Mr. Watson met them in the lobby. “Hey, there, Jonah. I got your key made and put it on a ring, ’specially for you.” He handed the key to Jonah and another to Dinah. “I figured you might need an extra, too.”
“Thank you.”
“Here, let me carry that.”
“No, we’re fine.”
He ignored her and took her two plastic bags and Jonah’s. “You should be using their special bags. Don’t you have one?”
“I have two, but I forgot to bring them.” Today seemed to be a Dinah failure day all around. He handed them back to her when she had the door unlocked.
“I checked to make sure the keys worked.”
“Thank you.”
“You need anything, you just call.”
“I did. I will.”
If only she could just kick off her shoes, take a long hot bath, and veg out. Why had she said she would make spaghetti tonight? They could have stopped for pizza. Or ordered something in.
“I’ll get my things put away while you feed Mutt, okay?”
Jonah nodded as he hung his jacket on the vacuum-cleaner handle in the closet. She’d forgotten to ask Mr. Watson to put hooks at a boy’s level. She was going to have to figure out someplace else to put the vacuum cleaner and mops, too. He took his backpack with him to the kitchen.
Dinah changed her clothes, looked longingly at the bed, and, sliding her feet into scuffs, returned to the kitchen. Mutt was eating and Jonah sat at the table, already drawing.
Dinah turned on the music and got out the frying pan. As she browned the hamburger, she set a pot of water on for the noodles. If Jonah didn’t feel like talking, neither did she. But she sensed him watching her as she poured the jar of sauce into the pan.
“Mommy didn’t do it like that.”
She turned to look over her shoulder. “What do you mean?”
“She didn’t use bottled stuff.”
“Oh. What did she do?”
“She cooked it all day.”
“Oh, really?” She put the lid on, set the pan to simmer, and as soon as the water boiled, added the pasta. “Would you like salad?”
He shook his head, his attention back on the drawing.
After she’d set their plates on the table, sauce on top of the noodles and parmesan cheese sprinkled on top of all, she took the heated bread from the oven and set it on a plate in the middle of the table. Jonah put his drawing things on the chair next to him and studied his plate. He looked up at her, shaking his head.
She sat down and placed her napkin in her lap, then passed him the plate of bread.
He took a slice and waited.
Dinah started to take a bite, but stopped.
“Aren’t we going to say grace?”
“Ah, yes, of course.” She bowed her head and waited. When nothing happened, she looked up to see him staring at her.
“How come you never say grace?”
“I…ah…”
“Mommy always said grace.”
“Sorry, Jonah. Would you please say grace?”
“Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest; let this food to us be blessed. Amen.”
“Thank you.” Just to get through this day, that’s all I ask. She took a bite of her spaghetti. Not bad.
Jonah shoved his plate away. “My mommy made good spaghetti! How come you didn’t make good spaghetti?” His voice was rising, so unlike him. “How come you…you can’t do anything right?” He was yelling now. “That stuff’s pukey!” He threw his bread at the plate, bailed off his chair, and tore down the hall to his room. “I hate you. I want my mommy!” The door slammed behind him.
Dinah stared open-mouthed at the spaghetti dribbling off the plate, leaving a trail of sauce behind it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
When she heard Jonah crying in the night, without thinking she slid her feet into scuffs. Wrapping and tying her robe as she made her way down the hall, she fought off a yawn. Listening at the door, she heard a whimper. Dog or boy?
As silently as possible, she opened the door and peeked in.
Mutt looked up from lying lengthwise, her back against Jonah. Her tail brushed his face when she wagged.
It wasn’t the dog whimpering. Should she wake him? Bad dreams? He most certainly was entitled to bad dreams after all he’d been through. Mothering instincts that she had no idea lived anywhere inside of her carried her to his side. Automatically, she laid the back of her hand against his cheek. He didn’t feel warm, had not complained of feeling sick.
She was the one feeling sick. Her stomach had clenched so often it ached. Along with her neck and shoulders. Glancing around the room, dimly lit by a nightlight plugged into the wall by the door, she wished she had brought a chair in here.
“Mommy, Mom-m-y.” The agonizing words came through garbled, but she heard them well. Mutt changed directions and, with her head on his shoulder, licked his face, catching a tear that threatened to roll into her boy’s ear.
Jonah rolled over, an arm thrown over the dog. He sighed.
Dinah waited and watched for a while, but Jonah seemed more settled now. She returned to her bed and lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. Street lights discovered every crack to steal past the lined drapes, giving enough light that she needn’t turn on the lights when she got up in the middle of the night. Not that she’d been a night riser. Once she turned out the light, she turned out the world and slept until the alarm jerked her awake.
Jonah coming into her life had changed that pattern.
A barking dog took the place of the alarm. She leaped out of bed to find Jonah up and dressed.
“Mutt needs to go outside.”
Dinah glanced at her watch. 7:00 a.m. “Wait a minute and I’ll go with you.”
“I can do it. I always did before.” This was not a pleading tone, but definitely a challenging one.
“Before” was no longer a pleasant word in Dinah’s vocabulary. She heaved a sigh. Give in or stick by her feelings? But he had to be as independent as he could be. “All right.” She wasn’t sure if she’d agreed only to shut off the voices of indecision in her head, or because this truly was the best thing. She watched him go out to the living room and get his jacket, checking to make sure he had the key. He put the leash on Mutt and they left, the door snicking shut behind them.
The urge to follow him drove Dinah into the kitchen to start the coffee maker. Should she make breakfast? What did they have to make breakfast with? She should have bought cereal or something. They always ate at the Extraburger. He liked pancakes. Did his mother make pancakes? After the fiasco last night, she hated to ask him what his mommy made for breakfast.
Oh, Corinne, what did you saddle me with? I don’t know anything about raising a little boy. The only little boy I ever knew—she forced herself to finish the thought—was my baby brother. And look what happened there! She finally managed to slam the door shut on that way of thinking. All memories did was dredge up pain better left at the bottom of the ocean. She’d learned the hard way that that was the only way she could function.
So what could happen to Jonah between here and the back alley where Mutt did her business? Strangers could not get past Mr. Watson, and everyone in the building had been vetted before purchasing their unit. And there were no rentals allowed, according to the building rules.
Still, she breathed a sigh of relief when she heard Jonah’s key in the lock. Were all mothers as paranoid as she, or was she worse because she was so new to this game? And since when did she consider herself a mother? But what else was she? A guardian? A—her mind went blank. Once she signed those papers and the judge gave the stamp of approval, Jonah would be her legal son. She, who had always said she would not marry, because she was married to her work, had been thrown to the lions of parenthood. What kind of cosmic joke was this?
“Our appointment is at nine thirty.” He hung up the leash.
“Do you want breakfast first?”
That got his attention. He looked up from pou
ring kibble into Mutt’s dish. “Here?”
“Well, we don’t have anything to make breakfast from, but if you don’t mind the Bagelry….”
“What’s the matter with the Extraburger?”
“Nothing. I just thought something different might be better.”
“How come you don’t have eggs or cereal or even bread for toast?”
“Because I always eat breakfast somewhere else.” She poured her coffee and added half-and-half.
“You don’t even have hot chocolate.” The belligerent tone resumed.
“No, I don’t. I forgot to order it yesterday. Look, Jonah, I know this is a whole different life style for you and it is for me, too. We will go to the grocery store today and buy hot chocolate and eggs and whatever else you would like, but that means we’ll eat at home more often.”
He stared at her. “My mommy liked to cook before she got so sick.”
She could see the shutters click into place. So she waited, hoping he would continue. But he set Mutt’s dish on the floor and brought her water bowl up to the sink to be filled. He could barely reach the faucet, but managed. “So, what would you like to do?” Oops, bad question. She read his mind as clearly as if he’d said the words aloud.
“I’m sorry, Jonah, but you can’t go home. This is your home now.” If rage had a color, it was red blazing from his eyes.
“Mommy said she was going to live with Jesus but He would take care of me. You tell Jesus to send her back. I need her more than He does.” With that he stormed back to his bedroom and slammed the door. Mutt looked up at her, then down the hall.
“If you are feeling as sucker-punched as I am, we are both in a world of hurt.”
The dog whined, looked down at her dish, then, after a look at Dinah, trotted down the hall to scratch at the door.
“Well, at least you have your priorities in order. The boy comes first with you, even before food.” Dinah sank into a chair, holding her cup with both hands, hoping she could drink without spilling it. She sipped coffee and stared out the window. The rose drooped. Had she bothered to water it? Tired of everything, so very tired, she picked up the vase and turned it upside down. A little puddle ran out. The cut end of the rosebud was dry. How could she be trusted with the life of a child when she couldn’t even remember to water a stinking rosebud? She threw the dead flower in the trash, washed the vase and put it away, and repaired to her bedroom to get dressed for the day. Pulling her white jeans out of the closet, she stared at the paw print on one leg. The second pair was clean, so she threw the first in the hamper and, pulling on ankle boots after the jeans, dug a Scottish fisherman-knit sweater from the drawer. A long-sleeved tee shirt, then the sweater. Perhaps she could forgo the pea coat this way. After all, spring was nearly here, or at least had shown up to visit for a bit.
At eight thirty she rapped on his door. “You ready to leave?”
He opened the door and followed her down the hall, Mutt by his side. When she saw Mutt’s empty dish in the kitchen she knew he had made sure she was fed. Trying to ignore the mutinous looks he sent her, she pressed the elevator button for the garage. “If you are hungry, we will have to eat after Mutt gets her stitches out now.”
When he shrugged, she wanted to shake him. What had happened to the Jonah who had been living with her for a week now? She really liked that boy, but this one was beyond her comprehension. What had brought about the abrupt change?
Something, obviously. Did she dare ask, or would he answer with more anger?
He stared out the window, Mutt on his lap, for the entire drive over there. When they got to the clinic, he helped his dog out and waited at the door.
Dinah smiled at him, but that boy she didn’t know only stared back at her. I don’t have to do this, you know, she felt like saying, but she knew she did. Have to do it, that is. Once inside, she signed the sheet and wrote down the time.
“There is only one before you, so it won’t be long,” the receptionist said with a smile.
“Thank you.” She went over to sit by Jonah. Mutt sat on his lap, shivering. Was she cold, or did dogs have nerves, too?
Jonah petted her and laid his cheek against the top of her head. “It’s okay. Dr. G won’t hurt you.”
Dinah looked around at the artwork on the walls. She’d planned to go online and learn more about this Dr. G but hadn’t gotten around to it. Like so many other things lately. Like trying to reach Gramma Trudy. The lady had not yet returned her call. Maybe she simply didn’t look at her answering machine very often.
When Jonah had used push pins to put his drawing on the wall in his room, she had nearly fainted. Pin holes in her pristine, Navajo-white walls. With great force of will, she had remained silent. But look at all these examples for Jonah to copy.
How could a man who was such a jerk around her be the artist behind these delightful drawings? And he’d had the audacity to imply it was her fault he didn’t like her. How could he have such a thriving practice if he was a jerk all the time? Or was it ego? If she were a betting woman, she’d say ego.
“Ms. Taylor? You want to bring Jonah and Mutt in now?”
No, I want to wait out here. But she nodded instead and waited for Jonah to get a good hold on Mutt.
They were shown into an examining room with a stainless-steel table attached to the wall and a padded bench by the wall by the door. Dinah sat down, but Jonah put Mutt on the floor and leaned beside the door. Drawings of different breeds of dogs almost made her smile. The man did indeed have an eye for caricature. One dog wore a harness and dark glasses. She’d read about Seeing Eye dogs but had never made the effort to learn the breeds. After all, if you’re not allowed to have a dog, why bother? And she was beginning to see how deeply her parents’ behavior and values had penetrated into her. But what had their values done to Gramma Grace, a woman who knew the world, and little Michael, a child too young to control his own destiny?
She clutched her bag as if it were a lifeline.
When the door opened, Mutt scrambled to get behind Jonah.
“Hi, Jonah, and how is our patient today? Ah, I see she is glad to see me.”
Jonah almost smiled. “Hi. Mutt is good. I think her stitches itch.”
Dr. G gave Dinah a smile that looked more like a grimace and a polite nod. “Can you lift her up here, or do you want help?”
Dinah put her bag down and half rose, but a look from the good doctor sat her back down.
Jonah shortened the leash, but Mutt still managed to wrap it around his legs as she tried to get out the closed door.
Dr. G squatted down to help, but Mutt lifted the lip on one side of her mouth. “Easy, girl, let’s get this taken care of.” He looked at Jonah. “Has she ever bitten anyone before?”
Jonah shook his head. “But then she never had to come to a vet before she got in that fight.”
“So she doesn’t have too good of an opinion of me right now. Here, let me hold the leash and you pick her up and put her on the table. You think you can do that?”
Mutt was sitting on the table before Dinah realized how quickly Dr. G had moved. She asked, “You want me to help hold her?”
“If you could. Or I will call someone else in. Take hold of her like this.” And he demonstrated.
She wrapped herself around Mutt.
Jonah glared at her. Here she was trying to help his dog, and he was angry with her.
Within minutes Garret had snipped and tweaked all the stitches out. “There are some stitches inside, but they’re made out of string that dissolves away. So they’ll disappear without any help.” He checked all the spots and patted Mutt, who now almost wagged her tail. “Looks to me like you took very good care of her.”
Jonah nodded.
Dinah asked, “Jonah asked me the other day if I thought Mutt was getting fat. Are we feeding her right?”
Dr. G pinched a bit of skin. “Did we weigh her last time?” He reached for the file and checked. “We did, but let’s weigh her again. The scale i
s down the hall.” Jonah wrapped his arms around Mutt and set her on the floor, where she shook as if to get rid of all things medical. Then she walked out the door beside Jonah as if she did this every day.
When they returned, Dr. G jotted something in the chart. “Yes, she has put on a couple pounds, but she isn’t fat. See?” He demonstrated more for Jonah than for Dinah. “If it’s fat, you won’t be able to feel her ribs here. We can.” He knelt down and palpated her belly area again. “You know, Jonah, she has never been spayed.”
Jonah looked at him blankly.
Garret rose and glanced down at the file folder on the table. He rolled his lips together, then looked at Dinah. “You don’t know much about dogs, do you?” It was almost an accusation.
She shook her head. She got almost dizzy and faint. Weight gain. Not spayed…puppies? Puppies! Good Lord, no! I can’t take on puppies! I can’t! Not with all this! Not that, too! She gasped aloud, “Oh, God, no!”
Jonah stared at her. “‘Oh, God, no’ what! Why did you say ‘Oh, God, no’?”
Suddenly frantic, he looked at the vet. “Is she sick? Is she gonna die?”
Dinah tried to stop looking stricken but she couldn’t. Puppies!
Jonah’s eyes grew round. “I don’t want her to die!” His voice rose and he stared from the vet to Dinah and back. “Mommy said I was going to be fine and then she dies and now I hafta live with Dinah and I don’t want Mutt to die, too!” He shouted again. “No, not die! She can’t die!”
“Jonah, stop! Listen.” Dinah reached for him, but he spun away.
Dinah tried to follow him. He turned and slammed into her. “No! No!” Arms flailing, he head-butted her.
“Jonah! Stop!” The male voice cracked across the room like a close-by thunderclap. “Look what you’re doing to Mutt!”
Dinah turned around and saw Mutt cowering in the corner shivering, so obviously terror-stricken that she peed on the floor.
Garret said firmly, “Jonah! Look at me!”
Jonah dropped his arms and did as told. Garret pointed at poor Mutt. “See, you scared her.” His voice had gentled and his hand had found its way to Jonah’s shoulder.
Heaven Sent Rain Page 19
