Heaven Sent Rain

by Lauraine Snelling

  “It is! Now. Jonah. Do you have any questions for me today?”

  Dinah watched Jonah’s expressive face as questions chased each other through his mind. She prompted, “You can ask anything you want to, Jonah, it’s all right.”

  “Will I have to live with Dinah always?” Why did he have to phrase it that way?

  “Until you are eighteen. She will be your legal guardian.”

  “She’ll be my new mother?”

  “No. You have only one mother, the one we all remember fondly. Dinah will take care of you the way a mother would.” Oh, no, she won’t, because she can’t! Dinah’s head screamed. She has no idea how to take care of a child.

  “So I am not getting adopted?”

  “No. You remain Jonah Morgan, the son of Andre and Corinne Morgan. However! Dinah will have just as much legal authority over you as would a parent. You cannot say, ‘I don’t have to listen to you; you aren’t my mother.’ You do have to obey her as you would your mother.”

  How would she balance this new life? She’d thought she had the former life under control, but control had not been even a possibility since this cataclysm. She sipped rich, chocolaty mocha and tried not to think about controlling the future. Future? She could not control the present.

  “Dinah? What about you?”

  “I need to find a counselor, pediatrician, dentist, barber…that sort of thing.”

  “I can get some recommendations and email them to you.”

  Was now the time to say something? “Jonah, if you’re done with your ice cream, do you want to go look at those paintings down the hall? I think they have some of animals.”

  Jonah glanced at Dinah, then stood. “Okay,” he said. Dinah waited until he was out of hearing range. “Frankly, I have grave reservations.”

  “Talk to me.”

  “My parents were, uh, severe. No snuggling, no affection to speak of. Certainly they loved us and provided well for us, but it was a…a severe love. Problem? Pray God’s will. Illness? Pray God’s will. When I insisted on going to college, my mother was deeply disappointed. She told me, ‘We are preparing you for heaven, not Harvard.’ I had a younger brother, but he died when I was eight. In short, I know nothing about nurturing children. And Jonah desperately needs a nurturer.”

  The expression on Mr. Jensen’s face: Shock? Caring? Amazement? She couldn’t tell. He appeared to be deep in thought for a moment. “When I was doing a background check on you—that is standard procedure, incidentally, in any case like this one—I found an exemplary education CV. Even your senior project in high school was science of publishable quality.”

  “You dug up that thing? You really were thorough.”

  “With Jonah’s future at stake, yes. As thorough as possible.” He propped his elbows on the little table and formed his hands into a tent. “And, as you say, I saw no signs that you were educated about children or prepared to care for a small child; never babysat, for example, or took developmental psychology classes in college.”

  “So if I refuse to take Jonah on, you’ll understand.”

  He smiled and continued as if not hearing her. “The qualities you do possess, however, are very positive. You’re a control freak, for example.” He raised a hand. “It’s obvious in the way, for instance, you hire new employees. You personally interview and vet every one. And you choose exceedingly well. Your employees are all happy, competent, productive, and fiercely loyal to you. You give them the freedom to be creative and they give you a hundred percent. That is very rare in a company, I daresay almost unheard of in this day and age.”

  “But they’re not children.”

  “No. Now look at this picture objectively. You read people well. No, you are not a snuggler and nurturer, but you are a very sharp judge of qualities in a person. And listen to your objections just now. They are not selfish. This will alter your lifestyle egregiously; we all recognize that. So do you, I’m sure. But in voicing your misgivings you talked about Jonah’s needs, not yours. You put him first.”

  “But…”

  “And you are a splendid scientist. Scientists by nature look at things objectively.”

  She smirked. “Not always.”

  “Yes, there is always the human element, the human bias. But they try. You try. You will look at Jonah as objectively as possible to see what would profit him best and act on that. You will instinctively give him what he needs. Snuggling is a learned skill, greatly overrated.” Mr. Jensen’s phone chimed. He glanced at the text message. “He is ready for us.” He stood up, called to Jonah, and motioned toward the elevators.

  Dinah made herself smile down at Jonah when he slid his hand into hers. It felt like they were both on their way to the firing squad, not a bright, bluebird-filled forever.

  Compared to Judge Henny’s chambers, the judge’s room in the police station had been cramped, gloomy, and depressingly austere. Everything in this large room smacked of opulence. Its decoration, late nineteenth century, fit its pine paneling well. Tall, narrow windows that reached nearly to the twelve-foot ceiling were softened by monkscloth draperies. Various paintings and diplomas hung from a genuine old-fashioned picture molding near the pressed-tin ceiling. This judge’s desk was even larger than Judge Kittle’s, but it had no glass surface for viewing a computer monitor. None sat on the desk, either. Perhaps this judge did not believe in computers.

  The judge, an older fellow, stood when they entered, but he did not offer to shake hands. He didn’t smile, either. And that was strange, for he looked so cheerful and rosy, like a whiskerless Santa Claus, minus the red suit and reindeer. Three chairs were lined up in front of his desk. That firing squad analogy was getting too close for comfort.

  Mr. Jensen held a chair for Dinah. She sat. Jonah sat next to her; his feet did not quite reach the floor. Mr. Jensen sat down beyond him. Three crows on a fence.

  The judge opened a thick, leather-bound book and began reading a lot of introductory material in legalese, information that Mr. Jensen had already pretty well covered in plain English. He closed the book and sat back.

  He looked at her. “Dr Taylor. I’ve read your company’s website and of course your mission statement. Please tell me in your own words what the website does not say. About you.”

  She had not expected such a question. Why would he ask something like that? Could a judge simply pop non sequiturs out of the blue? Apparently; at least Mr. Jensen was not objecting. She stuttered a moment. Gather your thoughts, Dinah. She sat back, took a deep breath, loosened her shoulders. “Even when I was in high school, I realized that food is nothing but chemicals. We consume chemicals. Other chemicals in our digestive system process that food and expel what cannot be used. I also saw that chemicals can work with each other or against each other.”

  She took another deep breath. Relax, girl. “I chose biochemicals as my career because their interactions fascinate me. I built a company that helps the body’s chemicals do good things, you might say. Bolster naturally occurring positive interactions, or suppress naturally occurring negative interactions. I’m sorry if that’s vague, but…”

  “Not vague at all. I take it, then, that you’re a fan of Krebs cycles.”

  She felt her mouth drop open. Who was this man? A judge familiar with biochemistry!

  He asked, “Are you a good cook, Dr. Taylor?”

  Another bolt from the blue. Totally unhorsed, she stammered, “No. I love creating dietary supplements; the chemical aspects. I don’t spend much time with food, per se, as in ‘What’s for dinner?’” Was that what he wanted to hear, or was he about to kick her out for being a total non-mother? It was another black mark against her nurturing instincts; how many times had she heard that good cooking was a form of nurturing in itself? And suddenly, inanely, she thought of Gramma Grace’s chicken pot pie, with fresh vegetables and homemade noodles, and how warmly nurturing that was; especially when Dinah got to roll out and cut the noodle dough.

  He studied Jonah. “I understand you got in
to trouble at school on Monday. Tell me about that.”

  Now, finally, he was getting on topic. Jonah faltered, then got into the narrative and really rolled, complete with the run-on sentences he spewed when he really got excited.

  The judge nodded and asked, “Have you any questions, Jonah?”

  He shook his head. “Mr. Jensen answered them. I get to be Jonah Morgan and my mommy is still Corinne. You mean those questions?”

  “Yes. Lars?” The judge looked at Mr. Jensen. “Questions? Concerns?”

  “I am completely at ease with Corinne’s decision. The more I see and hear in this case, the better I think these two will be an excellent match for each other. Jonah will get what he needs to be happy and succeed.”

  Again Dinah’s mouth dropped open. How could he say that after she clearly explained why she was not a good candidate for motherhood? No! She’d flunked every one of their nurturing tests. She couldn’t even cook. She was not at all what Jonah needed. Mr. Jensen drew a sheaf of papers out of his attaché case as the judge pulled more papers out of his lap drawer.

  “No! I can’t do this!” She nearly stood up and shouted. “I’m not a mother!”

  The judge looked at her, at Lars.

  Mr. Jensen said, “She has voiced misgivings. She feels a lack of the ability to nurture.”

  The judge settled his elbows on his desk and leaned forward a bit. “Dr. Taylor. Jonah does not need a mother. He already has a mother. He needs someone who will look to his best interests and guide him into a productive adulthood. Can you do that?”

  She found herself sputtering, stumbling, saying, “Uh…er…but…”

  “Please understand, Dr. Taylor, that by completing this legal action, we are placing our full and complete confidence in your ability to raise Jonah well. We do not do this lightly. We see many, many cases where children are placed not in the best possible circumstances but in the least objectionable circumstances. Not so here. Here is an extraordinarily talented little boy who needs a bright and creative guardian if he is to grow and soar. To realize the promise in him. You are such a person. We both hope you will not deny the child that promise.”

  What could she say? The way this man phrased it—she sat back, defeated. Steamrollered was more like it. Were they being truthful, or were they simply trying to get this case over with?

  But then she looked at Jonah, saw the worry in his eyes. She forced a smile and he smiled back, relieved.

  The judge opened his book again and read off more legalese.

  Then he laid out four piles of papers across the front of his desk.

  Mr. Jensen laid more papers on the piles. “I have signed and dated these.” He turned. “Dinah?” He offered a pen.

  Here goes nothing. In every sense of the word. Dinah stood up, accepted the pen numbly, signed where Mr. Jensen pointed. She never signed anything without reading it first, but here she was, scribbling her name. The four piles were four copies of one set.

  From nowhere, two young women entered. Obviously, Judge Henny had summoned them. Dinah was sorely tempted to run around behind his desk to see where the buzzer was that he tapped, probably with his foot. The women signed on the witness lines. “Congratulations, Dr. Taylor!” the blonde pumped her hand. “Congratulations!” The auburn-haired one did also. They left. Easy for them; sign, walk out. They weren’t faced with a lifetime job for which they were not prepared.

  Jonah had his own papers to sign. He did so obediently in his second-grade scrawl.

  The judge signed on many lines. It took him a minute.

  Mr. Jensen had paper clips ready. He clipped each set together, left one on the judge’s desk, and slipped the other three into his attaché case. While they stood there, the judge read closing sentences from that book.

  What had she just done? She didn’t even want to think about it. It was done.

  Suddenly animated, the judge broke into a wide grin and leaped up. He came hustling around the end of his desk and seized both Dinah’s hands in his. “Dr. Taylor, now that the formalities are over I can tell you how glad I am to meet you. My wife and I have been fans of your products for years. We find your pineapple-based digestive aid very useful, especially when we end up at one of those interminable banquets. And your sleep aid, the melatonin extract, works like a charm. And we both admire the way you have built and run your company.” He shook her hand, clasping his other over the top of hers. “My wife said to tell you ‘God bless you.’”

  “Thank you.” His sudden transformation from stern to warm floored her. She didn’t even need her polite smile. This man was actually genuine.

  “And Jonah”— the judge grasped Jonah’s small hands also— “I am glad you could come here today. I’m proud to be the one who made your arrangement legal. It is important that you understand what is happening, so ask me when you have a question. You have a great future ahead of you.”

  Jonah nodded.

  The auburn-haired woman came back in with a camera.

  “Ah. Over here by the bookcase, I suggest.” The judge piloted Jonah to the corner of the room. The woman arranged them as she obviously had arranged new families many times before. “Smile,” she suggested, and she snapped pictures of the judge, Jonah, and Dinah, all smiling together with arms on shoulders.

  With goodbyes and handshakes all around, Jonah included, they took their leave. They passed a man and woman with a baby as they walked out.

  When they emerged from the elevator, Dinah felt like she’d left a heavy load behind and had picked up another, just as heavy.

  “Not your ordinary judge, I know. I was so grateful when I was notified who we would see.” Mr. Jensen stopped in the marble-floored foyer. “I’ll say goodbye here, as I have some other things to do in this building. Dinah, please call me if there is anything I can do to help you.” He shook her hand. “I mean it. I’m sure you have corporate lawyers, but I know a lot of people and possibly sometime I can be of service.”

  “Thank you. I will keep you in mind.”

  “And Jonah, you are part of my family, too; I’ve known you since you were tiny. You call me if you need someone to talk to or whatever. Okay?”

  Jonah nodded. “Do you want a picture of Mutt?”

  “I would love one.”

  “I will make you a special one.”

  “Good.”

  Back in the car, Dinah felt her shoulders drop and sucked in a deep breath. Breathing deep was a possibility again; the tight bands around her diaphragm were gone. Mostly.

  “Are you hungry, Jonah?”

  “Can we go let Mutt out first and then eat?”

  “We can and we will.” She started the car and paid the parking attendant as they drove out. She pulled out into traffic. “I think we need to celebrate.”

  “Can Dr. G come, too?”

  Dinah blinked and swallowed, not once but twice. “Why…I…um…I guess so. Sure.”

  Blindsided again. Was this going to become a daily event?

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Why thank you, Jonah. I’d love to join you for supper.” Pause. “Okay. Dinah’s about six.” When Garret clicked off, he shook his head. Would wonders never cease? This had to be a God thing. He set the bell on his phone to remind him at five so he’d have time to feed his housemates. They wouldn’t mind eating a bit early.

  Three easels stood in front of him, and he wasn’t making progress on any of them. Each one definitely had a different feel to it. Dinah’s in particular was giving him trouble. How did one paint “haunted”? Especially when he only saw it when her guard was down, which didn’t happen often. Perhaps guarded was a good word to use. He shifted his concentration to Jonah and Mutt. Still more texture needed. Maybe he should have put some of the shaved areas and the stitches in. In his mind he still saw her like that. He glanced to the third one. This one seemed the most joyful. He returned to painting two and Mutt’s fluffiness. Or lack thereof. She was not a pretty dog. Wire-haired terrier plus mysterious other breeds
lurked in her gene pool; they did not mix well.

  When his phone rang again, he thought to ignore it but checked the caller. Danny. He clicked on Speaker. “What’s up?”

  “We hit a snag. I knew we’d have to move wiring, but whoever wired this thing in the beginning made some errors. With the concrete slab…”

  “Can it be fixed?”

  “I had to call in an electrician. This is going to cost more than I figured.”

  “So what’s new—that’s the way of remodel projects. We all know that. Just pay it and we’ll find the money somewhere. I have a couple of others who have said they’d contribute but I’ve not gotten back to them.”

  “I figured that was what we’d do but just wanted to run it by someone else. I’m going to cap it off with a couple six-space outlets and some floor outlets. That way people can use laptops anywhere in that room. It’s doubtful that I can make the Easter completion date.”

  “Would be nice, but not the end of the world.”

  “See you.”

  Garret switched to his reminders app and typed in “Check for more funding.” Get one thing crossed off and two more jumped on. Good thing he had given up on stewing over things like that a few years ago. Type A people want all their ducks in a row with uniform buttons polished. He still had tendencies toward those behaviors, but, thanks to God’s healing, they were growing more seldom. Until he saw someone being abused or picked on.

  Jonah came to mind, not that people were picking on him, but life surely was.

  He cleaned his brushes and covered his palette.

  He arrived at Dinah’s building at five till six and hit her unit number on the pad by the door. Safeguards like that were good for women, especially living alone in the downtown area. Shame Eastbrook had come to that. The times had changed.

  Her voice came over the intercom. “Sorry for the delay. I buzzed you.”

  “Thanks.”

  When he reached her door, Jonah answered the ding-dong. He swung the door open. “Dinah said to have a seat. She’ll be ready in a minute.”