Following Rain

by Darrel Nelson

  “Thanks,” Paul said, smiling appreciatively.

  “I bet you could write a book about all the things you’ve investigated.”

  Paul chuckled. “I’ve come across some pretty amazing stories since I joined KNEX-TV. But it’s not all high drama and breaking news stuff. A lot of it is ordinary and everyday—memorable but not necessarily newsworthy.”

  “Like what, for example?”

  He glanced at the ceiling as though accessing a vast catalogue of memories. “I went to Taiwan a few months back to do a feature on a local business that was cheating the City of Seattle out of millions of dollars.”

  “That sounds newsworthy to me,” Rain said, interrupting him.

  “It was, indeed. I won an award for it.” He beamed proudly. “But the thing I was going to tell you about occurred on the flight home. There was this little kid sitting across the aisle from me. He wanted a soda, but his mother said no. He whined and complained but she wouldn’t give in. The woman beside me in the aisle seat ordered a Diet Coke, took a few sips, and then went to the restroom. Then you know what happened? The little kid snuck across the aisle and finished off the soda. When the woman returned, she went to take a sip and said in surprise, ‘I don’t remember drinking all my soda!’”

  Rain chuckled as she tried to envision the experience.

  “The woman glanced at me suspiciously, but I just looked out the window and did my best not to burst our laughing,” Paul continued. “I wanted to tell her what happened, but I didn’t have the heart to rat out the little tyke.”

  “Paul Blakely . . . an old softie?” Rain teased.

  “Not really. I probably should have told on him because he wet himself a while later.”

  Rain groaned and shook her head sympathetically. “Accidents happen all the time at the shelter, too. We keep a supply of disposable diapers and a change of baby clothes on hand.”

  Stroking his chin contemplatively, Paul studied Rain for a moment. “I bet you could write a book, too.”

  “Some really interesting people have passed through our doors.”

  “Like Harold the Woodcarver, for example.”

  Nodding, Rain said, “Exactly. To most people he’s just an old man who doesn’t have a home. But when he turns a block of wood into an animal figure and gives it to a child, something amazing happens. There’s more to him than meets the eye.”

  Paul pursed his lips and murmured. “Hmm, that’s a perfect segue into what I wanted to talk to you about.” He wagged a finger at her. “You’re pretty sneaky, you know that?”

  Rain scowled good-naturedly. “Not really. You wouldn’t give me even a hint about what it was, so how could I lead into it?”

  “Women’s intuition,” Paul replied, masking a grin.

  “I can’t be that intuitive because I still don’t know your idea.”

  Rubbing his hands together, Paul said, “Let me enlighten you, shall I?”

  Rain rolled her eyes. “It’s about time.”

  As Paul opened his mouth to explain, the waiter arrived with the salads. Paul waited to be served and then said, “The salads look great. Let’s eat first.”

  Rain’s mouth popped open in disbelief.

  “I’m only teasing,” Paul said, laughing. “I’m actually anxious to tell you my idea. But let’s eat while we talk, okay?”

  Rain eyed him narrowly as she reached for her salad fork. “Okay.”

  Paul took a mouthful, chewed for a moment, and then began. “Here’s my idea. In order to assist with the publicity of Super Saturday, I’d like to do a spotlight—a mini feature—on one of guests. I want to show the viewers that although people are homeless, they are not valueless. They can still make important contributions in this world.”

  “Who do you have in mind?”

  “Harold the Woodcarver. I want to show him making wooden animal figures and giving them to the children. That will allow my viewers to see him as the Santa Claus of Welcoming Hands.”

  Rain laughed. “That’s a great way to describe him. I really like the idea.”

  “Plus, it will allow the shelter to be seen in a new light.”

  She suddenly grew serious. “There is one caution, though. We’ll have to get his permission in advance.”

  Paul grimaced. “I remember the mistake I made in wanting to put little Jayden in my promo feature.”

  “That’s why I kind of freaked out when you suggested it. The feature would have led his father straight to him.”

  Paul ate for a moment and decided not to mention how her “freaking out” had also included the invitation for Charlie to be in the feature, as well. “Do you see a problem getting Harold’s permission?”

  “I don’t think so. Matter of fact, it might be great to feature him. There’s always the chance that a long-lost family member will see him and finally bring him home.”

  “Things like that happen?’

  Rain smiled, remembering. “You said I could write a book about my experiences at the shelter. Well, not all of the stories are sad; some have a happy ending. Reunions with loved ones are not common, but they do happen. And when they do, it makes it all worthwhile.”

  Paul picked up his water glass and held it toward Rain. She followed suit. As they clinked their glasses together, he said, “Here’s to happy endings.”

  There was something in his voice and the way he looked into her eyes that caused her hand to tremble as she sipped her water.

  As the main course arrived and the waiter positioned each plate in from of them, she noticed Paul staring at her again, an enigmatic expression in his eyes. Smiling back appreciatively, she tried to concentrate on her dinner.

  It was wonderful of Paul to spotlight one of the guests and hope for a happy result. Something told her, however, that he was talking about more than this. But just what specifically, she wasn’t certain. Nor did not dare entertain the possibilities.

  * * * * *

  Paul resisted the urge to hold Rain’s hand as they strolled through Waterfront Park following dinner. He often brought dates here after an enjoyable meal in the vicinity. On clear evenings like this one, the sun tinted the waters of Elliot Bay in a colorful palette of hues and textures, creating a peaceful and intimate setting. It was easy for him to slip an arm around his date as she leaned against the railing to admire the view.

  But he did not make a move on Rain. Instead, he was careful not to crowd her as he led her onto the viewing platform. He watched her from the corner of his eye as she gazed at the ships in dry dock, silhouetted against the Olympic Mountains in the background.

  “It’s so beautiful,” she said. “I’ve never been here before.”

  “You’ll have to come back again.”

  Rain paused. “It’s pretty hard for me to get away.”

  He understood. Because of her work schedule and the responsibilities she faced in caring for Charlie, she undoubtedly had little personal time. He was anxious to learn more about her, but he resisted the urge to subtly pry. She had accused him before of investigating, and he was determined not to spoil the occasion by doing so now. He would glean tidbits of information as she opened up to him . . . in her own way. “Maybe you can make some time,” he said encouragingly. “The view changes dramatically with the weather. It never looks the same way twice to me.”

  Rain glanced at him. “You come here often?”

  “It’s a popular spot.” He gestured toward several couples strolling arm in arm along the lamp-lined pathway. “A little oasis in the center of the hustle and bustle.” A bird chirped heartily from its perch in a nearby tree and Paul chuckled. “Even he agrees with me.”

  Rain drew in a deep breath. “I do, too.”

  A sailboat appeared in the distance. Paul watched Rain strain to track it as it disappeared behind the hull of a ship in dry dock and then came into view again.

  “That’s a sloop,” he commented. “A day sailing yacht. Probably an eighteen-footer.”

  She studied it a moment lo
nger. “How can you tell?”

  “It has a mainsail and a jib but no cabin.”

  “What’s a jib?”

  “The front sail. It runs from the bow to the mast.” He pointed. “See?”

  She studied the vessel for a moment longer. “How do you know so much about sailboats?”

  Paul shrugged casually. “My dad owns one. We belong to a yachting club.”

  Rain murmured as if to say, “Of course you do.”

  “We named our boat the Pricilla B.”

  “After your mother? How sweet.”

  “We used to take it out as a family until Mom got sick. Now it mostly sits moored at the dock.” He suddenly wet his lips and looked at Rain. “Have you ever gone sailing?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Would you like to go?”

  Her expression momentarily brightened, but then she shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “It would do the old girl good to get out on the water.”

  “There’s so much to do for Super Saturday.”

  Paul recognized this as another excuse. “It would do you good to get out on the water, too,” he persisted. “Besides, I’m working with you on the fundraiser now, so you have more help.” He took a step closer. “It’s an incredible feeling to glide over the water with the wind blowing through your hair. You’d love it. I can clear my schedule for tomorrow afternoon.”

  Rain shook her head determinedly. “No, I can’t go tomorrow. I’ve taken a personal day off work and have something else I need to do.”

  Her reply was so definite that Paul realized the point was nonnegotiable. But he wasn’t ready to give up just yet. “When is your day off?”

  “You’re persistent, aren’t you?”

  Paul hid a smile. “I’ve been told that before.”

  “Saturday.”

  “So . . .?”

  Rain hesitated. “Sorry, I do respite care on Saturdays with a special client, so I’m not free.”

  “Bring her along.” Paul deliberately used her in order to mask his knowledge of Rain’s situation.

  “It’s him. Remember Charlie, the guy who accidentally sprayed you when you visited the kitchen?”

  “I sure do. He’s welcome to come along.” Paul arched an eyebrow mischievously. “Besides, it might give me a chance to douse him with the spray and even the score.”

  Rain smiled and then ran her tongue over her teeth in contemplation. “He would enjoy the outing.”

  Paul wondered why she had not admitted her true relationship with her client. She had quickly changed the subject the day in the kitchen when Charlie had accidentally sprayed him. And even now she was generalizing her commitment to him. “I’ll invite my dad to come along, too,” Paul added. “He has been putting a few things together for the fundraiser and wants to give you an update. He’s come up with some more ideas.”

  “Another car raffle?” Rain said, her eyes crinkling in the corners.

  Paul laughed. “Not quite. But I’ll let him tell you about it.”

  Rain leaned against the railing and studied the horizon. “In that case, how can I say no?”

  “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Paul said, nudging her with his elbow.

  Her expression softened. When she smiled at him, Paul noticed the hint of a blush. And he liked it.

  CHAPTER 25

  Oakwood Cemetery, located in the south end of the Tacoma business district, was aptly named. Headstones were nestled among rows of tall oak trees, whose overhanging branches provided a degree of protection from the elements. A tall wooden fence enclosed the grounds, muffling the sounds of traffic and creating a sanctuary of peace and privacy. Bird chatter created a wash of white noise that added to the seclusion.

  The granite headstones on the outer edge of the cemetery glistened as the sun broke through the morning fog. Shadows unfolded from the base of the trees and spread like spilled ink oozing across the manicured lawns. A light breeze sifted through the leaves, and several butterflies flitted in and out of the shadows, oblivious to the two people walking by.

  Many of the headstones bore engraved images of the individuals they honored, and collectively the headstones represented a wide range of styles and designs. Some stood like towering monuments; others resembled works of modern art. Potted plants—ablaze in hues of red, yellow, and blue—sat beside or directly on top of many of the headstones, adding color to the somber environment.

  Rain guided Charlie to a secluded section of the cemetery, where two modest headstones lay horizontally at the base of a tree whose bark resembled chapped skin. A thin layer of dust coated the headstones, and a few tufts of grass grew at their base.

  Rain steeled herself as she stopped directly in front of the two headstones and looked from one to the other. The inscriptions read:

  Linda Richards McKenzie

  Aaron James McKenzie

  September 16, 1965 –

  March 3, 1992 –

  August 22, 2003

  August 22, 2003

  Beloved wife and mother

  Dear son and brother

  Charlie stood beside her patiently for a minute and then asked, “We’ve been here before, haven’t we?”

  “Last year.” And the past nine years before that.

  Glancing around, he said, “When we came last time, there was a long, black car parked over there.” He pointed to a nearby plot. “Some people were standing beside a big hole, crying.”

  “It was a funeral, Charlie. Someone had died, and the family members and friends were sad.”

  “Are they happy now?”

  Rain knelt beside the headstone on the left and began brushing it off. Her fingers trembled as she worked. “I hope so.”

  Charlie knelt beside the other headstone. “Me, too. I don’t want them to be sad anymore.”

  Rain’s bottom lip quivered as she slowly ran a finger over the engraved letters, tracing them one by one.

  Studying the letters, Charlie asked, “Rain, what is Ah-ah-ron?”

  Rain hesitated and glanced at him. His reading skills were improving, and this was becoming problematic. Although many of the headstones bore engraved portraits, these didn’t and so the two deceased individuals were anonymous to him. But now that he was able to sound out words, he was becoming aware that the letters on these two headstones spelled names—names she never spoke in his presence.

  For the past ten years, she had struggled to shield him from the truth, afraid that even the mention of their names would release a torrent of memories that would overwhelm him. How much did she dare tell him now? How prepared was he to learn the truth?

  Until now, she had been unwilling to risk finding out. His emotional barometer was extremely sensitive, and he was affected by the changing moods around him, especially hers. If he could sense such subtle shifts in the weather, how would he handle a storm of emotions so massive that it defied description and mocked any scale that attempted to measure it?

  That’s why she refused to show him the family pictures in the shoebox or talk about life before the accident. She feared it would cause memories to surface that were better left submerged. Knowledge of the truth might cause him to blame himself and lead to a loss of innocence. Did she really want to take that away from him?

  He was becoming emotionally stronger and his curiosity was growing. But would his ability to handle the truth match his desire to learn it? That was the question that had remained unanswered so far. And although she had known this day would come, she hoped she was ready, too.

  “The letters spell Aaron,” she answered, tracing each letter as she slowly pronounced the word.

  “Aaron,” Charlie repeated. “Is that a boy or girl’s name?”

  “In this case, a boy’s name.”

  Charlie scratched his chin and studied the other headstone. “This one says L-in-da. Is that a boy or a girl’s name?”

  “A girl.”

  She waited for his next question, expecting it to be bigger in scope an
d focus on who Linda and Aaron were and what their relationship was to Charlie and Rain.

  Charlie wrinkled his brow and then asked, “Can we go now? I’m getting hungry.”

  Rain breathed in silent relief. “I just need a few more minutes.” She pointed to a group of headstones that were a few yards away. “Go see if you can read the names on those, okay? Then we’ll go get something to eat.”

  He got to his feet and walked toward the headstones.

  Rain tenderly touched her mother’s headstone and whispered, “I’m so sorry, Mom.” A surge of emotions issued from deep within and vented through her eyes. “I love you.” She wiped her tears and then ran a hand across her brother’s headstone. “Oh, Aaron, it should have been me instead of you.”

  Closing her eyes, her mind went back to the events of the night her life changed forever. The details were engraved in her brain and had not faded over time. She remembered brushing by her father on the night of the party and hurrying down the sidewalk, hot tears stinging her eyes. As she approached the car, her first inclination was to keep going, to bolt into the night and get as far away from her family as possible. She knew a boy who had run away from home and spent two weeks at a youth hostel. What stories he had to relate! She could do the same—take refuge in a homeless shelter and stay away long enough to make her parents good and sad. They would regret having pushed her to the point of desperation.

  All these thoughts had gone through her head as she approached the car, but there was only one problem with her plan. She couldn’t make a break for it because her father could outrun her. Last year she had slipped out of the house to go to a junior high football game, even though she was grounded. Her father had raced after her and caught her before she reached the end of the block. He had escorted her back home and doubled the length of her punishment. If she tried to run away now, he would come after her and she would be in even bigger trouble.

  She was still considering her options as she opened the car door and saw Aaron sitting in the backseat listening to his iPod. Her mother was in the passenger’s seat in the front. There was something familiar and comforting about their presence, and she dismissed the notion of seeking sanctuary in a youth hostel. Besides, runaway girls were subject to all kinds of abuse, and she wasn’t willing to face those consequences.