Heaven Sent Rain

by Lauraine Snelling

  Sue had her laptop up and running. “I’ll search. Faster.”

  Their office manager tapped on the door and entered. “What do you need?”

  “Sue’s looking up vet temp services.”

  “There are a couple, but they’re located in big cities where there are lots of places needing help, like Los Angeles, New York, Dallas. I didn’t find any possibles around here.”

  Sue and Garret stared at her.

  She leaned against the doorjamb. “I just thought about it earlier today. Something Dr. Whanigan said triggered the idea.”

  Grinning, Garret reached for his phone and stopped. “Do we agree that we bring Julie here for a visit with the prospect of hiring her and get going on the temp idea immediately?”

  “Why do I feel we’re standing in the middle of the freeway and a full bank of lights are barreling toward us?” Sue sighed.

  Amber stood erect. “Because your business partner is hyperactive. Why don’t I call that Los Angeles agency—the New York one will be closed now—and see what I can find out? And don’t forget you’re on duty tonight, Dr. G. Jason will be on with you.”

  Garret should go home, feed the horde, and grab a nap, but he was too keyed up for a nap. Too much going on. They made the calls and he walked out to his SUV.

  Why did life always come in bunches? Things had been cruising along pretty even—busy, but even. The cartoon strip, his artwork, his profession, his church. Suddenly his mom was ill, he was handling the financing of his church’s steamroller building project, a sweet lady was about to lose her beloved service dog, and the clinic was poised to hire one and possibly three new people. Hiring on a new person always forced a period of adjustment for the newbie and hirers both. He wanted peace and quiet and work, and hiring new vets would seriously shake up his world. And on top of it all, a dog and two people with haunting eyes were seizing his interest and taking up way too much time at the easel and in his thoughts.

  Like now. Again. Jonah, small, hurting, confused, frightened. Dinah Taylor, the enigmatic CEO hotshot. What had he and she both told each other at that strange breakfast in the Extraburger? “You act like you don’t like me.” Only they both had said it.

  And why shouldn’t he be cool toward her? She was frosty toward him. It turned him off, big time. Didn’t she realize that? CEOs think they know everything and they’re a whiz at human relations. Garret knew all about that; once upon a time, long, long ago, he had married one.

  But then there was Jonah. Dinah and he would have to put that tortured child ahead of themselves.

  Call her! The voice almost shouted in his mind. Was this the Holy Spirit urging him on, or some weird figment of his imagination? He had to have a reason to call. See how Jonah was doing. That would serve. She’d be at work now. What was the name of her company? He’d left that news article with his mom. Food something? Dinah Taylor.

  He tapped into his phone’s search engine. Food for Life. There it was. Her office. He told his phone to call the number.

  A woman answered, a woman with a soft, pleasant voice.

  “This is Dr. Garret Miller, the veterinarian caring for Jonah Morgan’s Mutt.”

  “Dr. Miller! Of course. How can I help you?”

  “I’d like to speak to Ms. Taylor, please.”

  “I’m sorry, she’s not available right now. Can I take a message?”

  You weren’t expecting her to be out. Think fast, brain! “I, uh, we took Mutt’s stitches out yesterday and I’m just checking. Checking on Jonah, also. He was uncharacteristically upset.”

  Hesitation. She took a breath he could hear. “Dinah told me about Jonah’s meltdown Saturday.” Another deep breath. “This is totally against protocol, but I’m worried. Jonah’s school called a couple minutes ago and asked Dinah to come immediately. They wouldn’t tell her what the problem was. I’m afraid it could be another meltdown.”

  “Which school?”

  “Lincoln Elementary.”

  “I know that one. Thank you. I’ll call you if I learn something.”

  “Oh, but I didn’t mean you should—But…thank you, Doctor.”

  Garret pulled into traffic and took the next right turn. Four of his patients’ owners went to Lincoln. Five, with Jonah. He had been the featured speaker at their weekly assemblies a couple times. He crossed Main and took Hawthorn over, the back way to Lincoln, and quicker.

  Three city police cars were parked outside the school. Two fifty-five. School should have let out by now, but there were the buses, empty and waiting, lined up along the curb. Crossing guards were in place; no children crossing.

  A uniformed guard at the entrance to the parking lot stopped him. “Are you here to pick up a student?”

  “No. I’m Dr. Garret Miller, a local veterinarian. I’m here to talk to the principal, Ms. Bickle.”

  The officer brightened. “I know you; you talked to the kids last spring about rabies. And you do that comic strip.”

  “That’s true.” And please let that make a difference right now. Sometimes celebrity could be a help.

  “Well, I’m sorry, Doctor.” And the fellow did in fact look sorry. “The school is in lockdown. No one enters or leaves.”

  “Lockdown…”

  An officer in a flak vest came around the far corner. Another stepped out the main doors, radio in hand, talking. Two more got out of a police car at the curb near the front entrance and opened the vehicle’s doors.

  Garret stared. “What in the world is happening?”

  “A student smuggled a weapon into the school.”

  “Weapon…Who would…”. He sighed. “I remember a day when the worst thing you could do in class was chew gum.”

  “Ain’t it the truth.”

  Four of his clients, kids with their pictures on his wall, huddled in there somewhere, locked in their classrooms. What a rotten thing for a kid to have to go through. And somewhere in there, poor little Jonah was cowering under some desk. Please, God, if You sent me here, open the doors.

  At that moment, the front doors to the school swung open. Two officers came walking smartly out. A woman and child. More officers. Was the whole squad here? All the officers wore those bulky protective vests and riot helmets. The officer nearest the prowl car reached out, grabbed the woman’s head, and pushed it down, ducking her physically into the back seat. The child was stuffed in next to her. They had their perps, as they say.

  It was Dinah and Jonah.

  Furious didn’t begin to cover what Dinah was feeling. All this over a small paring knife Jonah had slipped into his backpack to cut up his apple.

  “I’m sorry.” Jonah stared at his hands.

  “I know.” Me, too. So now Jonah was suspended indefinitely. And arrested. No, not arrested, at least not formally. Detained. By uniformed officers. If that wasn’t a good definition of arrested…

  At least they hadn’t handcuffed him.

  A seven-year-old boy who until last week had absolutely nothing on his record to show anything but an exemplary student. Well, except last Friday, when he’d gotten into a brief push-and-shove fight. Apparently the class bully snatched a drawing and Jonah grabbed it back.

  To quote the principal, and Dinah could almost repeat it verbatim, “I was planning to call you Friday, but I waited to see if problems continued. I know his mother died. We were expecting some kind of normal acting out; it’s a way children deal with grief and stress. But the school has a zero-tolerance policy regarding any kind of weapon or anything that even looks like a weapon. I’m sorry, Ms. Taylor. Zero tolerance.”

  How should she, a mommy in disguise, deal with this?

  The cruiser drove into the police garage. The door dropped shut behind them. Dinah and Jonah were escorted from the car and led into a room with a long counter on the far end, where they were shown to sit on chairs along a wall.

  A brass name tag identified the officer who sat down beside her as Lewiston. “I’m sorry, Ms. Taylor. With all the school incidents happening ar
ound the country, everyone is edgy. Zero tolerance.”

  “Zero tolerance. I keep hearing that. I see.” But she did not see. None of this made any kind of sense. Maybe if Jonah was older and the rules had been drilled into his head…

  At a counter across the room, another officer was methodically removing everything from Jonah’s backpack, apparently inventorying its contents. The invasion of privacy rattled Dinah. Should she speak up, say something about search warrants? She sat mute.

  “You understand how alert schools are now.” Officer Lewiston was not so much as glancing at Jonah; it was as if the boy were not there. “We take every precaution to prevent serious accidents or violence from happening, of course, and sometimes we have to err on the side of caution.”

  “Thank you. That part I do understand. What will happen now?”

  “You will be given forms to fill out. You will meet with another officer, you will be given an appointment with the judge, and then you can take Jonah home. If he were older he might be facing time in juvie.”

  Dinah gritted her teeth and forced a polite smile to stay in place. Feeling a small hand sneaking into hers, she looked down. Jonah sat as close to her as he could get, shrunken in on himself, his bottom lip quivering.

  She heard the whoosh of the door opening and looked up. Dr. Miller strode in like he owned the place. Her heart leaped into her throat. What was he doing here? His smile telegraphed reassurance. A quick flash of his holding Jonah swooped through her mind.

  He crossed to her. “I arrived at the school a few minutes ago and—”

  Officer Lewiston stood up. “Are you her attorney?”

  “No, I—”

  “Then I’ll have to ask you to wait over there.”

  “Involved party.” Dr. Miller sounded so firm and official that even Dinah believed him.

  “Jonah Morgan?” A female uniformed officer called from the counter across the room.

  Dinah and Jonah stood up. So did Officer Lewiston. Did he think they would run away or something? He’s just doing his job, she reminded her clenched jaw. They stepped up to the counter and the clerk asked for her ID. The process had begun.

  The woman in uniform slid a clipboard with several sheets of forms across to her. “While you fill these out, I’ll see when Sergeant Peters can see you. Things are kind of quiet right now, so it shouldn’t be too long.”

  “Thank you.” They returned to their seats.

  A woman beckoned Officer Lewiston, so he excused himself and left as they sat back down. Dr. G settled down on the other side of Jonah. Dinah ran down the form. Relationship to the accused. How did she explain that: The judge had not made anything official yet. Complainant. She didn’t know. Time of infraction. Surely someone knew; she did not. She filled out what she could and left a lot of blanks.

  A woman in a plain gray suit appeared at a hall door. “Ms. Taylor? Jonah Morgan? Sergeant Peters will see you now.” The woman raised a hand as Garret approached. “Are you her lawyer?”

  “No, ma’am, involved party.”

  “Then I’ll have to request that you remain out here. They shouldn’t be long.”

  Should I have called a lawyer? Of course! She should have called Mr. Jensen immediately. Dinah wished Hal were in town. Since she had just gotten thrown into the parenting pool without any preparation, both Hal’s presence and his counsel would have helped stem the threatening flood of tears.

  The interview lasted all of fifteen minutes and seemed quite rote and technical. They returned to their chairs in that dingy room. And waited.

  A different woman, this one in a pale blue suit, appeared at a different door. “Judge Kittles can see you now.”

  Again Garret was told to remain behind.

  Jonah clung to her hand as if terrified they would jerk him away.

  She hoped she smiled down at him. “It’s going to be okay, Jonah.” But she was afraid neither of them believed her words.

  They were ushered into a severe room with no curtains at the windows and directed to two chairs in front of a zip-code-size mahogany desk. Behind it sat Judge Kittles. Jonah tugged his chair slam into Dinah’s and sat pressed against her.

  Judge Kittles was a woman, but she had a remarkably commanding presence. She wore neither robes nor a fearsome judge face, and she sat at ease, eye level with Dinah. Why a judge now? Why not a court date somewhere in the interminable future? Dinah knew nothing about how this all worked. Her lack of familiarity with the process was almost as bad as the process itself.

  Dinah noticed then that judge’s chin was lighted. Instead of the traditional blotter, her desktop had a big glass window with, no doubt, a computer monitor below it. She moved a wireless mouse around with her right hand.

  The judge studied Jonah a long moment. She looked at Dinah. “He’s not been in trouble before, is that correct?”

  “That is correct. Except: an hour ago, the school principal told me that there was some sort of skirmish last Friday. She passed it off as normal acting out. He lost his mother very recently.”

  The judge nodded. “Let me explain briefly. Quite a few children go through the system, even in a city this small. If the child is a repeat offender—one of our frequent flyers, if you will—we deal with him or her in the usual formal manner: formal charge, arraignment, court date. If it is a child without any prior record who goes afoul of zero tolerance or another standard policy, we try to handle the case quickly and send them back out the door.”

  “I see.” Actually, for once Dinah did see.

  The judge looked at Jonah. “So you brought a knife today to protect yourself, right? Possibly to stab the child you argued with last week.”

  “No, ma’am. I didn’t think of that.” Jonah’s voice was nearly a whisper.

  “Then why did you put a knife in your backpack?”

  “To cut my apple up and peel it. My mommy always peeled my apples when I took my lunch and I didn’t let Dinah do that ’cause, ’cause…” His lower lip quivered.

  “You didn’t want her to peel your apple because…” the judge prompted.

  Jonah murmured, “Because she doesn’t do things right, like my mommy did.”

  Dinah’s heart thumped.

  “I see. And your mommy can’t do those things for you any longer.”

  “She went to live with Jesus and I want her to come back, but Dinah said she can’t and I know that, but I still want her to.”

  The judge sat back a bit, nodding, apparently mulling this. “And you were angry at Dinah?”

  Jonah nodded, tears meandering down his cheek, one at a time.

  “Tell me about this confrontation with your classmate; the principal’s notes call it a shoving match. Tell me about that.”

  Jonah shrugged. “He took my picture so I pushed him away and grabbed it back, but it ripped and I wanted to give it to Dinah ’cause I can’t give my pictures to my mommy anymore. I only got half of it back.”

  “Have you fought with him before? Got into shoving matches?”

  “No, ma’am. Mostly he just pokes me with his pencil or something. He does that to lots of kids.”

  The judge sat there a moment. “Do you have any of your pictures in your backpack now?”

  Jonah nodded. “I drew a new one for Dinah.”

  How had the judge summoned an officer? Dinah heard no bell, saw no motion. The officer simply appeared in the doorway. The judge told him to give Jonah his backpack, then sat back and waited. The fellow hastened out and returned in moments. He handed the backpack to Jonah. The boy clutched it to his chest and watched the judge.

  “May I see one of your pictures, please?” The judge’s voice seemed softer than it had been before.

  Jonah nodded and carefully pulled out a picture. He stood to hand it to her across that vast desk, then took his seat and slid his hand back into Dinah’s.

  The woman studied the picture, studied Jonah, back to the picture. She pursed her lips. “You are seven years old according to the incident repor
t; is that, right, Jonah?”

  He nodded.

  “And you did indeed draw this?”

  He nodded again.

  She looked at Dinah. “Have you seen this?” When Dinah shook her head, she handed the drawing over.

  It was another of his magnificent pencil drawings, every detail in place down to the whiskers and every-which-way fur. Mutt sat there, head down, and a tear rolling off her face into a puddle by her paw.

  Dinah tipped her head back. Oh, Jonah. My poor Jonah. She reached into her bag for a tissue and handed one to Jonah.

  The judge took a deep breath and sat back. Again she seemed to be mulling something. Would Jonah be sentenced now or turned loose? How did all this work?

  She addressed Jonah. “Young man, taking a sharp knife to school is absolutely wrong. Did they tell you about weapons? What not to bring?”

  A very small voice. “Yes, ma’am.”

  The judge sat silent, looking at him. The silence worked. His voice rose a bit. “It isn’t a weapon, though. It’s just a knife. For an apple. Weapons are to kill people.”

  “I understand your point, but it’s considered a weapon nonetheless.” She turned her eyes to Dinah. “Ms. Taylor, I see a lot of tough kids every day, and I know I am not looking at one now. Have you engaged a grief counselor for him?”

  “Not yet. There are so many things I haven’t done yet. I’ll do so, of course.”

  “That is one condition of his release. The boy is hurting very badly, Ms. Taylor. You are married?”

  “No.”

  “You have other children?” Why is this woman prying?

  “No.”

  “I want to see him again. In the meantime, set up a schedule with a grief counselor.”

  “Certainly.” Dinah should have engaged Mr. Jensen immediately. Another huge mistake. But she had been so rattled.

  “And Jonah, no more knives, weapons or not weapons. Understand?”

  Jonah nodded as he studied the floor.

  Like magic, the officer entered to escort them back out into the waiting area.

  Dinah stood, so Jonah stood. She mumbled some sort of words of gratitude or something and hastened out, the picture clutched in her hand.