasionally they had sex, usually after closing a big deal. It was precisely because the relationship was loveless that it suited Emily just fine. If you love someone, you're just setting yourself up to have your heart broken, she thought. She wasn't about to let that happen.

  The farm was one of their deals. He had a resort chain that was looking to build a convention centre and golf course in the area. She had a large parcel of land with a lake. They stood to make a lot of money out of the deal, but in this particular case Emily wasn't just interested in the money. She wanted the farm gone. Rain hadn't been too far off the mark when he suggested she was trying to exorcise the past. Until last night, she had thought selling the farm would free her from the past, but her reaction to Rain’s touch showed her how much it – and he – still had a hold on her. And Rain knew it too. With one little moan, she had given herself away.

  She went to the kitchen, poured herself a cup of coffee, and stood at the window. Rain was in the driveway, his head under the hood of the old pickup truck. She felt her heart lurch dangerously in her chest at the sight of him.