Getting Caught in the Rain

by Barron, Melinda

  “Vintage clothing is quite popular nowadays,” Rachel said. “Especially the dresses from the twenties and thirties.”

  “Those belonged to my mother,” Mrs. Ping said. “When I think of that I feel a little guilty about not giving more to my children. But they’ll get the money, and that’s what they want the most.”

  “I’m sorry for that,” Rachel said.

  “It’s just a fact of life, dear,” Mrs. Ping said. “Now, what else do we need to look at?”

  “I think that’s about it,” Rachel said, and it was a good thing. Her stomach had been rumbling for the last half hour. It was time to head home, eat lunch, and then decide what needed to be done next.

  “We’ll be here early Saturday morning,” Rachel said. She was about to remind her client that they wouldn’t start the Sunday sale until one, but the ringing of the doorbell broke her concentration.

  “That’s odd,” Mrs. Ping said. “I hardly ever get visitors.”

  Rachel stayed in the dining room and looked over the teacups. All the items in the house were tagged and ready to be sold. Rachel wondered what it would feel like to watch your life be auctioned off. Not that Rachel had that many belongings. Photographs and clothing filled her house. She didn’t collect anything, so there was nothing gathering dust. Maybe she should start, so that when it came time for her life to end there would be something left of her.

  Her ears perked up when she heard Dex’s voice. At least she was pretty sure it was his voice. Maybe her imagination was playing tricks on her and it was one of Mrs. Ping’s sons.

  But when Mrs. Ping came into the room, giggling like a schoolgirl, Rachel saw Dex behind her.

  “Your young man is here,” Mrs. Ping said.

  Rachel was going to correct her, but decided she didn’t know exactly what she would say by way of explanation. Mrs. Ping didn’t need to hear the entire saga, that didn’t really have a proper ending.

  “Hello.” Even she could hear the question, “What are you doing here?” in her voice.

  “Nina told me you might be here,” Dex said. “I called the office looking for you.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Well, we’re about done here and I was going to go have some lunch.”

  “You two have fun,” Mrs. Ping said. “I’ll see you Saturday morning, Rachel.”

  Without waiting for an answer she started up the stairs.

  “Is something wrong?” Rachel asked when she was gone.

  “I need your help with something,” he said. He looked haggard, as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He opened his mouth and closed it again without saying a word.

  “You said everything was taken care of,” she said. “Why do you look as if someone is about to drive a stake through your heart?”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of folded paper. After she had it in her hands, Rachel unfolded it and read the three paragraphs.

  “This is it? This is the obituary Agatha wrote for herself?”

  He shrugged and she read it out loud.

  “Agatha Bea Bales, (insert age here) departed this life on (insert date here). She goes to be with her parents, Marie and Jonathan Bales, and her…” Rachel stopped reading and gulped before she continued, “her son, Brett.” She lifted her gaze to Dex. “Agatha had a son?”

  “Something I didn’t know about,” he said. “When I asked my Dad about it, he and Mom started shouting at each other. They went outside when I tried to insert myself into the argument. I picked up the paper and left.”

  “Huh,” Rachel said before she continued, “Agatha received her education degree at Texas Tech University in Lubbock. She taught grade school in Amarillo, Texas, for more than forty years. She will be cremated. Services will be held at (insert date here) at Williams Funeral Home. Survivors include her brother Dale and his wife, Jessica; and her nephew Dex and his… his…”

  Rachel stopped reading once more. “His wife, Rachel?”

  “I guess she wrote it when we were still together,” he said.

  “But we were never married,” she said.

  “She must have thought we would be before long.”

  Rachel refolded the paper and handed it back to Dex. “This is so cut and dried. It will never do. I mean, insert date here? It’s like she used a form obituary.”

  “Well, she couldn’t know the dates when she wrote it, but you’re right,” he said. “I was hoping you would help me buff it up.”

  Rachel laughed. “I thought I knew Agatha, but I never knew she had a son.”

  “Me, either,” he said. “Listen, I have until tomorrow at noon to turn this in to the funeral home. We obviously need to make it reflect Agatha’s life, reflect the wonderful woman she was.”

  “Obviously.” Rachel said.

  “Then you’ll help me?”

  “Yes,” Rachel said. “I’m going home to fix lunch. Go buy some sodas and meet me there.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” he said.

  It was only when she was in her car and headed toward her downtown loft that she realized he hadn’t asked where she lived now. She had moved a year ago to the newly renovated lofts, wanting to be closer to where her warehouse was located on Sixth Street.

  She parked in her spot, and then pulled out her phone. She quickly sent him a text with her address. It didn’t take long before he replied, “I know.”

  Her head jerked back and she stared at the screen. He knew? How had he known? Had Agatha told him? She’d brought Agatha here for dinner a month after she’d moved in. Agatha had laughed about how modern the building was, and wondered how she was going to decorate.

  Rachel had gone overboard with Santa Fe style, with paintings by O’Keeffe and several other Southwestern artists, along with photographs she’d taken of bison at local state parks. She thought about those now as she let herself into the building and made for her door.

  Should she take them down? What would Dex think when he saw them? Would he think she had taken them only because she was thinking of him at the time? Had that been the reason? Bison had always fascinated Dex. He’d told her facts about them when they were kids, collected stuffed animals and read more books on the subject than Rachel thought had been published.

  Now that he was about to visit her new home for the first time she thought about redecorating because she didn’t want him to think she had him in mind when she bought art, or took photos? She opened her door and went inside. Once the lights were on, she looked around the open space, thinking how much she’d loved it when she’d rented it, and now that Dex was about to arrive she wondered how he would view it.

  “Stop it,” she said. “He has Carrie now. He just wants you to help him with his aunt’s obituary. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass anymore. He’s moved on.”

  The thought made her shiver, and made her heart seize, because, truthfully, she hadn’t moved on. She hadn’t had a date in the years since they’d been apart. Friends had tried to set her up, but she hadn’t taken the bait. She’d gone to group dinners, true, but she’d let the man who’d been selected for her know that she was more interested in running her business than she was in having a love life.

  Sometimes she felt as if she were rather bitchy about it. They were all nice, which told her, without a doubt, that they were not the ones for her. If they allowed her to be a brat, she couldn’t see herself dating them.

  Dex had never let her get away with what he called her obnoxious behavior. Sometimes, when she felt the need of an orgasm, she would close her eyes and remember the first time he’d spanked her. She’d fought it, her arms and legs flaying out as she’d tried to get away from him. They hadn’t had sex that time. Instead he’d made her stand in a corner, pressing up against her and whispering in her ear, his breath tickling her neck as he held her in place.

  “You’re a bad girl,” he said. “And bad girls get punished.”

  It had been months after that
before she’d figured out that good girls get punished, too, in a way that made her come so hard she thought the top of her head would lift off her body.

  Then there was the first time he’d tied her to the bed, face down. That spanking had produced enough stimulation on her clit, as she’d rubbed herself against the pillow he’d put under her, that her body had shaken with fervor and she was sure her screams could be heard in neighboring counties.

  That had been in Buffalo Gap, a place he now shared with Carrie. She wanted to kick herself for letting their relationship die, not tending it as relationships should be tended, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. She just let it wallow like it was a pig in the mud.

  Tears stung her eyes, and for a moment she thought she would drop to the floor and cry. But then pounded her fist on the table, the pain shooting up her arm and to her shoulder. It pulled her out of her stupor and she took several deep breaths.

  “Get hold of yourself,” she said. She had to get her butt in gear and gather ingredients for sandwiches: hoagie rolls which she’d bought just a few days before, lunch meats, cheese, pickles, mayo, and mustard. When Dex arrived she would ask him if that was enough, of if he wanted anything else to add to his sandwich.

  She didn’t have to wait long. The ringing of the outside bell made her jump, and she took several calming breaths before she clicked the door open for him. It wasn’t hard to find her door, and sure enough he knocked on it moments later.

  When he stepped inside, she stepped back so she could assess his reaction. He had two plastic sacks in one hand and a drink carrier in the other.

  “How did you knock on the door?” she asked.

  He wiggled his foot and she laughed softly. “You always were inventive.”

  “Necessity is the mother of invention,” he said. He offered her the drink carrier and she took it.

  “What’s in the bags?”

  “Sandwiches, chips, cookies, pastries, chocolate bars, and jellybeans.” He shrugged. “I like sugar when I’m stressed.”

  “I remember that,” she said. “But I have sandwich stuff.”

  “We can have both,” he said. He pushed his way past her and put the bags on the table. When his hands were free, he stepped into the living area. Since the loft was one room, with a bathroom downstairs, and one upstairs with the bedroom, he didn’t have far to step.

  It didn’t take him long to pronounce his opinion. “When I saw this place before, after Agatha told me where you’d moved, I didn’t think it fit you; it was too modern. But the way you’ve decorated is great. It looks wonderful.”

  “Thank you,” she said. She didn’t bring up the fact that he’d driven by; how many times, she wondered.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said.

  His words caught her totally off guard, and she opened her mouth, and closed it again.

  “Obviously you don’t feel the same,” he said.

  “No, I do,” she said. “It’s just… maybe we should eat.”

  “Yeah, that was always you,” he said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, sharply.

  “Just that you were always better at stepping away from things, about pulling back.”

  “If you think so little of me, why are you here asking me for help?”

  “Who said I thought little of you?” he asked. “I just… you’re right, we should eat. We’re not here to talk about us. We’re here to talk about Agatha.”

  “Damn you for being right,” she said. Usually she was the one who was trying to change the subject. He was right that she was good about pulling away. If they did a forensic analysis on their relationship, she would probably be the one blamed for the end of it.

  Without saying anything else they sat down at the table. He shook the sacks and she watched as several small bags of chips, and the candy items he’d mentioned, dropped on the table. There were also four sandwiches. She recognized the packaging as coming from a local grocery store that had a good deli.

  After she put up the ingredients she’d pulled out, except for the pickles, she sat down and snagged a roast beef sandwich. After one more trip to the refrigerator to retrieve horseradish, she sat down and doctored her sandwich.

  “Mmm mmm,” she mumbled around her second bite. After she’d swallowed, she said, “This is much better than anything I could have offered.”

  Dex ate half a sandwich in three bites, before he answered, “Not necessarily.”

  She ate a bit more before she asked, “How are your folks?”

  “Arguing with each other, like I said.” He finished his first sandwich and picked up another one. “I knew Agatha was always a bone of contention between them. Mom would rather she hadn’t lived with us, but Dad would never kick his sister out.”

  He took one bite of his sandwich and then took a drink. “I can’t help but wonder if Agatha’s son, whom I’ve never heard about, had something to do with it.”

  “I always thought they all got along together.” Rachel ripped open a bag of chips. She tried to eat quietly, but with chips that was not an easy feat.

  It reminded her of one of her earliest memories of Agatha. She wondered if Dex remembered it, too. There was only way to find out. She put a chip in her mouth and crunched, making sure to leave her mouth open for ‘see food’.

  Dex was looking at his food, so she swallowed the chip she’d been eating, cleared her throat, and stuck another one in her mouth. She ate with her mouth open. At first, Dex seemed to be confused, and then his eyes brightened and he laughed.

  “Cut it out.”

  “I believe Agatha taught us that,” she said after she’d swallowed. She did a third chip, then stuck her tongue out with food on it.

  “You are disgusting.” He frowned, and then he laughed and did the same thing she’d done, chewing and showing it off.

  “Do you remember the day that she taught us that?” he said after he’d swallowed.

  Rachel started laughing. “We were having a family dinner, my family and yours.”

  “And Agatha sat at the kids table with us,” he continued.

  “And she said she wanted to show us something she and your Dad did with their parents.”

  “I thought your Dad was going to bust a gut laughing, and your Mom looked like she was going to slap us both under the table.”

  “Your parents had the same reaction,” he said.

  “You’re telling me.” She rolled her eyes at the memory. “I spent ages in the corner for that little stunt.”

  They locked gazes; they’d played this game before, staring at each other to see who would blink first. This time it was her. She looked down at the table.

  “I finished my sandwich,” she said. “I should eat another one, shouldn’t I? Or should I forgo the carbs for sugar? But it’s basically the same thing. I mean carbs. And sugar. All of them make my pants too tight.”

  “You’re rambling,” he said.

  “You’re right, I am,” she said.

  “You’re talking about carbs, and that was nothing near what I was thinking. I was thinking how beautiful you always looked standing in the corner with your ass bared.” He winked at her. “Of course that ass had beautiful red marks on it. And it would have a few more when I slapped it again. And again. And again.”

  “Don’t,” she whispered. His words were bringing up memories that made her wet, that made her nipples hard.

  “Why?”

  “That’s not why we’re here,” she said. “You asked me to help you with the obituary. You mentioned nothing about sex.”

  “It’s not exactly something that you make an appointment for,” he said. “Spontaneity is the spice of life.”

  “You’re a dog,” she said.

  “Why do you say that?” He looked truly confused, and she wondered if he truly didn’t understand what was happening.”

  “Why?” Rachel slapped her hand on the table. “You have to ask me why?”

  “Yeah, I’d like to know why,”
he said, his voice deeper than it had seemed before.

  “We’re not together again, and having sex while we’re supposed to be working on an obituary is just plain nasty.”

  And Carrie. She wanted to bring up Carrie, but she didn’t have the heart to tell him that it hadn’t taken but a few years for him to forget about her and find a new love. That thought stung just a little. Okay, more than just a little.

  “You’re the one who brought up standing in the corner,” he said.

  Rachel threw the international signal for time out, making a T with her hands.

  “I seem to remember us fighting like this before we drifted apart,” she said. “Let’s not fight anymore. Let’s work on the obituary so we can send it to the funeral home, and Agatha can be remembered as the wonderful woman that she is… was.”

  “All right,” he said. “Let’s sit down and discuss things that we think need to be in there, things that will make people laugh when it’s read at the service.”

  “I agree.” Rachel sat back down across the table from him. Then she jumped up and went for a pad of paper and a pen. When she was back, she kept her gaze on the table. She was afraid, truly, that if she looked at him she would think of their time together, of her standing in the corner after he’d spanked her, just like he’d described.

  That memory would not do her any good. Now that Carrie was in his life, there was no place for her.

  Her time with Dex was over, and the thought brought tears to her eyes.

  Chapter 4

  Rachel took a memorial card from the funeral home usher and stepped into the chapel. It was awash in a sea of reds, pinks, and purples, colors so bright that they made her smile.

  Dex stood at the front, next to his parents. He was dressed in a bright blue button-down shirt with a bolo tie and a pair of jeans pressed so tightly Rachel thought they would be able to stand up on their own. His boots looked new, and he held his cowboy hat in his hands, turning it over and over as if it were the steering wheel to a car.

  They stood next to a large picture of Agatha. She was outdoors, sitting on a blanket under a tree. She had on a pair of jeans, a loose-fitting purple top, and a floppy straw hat. There was a plate of food on her lap, and a smile on her face as large as Rachel had ever seen. The picture captured not just her image, but her spirit: always laughing and enjoying life.