Following Rain

by Darrel Nelson

  Susan Townsend arrived and the chitchat stopped. Everyone settled back in their seats while she stood at the head of the table and referred to the agenda. “Good morning, everyone,” she said curtly.

  With that formality out of the way, she launched into her agenda. “I would like an update on your current assignments. I want to be kept in the loop at all times.” She made eye contact with each person seated around the table so they understood this was more than a hope or a wish. When her gaze reached Paul, she paused and studied him. “What’s the latest on the homeless shelter feature? I haven’t seen any details yet.”

  Paul shifted in his seat. “Their Super Saturday fundraiser has been postponed, I’m afraid.”

  Susan seemed genuinely surprised. “Why?”

  He recounted Maria’s telephone conversation, explaining how the major sponsors had bailed out.

  Susan listened attentively, her lips pursed. Finally she said, “They haven’t been able to find other sponsors?”

  “They’ve contacted a number of businesses, but no luck. And the city coffers are stretched to the limit in an effort to spread resources around.”

  “What’s going to happen to the homeless shelter?”

  “Who cares?” the heavyset man muttered under his breath.

  “Will it have enough funds to continue operating?” Susan persisted.

  The heavyset man lowered his voice and whispered to Paul, “If not, it won’t be the first time the people have lost their homes, right?”

  Paul cut him a look and then shrugged.

  “I see,” Susan replied. She paused a moment before continuing. “Well, I’ll reassign the story to Jennifer if and when the shelter decides to go ahead with the fundraiser. That’s all we can do for now, I suppose.”

  As the meeting continued, Paul considered his coworker’s comment: Who cares? It had been uttered so dismissively. And since no one around the table had been particularly interested in pursuing the matter, it had been dropped. But he could have answered the question had he been so inclined. He’d been to the homeless shelter and had met several people who did care. Deeply.

  He thought of Rain and how focused she had been on her work when he visited the shelter for the first time. She had been so intent on e-mailing sponsors in an effort to garner continued support that she had failed to notice his attempts to impress her with his charm. She cared about the homeless shelter.

  He thought of Maria Sanchez and how enthused she had been about the Super Saturday fundraiser. She talked passionately about the shelter and its mission. And its needs. She cared about the shelter, too.

  The facility’s guests showed care and concern, as well. Little Jayden had cleaned the windows with almost military precision, and Charlie had taken obvious pride in demonstrating how the sprayer worked.

  Many people cared. So who did not care?

  People who’ve never been there or needed the shelter, he thought. People who have an abundance of the necessities of life. People who get enough to eat and have a safe roof over their heads. People . . . just like me!

  The realization disturbed him. It lurked in the back of his mind after the meeting ended. He went to the staff room to get a cup of coffee but discovered that the thoughts continued to linger as he sipped the dark brew and stared out of the window. The homeless shelter was only five blocks away, and he wondered if Rain was even now sitting at her desk in a last-ditch attempt to find sponsors. Perhaps Maria was out beating the bushes in a desperate effort to do the same.

  The shelter’s routine was probably continuing as it did every day. But for how much longer? Maria had sounded deeply worried when she’d talked with him on the telephone. And he could tell that it was more than the fate of the Super Saturday fundraiser she was worried about. It was the fate of the homeless shelter itself.

  He knew from his background research that several shelters and soup kitchens had recently closed. This put a tremendous strain on the ones still in operation. And although the city was pouring millions of dollars into providing for the homeless, more assistance was needed. But from what source?

  That is the million-dollar question, he thought, smiling grimly.

  His eyes fell on a poster that hung on a bulletin board near the staff refrigerator. It showed a man and a woman wearing bathing suits and reclining on comfortable chairs on the beach. The caption read: Grand Formosa Regent. Behind the man and woman stood a Taiwanese waiter, holding a tray with two glasses of some refreshing beverage. Further in the background was a picture of a banquet room containing tables overflowing with exotic dishes and enticing desserts.

  Paul thought of an assignment that had taken him to Taiwan four months ago. He had been researching Grandin Enterprises, the company suspected of buying sub-grade materials and then billing the City of Seattle with grossly inflated prices. He remembered seeing wealthy vacationers at the hotel where he was staying. Many were CEOs and oil guys from Dubai. They were big tippers and money was no object. Hundred dollar bills floated around like falling leaves, and the hotel employees hovered around and raked them in by the handful.

  He turned away from the poster and looked out the window again, gazing over the cityscape as he contemplated the extravagance and the luxury he had witnessed at the resort in Taiwan. His thoughts shifted abruptly when his eyes reached the spot where the homeless shelter was located.

  Suddenly he was back inside Welcoming Hands. He could see the chipped paint on the walls and the faded linoleum on the floors. He could hear the rusty pipes in the bathrooms clanking when the facilities were used, and he could visualize the rows of worn mats in the crowded sleeping quarters.

  He saw himself handing a piece of candy to the elderly man who did the woodcarvings. The man grinned and his eyes glowed with appreciation over something insignificant in comparison to anything found on the buffet tables at the Grand Formosa Regent. Next, Paul imagined the delighted expressions on the faces of the homeless children as they unwrapped the animal figure carved especially for them.

  Now as he sipped his coffee, he considered the plight of Welcoming Hands. What a contrast in circumstances! The shelter couldn’t raise enough funds to meet its basic operating needs, whereas the vacationers possessed an endless supply of cash.

  The questions Susan posed in the meeting resurfaced. What’s going to happen to the homeless shelter? Will it have enough funds to continue operating? Then he considered his colleague’s cutting response: Who cares?

  He finished his coffee and rinsed out the cup. As he headed for his cubicle, he considered a few questions of his own. So what if the homeless shelter didn’t have enough funds? Why should he care? It wasn’t his concern. He didn’t have to worry about the promo feature anymore because it was going to be reassigned to Jennifer. Besides, until a week ago he’d never set foot inside the shelter. It had been in operation since the Great Depression, but perhaps its days were numbered. The clients could always go to other shelters. Like his coworker said, it wouldn’t be the first time people lost their homes.

  By the time he reached his cubicle, an idea was burrowing into his brain. He struggled to resist it by rationalizing it away, but it kept returning like a long-range boomerang. Pacing the floor of his cubicle, he considered the implications inherent in the idea and attempted to evaluate them from all angles.

  Finally he sat down and gave himself one last chance to reconsider. Then exhaling slowly, he pulled out his iPhone and pressed the name listed first in his Favorites.

  CHAPTER 16

  As Rain placed a folder in the file cabinet the following morning, her eyes fell on the tab labeled Super Saturday. Her hand paused in midair and the dull ache in her chest intensified. The folder represented everything she had worked hard to accomplish. Now it stood as a label of failure. What had started out as a fundraising plan of hope and promise had ended in crushing disappointment. How could something so right have turned out so wrong?

  Once again the dark, ominous feelings that she had experienced whi
le sitting on the back steps yesterday returned. So far Maria had said nothing about how the reduction in funding would impact staffing, but it was just a matter of time until the ax fell. Rain’s chin trembled as she selected the file she needed and quickly closed the drawer.

  A few minutes later she looked up from her work to see Paul standing in the office doorway. He was leaning against the doorjamb, grinning at her.

  She couldn’t reply in kind. At least not sincerely. There was nothing to be cheerful about. It was like trying to be chipper at a funeral, for that’s how the atmosphere felt to her.

  “Good morning,” he said cheerfully.

  “I thought Maria called you to—”

  “She did.”

  Rain hesitated. “So you know the fundraiser has been—”

  “Yup.”

  “So . . .”

  “Why am I here? To finish the promo feature.”

  Wrinkling her brow in perplexity, Rain said, “I don’t understand.”

  Paul took a step toward her. “Is Maria in?”

  Rain glanced toward the inner office. “Yes, she just finished her nine o’clock appointment with a client.”

  “I need to talk to her.”

  Pushing back from her desk, Rain checked the schedule on the bulletin board. “She has a ten thirty appointment, and so—”

  “Oh, it won’t take that long.”

  Rain walked toward the inner office door, still staring in puzzlement at Paul, who continued to grin.

  His expression bothered her. She didn’t like flirtatious men, and Paul definitely possessed a high opinion of himself. Still, Maria’s schedule was free right now and there was no valid reason to turn him away.

  She knocked on the door. “Excuse me, Maria, but Mr. Blakely is here to see you.”

  “Paul?” Maria said in obvious surprise. “Have him come in.”

  Rain stepped aside as an invitation for Paul to enter. As he passed by he said, “Coming?”

  “I thought you just wanted to see Maria.”

  “You’ll want to hear what I have to say, too.”

  She looked at Maria uncertainly, who motioned her to enter and close the door.

  When the three of them were seated, Maria said, “I’m surprised to see you, Paul. Perhaps you misunderstood me yesterday on the phone. I—”

  “No, I got the message loud and clear.”

  Maria tented her fingers and waited for Paul to elaborate.

  “We need to finish the promo feature so it can air in time,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Rain felt a flush of anger. Was he mocking her failed efforts to find sponsors? And why was he still grinning? He seemed to be enjoying Maria’s and her confusion. What was he up to? What game was he playing?

  Maria studied him carefully. “We aren’t going to be able to proceed with the fundraiser, Paul. As I explained, we haven’t been able to raise the money to host it. So there’s no point in—”

  Paul held up a hand, politely cutting her off. “What will it take for you to be able to hold the fundraiser?”

  A miracle, Rain thought to herself as Maria replied, “Financial support.”

  “How much?”

  Maria studied him for a minute longer. “We haven’t totaled all the figures yet, but Rain could describe the activities we have planned.”

  Paul turned and looked directly at Rain. “Actually, why don’t you save that for the meeting?”

  “What meeting?” Rain and Maria said at the same time.

  “The one with the committee.”

  “The committee?” Rain replied, wondering where this was headed.

  “My parents and an associate want to hear the details about the Super Saturday event.”

  Rain glanced at Maria and then stared at Paul. “Why?”

  Paul leaned forward in his seat and calmly announced, “Because they might agree to fund it.”

  A momentary silence fell on the room and then Maria put a hand to her throat and said, “Tell me you’re serious.”

  Paul nodded. “I am serious.”

  “Oh, this is such good news!” she said, clasping her hands. “You’re angel of mercy.”

  “It’s not a done deal yet, though,” Paul cautioned.

  “But there’s a good chance, right?”

  Rain still felt uncertain. After all she had done and after all the abuse she had taken, she had finally accepted the hopelessness of the situation. And now this? It seemed too good to be true. There had to be a catch somewhere. “So this committee might really give us the money?” she said, making no effort to hide her skepticism.

  Paul gave a slight shrug. “It depends—”

  Here it comes, she thought.

  “—on you. You need to meet them.” He motioned toward the office doorway. “So let’s go.”

  “Now?” Rain gasped, gesturing with her hands as she looked down at herself. “But I’m not ready.”

  Laughing, Maria got up and embraced her warmly. “My dear, no one is more ready than you. You’ve been working the telephone for weeks.” She turned Rain around and pointed her toward the door. “I’ll keep an eye on Charlie.”

  As they emerged from the office, Paul said, “Just wait a minute.” He walked toward the couch where Jayden and three other children were watching TV. “Hey, guys,” he called, pulling a bag from his jacket pocket. “I got something for you.”

  Jayden, clutching his wooden horse, was off the couch in an instant. “Whatcha got?”

  The other children crowded around, jockeying for position.

  “Something for good boys and girls,” Paul said.

  “We’ve been good! We’ve been good!” they chimed in chorus.

  “I’ve been very good,” Jayden added.

  Paul glanced over his shoulder at Rain. “Have they been good or are they just saying it?”

  “They’ve been great,” Rain replied, too anxious about the impending interview to fall in with the playful bantering.

  “In that case, here’s a well-deserved treat.” Paul handed two pieces of candy to each child.

  The children cheered and accepted the candy. Then as the others returned to the couch, Jayden hung back. He winked at Paul and held his wooden horse out discreetly.

  Paul winked back and slipped him one more candy.

  Jayden returned to the couch and shot Paul a final wink.

  Nodding to seal their secret, Paul rejoined Rain and accompanied her to the door. “Ready to go?” he asked, pocketing the bag of candy.

  She looked at the three contented children and said, “You made quite an impression.”

  He held the door open for her. “I’m glad. Now, Miss Rain McKenzie . . . it’s your turn.”

  CHAPTER 17

  During the drive to his parents’ home, Paul was aware of Rain’s furtive glances at him. He could tell she was still skeptical. Undoubtedly because of all the rejections she’d received, she didn’t dare allow herself to believe just yet. Doors had been slammed repeatedly in her face, and so it seemed improbable that one—a major one at that—was unexpectedly opening.

  He couldn’t exactly blame her for being doubtful, either. What support or genuine interest had he shown in the past? He had never donated to the homeless shelter or supported their fundraisers. He had been less than enthused when assigned to visit the homeless shelter and perhaps it had shown during his visit. And now here he was championing the homeless shelter’s cause? Rain had reason to be skeptical.

  Since placing the phone call to his parents yesterday and explaining the shelter’s dire situation, he’d asked himself several times just why he was getting involved. Was it because of his co-worker’s dismissive attitude? Was it the fact that everyone in the meeting had glazed over the shelter’s desperate circumstances so they could get through the agenda quicker? He wasn’t sure of the answer, but one thing he did know for certain—what he was doing felt right.

  He turned onto Highland Drive and drove past Kerry Park, where he had filmed the single-c
up coffee maker feature with Grunge. Further to the west, stately mansions lined both sides of the road. Tall spruce and maple trees peered above the manicured hedges, and lawns that resembled newly installed carpeting bordered the boulevards.

  “The houses are so beautiful,” Rain said.

  “A lot of them are based on Queen Anne architecture.”

  Rain eyed him curiously.

  Paul chuckled. “I had to do a school report on a history of my neighborhood once. A man named Reverend Bagley jokingly referred to this area as ‘Queen Anne Town’ because so many of the early homes tried to imitate the English style with their domed turrets and multi-gabled rooflines. The nickname stuck and it has been called Queen Anne Hill ever since.”

  “Thank you, Professor Blakely,” she said, smiling.

  Paul noticed how her careworn expression softened when she smiled. Her brown eyes crinkled in the corners, and her delicate lips drew back to reveal beautiful, straight teeth. She looked like a different person. And despite the fact that she wore little makeup and had her hair pulled back in her customary ponytail, her smile revealed her natural beauty.

  “It must have been something growing up in this neighborhood,” Rain mused as she continued to gaze around.

  “It was something. But maybe not in the way you’re thinking.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Despite their wealth, my parents are actually very conservative people. You’ll see.”

  Rain looked at him anxiously and he could tell she was nervous about meeting them.

  “When I came along, they christened me Paul, after Paul Allen, co-founder of Microsoft, and Paul McCartney, Dad’s favorite Beatle. My younger siblings and I went to public school, not a private one, because our parents wanted us to stay grounded as a family. Mom and Dad volunteered for various charitable and humanitarian causes, even after Mom was diagnosed with MS.”

  “MS? I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  “She’s a trooper, but sometimes it looks like she’s not going to last the day. And then suddenly the symptoms disappear and she’s all right. She has good days and bad days, and we certainly treasure the good days, I can tell you.”