by Paul Sunn
Alice Chase & Paul Sunn
Rain
Wash Away My Sins
First published by PaulSunn.com in 2018
Copyright © Alice Chase & Paul Sunn, 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Alice Chase & Paul Sunn asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
First edition
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Coming Soon
1
Chapter 1
Now
I didn’t want to open the thick, heavy, wooden door. The secrets it guarded threatened my very soul. Standing out in the cold drizzle seemed like the better option. Today had already been too long and too complicated. Full of conversations I wasn’t ready to have and host to several uncanny situations that I couldn’t explain. In on way did I want to wrap it all up by facing Philip. Would it be possible to pretend I never saw him in the restaurant? There had to be some rational, reasonable explanation for his presence at the table with those two particular men that didn’t make me question every single one of his motives. The throbbing pressure building up behind my eyes slowly turned everything hazy. The rain didn’t help either. Like the inevitable dentist’s appointment, it would be impossible to avoid. Kneading fingers into my temples did not soothe the pain. Any which way I looked at it, Philip would want to talk about today.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe there was a perfectly rational explanation for what I saw. Maybe he hadn’t even seen me. I told myself. But I knew that was a lie.
Even if he’d been stricken with a sudden idiopathic case of Coke-bottle-lens nearsightedness, he couldn’t have missed me. We’d locked eyes, almost spoke. I think. Maybe he looked my way, but he didn’t really see me as he was engrossed in the conversation with the other two men. Yet, he couldn’t have missed the raucous I inadvertently had caused. The whole restaurant had witnessed my frantic escape. Which included somehow managing to spill the water glasses of everyone I passed, and probably Philip’s as well, though I didn’t stop to check.
Sucking in a deep breath between my clenched teeth, my head pounded like I was the center of a mosh pit at Gwar concert. Just maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe there was a sensible, logical reason for what he was doing there. I had already spent the entire day facing terrifying conversations I wasn’t ready to have.
Of course, those had all ended the same. Badly.
No. No, it was going to be fine. Fumbling through my all too heavy purse that was filling with water, I emerged victorious with my front door keys. Philip could be a little intimidating sometimes, but that was due to the force of his personality. He was a go-getter who knew what he wanted and knew how to get it. That’s it. For someone like me, who was as the cliché went was afraid of her own shadow, that could be intimidating at times.
But Philip would never ever do anything to hurt me. Hurt us. He loved me, strange as it seemed. I hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, inside the front door of our townhouse apartment, fingers nervously twisting the 2-carat diamond engagement ring on my left hand. Was the air getting thinner in here? I had the right to know what he was doing in Sofia’s today. We were supposed to be getting married in the spring, if he was doing something he shouldn’t be I deserved to know why.
Global warming was in full effect because it was getting harder and harder to breathe with each ascending stairstep. My legs felt like each of my shoes were filled with fifty pounds of lead. I needed to spend the night somewhere other than our apartment. I could call Marianne! She wouldn’t turn me down if I needed a couch to crash on. Hopefully.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I shot a silent prayer up to whatever deity might be looking down upon me that moment and turned the knob of my front door.
Cracking the front door open, the smell of cookies seeped through, jolting my brain and my senses. I swallowed back some drool while the sounds of footsteps and the clinking of utensils in the kitchen accompanied by the low undertones of classical music filled my ears. Some kind of piano concerto.
“Rayne?” the smooth familiar voice of the man I thought I knew so well called out to me.
I peeled off my wet jacket and hung it up on a hook in the foyer.
“Here,” I called back. My voice stuck like wet spaghetti inside my throat.
Philip met me in the hallway between the foyer and the kitchen. We’d been together for almost two years now, and he could still take my breath away if I caught sight of him unexpectedly like that. Tall, slim and handsome with those bright blue eyes that always seemed to pierce my soul when I looked into them, topped with a mop of bright blonde hair that was always just a little too long…yeah, Philip Glaser was drop-dead gorgeous.
“Dinner’s not ready yet,” he said absently kissing my head as if today was just a normal, everyday day. “So, I drew you a bath. You need to have a good long soak before we talk.”
“You made dinner?” I repeated, a little disbelieving. Philip was good at a lot of things, but I didn’t know cooking to be one of them.
He grinned, showing off straight white teeth that could easily grace dental posters the world over. “Well, I’m trying,” he amended. He put a hand on my back and drove me down the hallway toward the stairs. “But you look wound up. So first, a bath.”
I caught a glimpse of the dining room as he herded me toward the stairs. He really was trying. The table had a fresh tablecloth on it, and new candles set in a freshly-polished silver candelabra his mother had given us as an engagement present, waiting to be lit. He’d even broken out the fine china, the stuff that he only allowed me to use on Christmas, birthdays and when his parents visited. Which generally were Christmas and birthdays, their’s not mine.
He nudged me up the open steps and into the bathroom. He’d outdone himself here, too: scented candles, bath salts and water so hot small eddies of steam danced along its surface. This was all very sweet. Too sweet. It worried me. Conventional woman wisdom said that if your man is suddenly treating you unusually well, it’s because he’s softening you up to tell you something horrible, like that he wants to break up, or trying to make you forgive and forget the horrible thing he just did, like he’s been cheating on you, with your best friend, in your bed.
I shook my head, dismissing the thought. I knew Philip. I knew we would have to talk about what he was doing in the restaurant today, but at least I knew he wasn’t cheating on me. I hope. No. Heck, he wasn’t even with another girl there, so it’s not like I caught him on a date or anything.
I spun around gently but with purpose, knocking Philip’s hand off the middle of my back. “Wait. I need to know. What were you doing at Sofia’s today?”
He put his hands on my shoulders, ran them down my arms like a parent soothing a small child. “In a minute.”
I should say okay and let it wait. I almost did. Almost. But the image had been haunting me since my hasty retreat, and I couldn’t stand it another minute. “No Philip. Now.”
He lifted an eyebrow, obviously surprised by my sudden insistence. Hey, he was the one always telling me I had to stand up for myself.
“Philip,” I said, my voice cracking before sliding back to its usual level of meekness. I could hear pleading in that tone, and I hated it. “Just tell me that it was all on the level. All above board.”
“Oh.” Philip let out a breath and smiled, almost as though he was relieved by the words. “Is that all? Yes. Yes, it’s all on the level. Just some plans for a new building along the Delaware. Quite above board and legal and all that.”
My body deflated like an old balloon
“What, did you think I was involved in shady dealings? In the middle of Center City, at lunchtime?”
I didn’t want to admit such a stupid thought, not to him. I knew Philip was a good man who wouldn’t ever be involved in anything illegal. The way he looked at me now, his heart-melting frown and the traces of hurt evident in his beautiful eyes, made me feel smaller than an ant for my suspicions.
So that’s what I was really made of, what existed in the deepest parts of my soul: distrust of the man I loved, simply because he was sitting at a table with someone my firm was supposed to be building a case against. Sure, Devlin Blake was a shady character who’d already escaped three indictments by crossing county lines and exploiting every tiny loophole in the judicial system, but he was also Philadelphia’s top investment banker. If someone wanted to put buildings up around the Delaware, he’d be the first guy to contact about financing the project. It was probably even smart of Philip to bring Mr. Bryans, a partner in one of Philadelphia’s top law firms, along to the meal just to be safe.
I was so stupid to have ever thought otherwise.
Philip watched me for a few moments, the frown swaying as the corners of his lips tugged up into the first hints of a smile. “Silly girl,” he murmured, “did you really think I was doing some shady, underhanded deal?”
“No, I…” I hesitated. I didn’t want to admit that was exactly what I had thought, because he was right, that was silly. The aroma from the kitchen saved me. “What about dinner?”
He chuckled and leaned in toward me. In the candlelight from the edges of the sink and tub, his eyes almost glowed. “Do I need a reason to dote on my bride?” he whispered into my ear.
“I’m not your bride,” I said, but my face was heating up. I really liked it when he talked like that, reminding me that we were going to be married in just a few months.
Philip touched his lips to mine, tugged gently on my bottom lip with his teeth. “Not yet,” he murmured. He kissed me. He kissed me long and slow and sexy like only he could. My hands moved as if on their own power to sweep back that mop of blonde hair that was always falling into his eyes. He pulled away after a moment, a little bit, just far enough to reclaim the use of his lips. “Go on, take your bath.” His lips brushed against mine as they moved. “I’ll finish up in the kitchen.” He kissed me again, lightly, then turned and went back downstairs.
I stripped off my work clothes, groaning with pleasure when I was finally able to take off those damned pantyhose. I hated pantyhose with a passion, but they were part of my corporate work attire, so I suffered them. Marianne had been wearing knee-highs for months and claiming that no one cared if the paralegals didn’t follow the letter of their dress code, it’s not like they were going to look up her dress. I wasn’t prepared to risk my job this early in the game. Full-length pantyhose were listed as a requirement of all female employee work attire, and no matter how I hated them or how medieval it seemed I wasn’t going to flaunt the rules. It just made the relief of taking them off at night that much more sublime.
I stepped into the white soaking tub. The water was still gloriously blistering. So hot that it almost felt cold on my skin, just the way I liked it. I stretched out my back, letting the scent of the candles, the smoothness of the eucalyptus bath salt and the heat of the water ease the tension in my muscles and calm my frayed nerves.
It had been a long, terrible day, full of strange and inexplicable moments. I was all too ready to forget about it. Sinking deeper into the tub to close my eyes, letting the warm water embrace me.
2
Chapter 2
Then
Rushing down the street, fighting desperately not to slip and break my neck on the cracked, wet Philadelphia sidewalk, I ran. My bus was idling at the bus stop, waiting to spot me turning the corner before the driver spun the wheel and pulled away from the curb.
“Wait!” I yelled, waving my arms over my head with enough zeal to land a fleet of planes in a futile attempt to catch his attention.
The driver didn’t see me. The bus sped away down the street.
Darn it. The rain had started to pour as I left the apartment, and now I was soaked down to my stupid pantyhose. I glared up at the gray sky, cursing the fat, angry clouds and the callous water that splashed my face. A lot of good that did.
Another SEPTA bus was scheduled past this stop in 5 minutes. A different route. It would drop me off me two blocks away from the office. I guessed it was better than risking death by drowning to wait the full half-hour until the next bus that ran right up to my office door. I was already going to be late this morning. Another five minutes and running two blocks wouldn’t matter much.
I flopped down on the wet bus stop bench without a care. I was already soaked to the bone. Most of the stops in town had their benches sported a roof and were enclosed in at least two glass walls. This one wasn’t one of them. I glared up at the sky again, this time with real spite. The stubborn raindrops kept spitting on my face. My mother’s voice sang in my ears.
Rain, rain, go away.
On cold, wet days we used to stare up through the window of the tiny one-bedroom apartment where I’d grown up and sing that stupid nursery rhyme at the clouds.
Rain, rain, go away. Come again another day. Little Raynie wants to play. Rain, rain, go away.
There was a silly little dance to go with it, too, a sway of the hips and wiggle of the fingers. We’d make up stories about the things we would do if it stopped raining: I’d go to the swimming pool. I’d take us to the lake for a boat ride. I’d invite Daddy and Jane for a picnic. I’d run barefoot through the grass.
I shook my head, dismissing the memory of my mother. She rarely invaded my thoughts anymore. Those few instances she did, it was just a recall of the good times. Had to remind myself what happened wasn’t my fault, I was only a child. A particularly baleful, soaking gust buffeted me back into reality. Philip really should’ve offered me a ride to work today. Sure, my office was out of his way and I hated to impose on him like that, but he could’ve at least made the offer.
On the positive side, the extra few minutes of being late gave me a few extra minutes to practice what I was going to say. I spent all night memorizing my speech and imagining the way I was going to burst into that office and insist my boss acknowledge the excellent work I’d done. Bringing up the fact that I’d been flexible and willing to do whatever needed doing in the office, even if it was just refiling old cases or cleaning out the Keurig. Christine, one of the paralegals on Mr. Paulson’s personal team, was going to be leaving in a week, and I was going to be the one to fill that space. Me, Rayne Cressdon.
The thought of confronting Mr. Paulson like that, demanding that he notices me, made my stomach writhe like it was full of angry butterfly-eating snakes. It made me shiver more than any freezing rain ever could. My meager breakfast struggled to move up against gravity, up and out where it came from. I rubbed my belly trying to settle my stomach. Philip was right, I deserved to be more than the coffee girl in that office. I was smart and educated and currently working well below my paygrade.
A few more people gathered around the bus stop during my wait. One, an elderly lady shriveled like an old plum inside a comically-yellow slicker and wearing a plastic hood to keep the rain off her bright-white curls. The other a large woman in a viciously pointy pantsuit carrying an
umbrella large enough to protect the whole of Florida in hurricane, who kept barking into her cell phone.
“No, I want the flowers on the left side of the room. The left side! Your other fucking left, you shithead!”
I glanced at the old lady, who grimaced back at me and stuck out the tip of her tongue in disgust. I wasn’t against swearing when the situation called for it, but the placement of flowers on the table didn’t really seem to warrant it.
The bus pulled up to the stop. I stood and noticed the elderly lady was struggling to stand up. “Here,” I said, putting out a hand to help her to her feet. The old lady took my hand. Her skin was soft and dry, despite the rain. Now I wish I had a canary yellow slicker.
“Thank you, dear,” she smiled as I helped pull her off the bench.
We angled toward the pair of blue, metallic bus doors. The agitated woman with the umbrella bumped my shoulder, nearly pushing me and the old woman to the ground.
“No, no, fuckhead, the cream ribbons!”
I glanced worriedly at the elderly woman again and saw her fighting back a smile. I hopped onto the bus steps. Once I reached the top, I watched as the old woman strained to purchase a strong foothold at the bottom step. The steps were too steep and too narrow. I held out my hand again and helped the old woman up.
“Thank you, dear,” the old woman smiled wide. Her perfectly-straight, bright white teeth shone through her withered face.
The sight of her flawless full upper and lower dentures sent me back to first grade. Bobby Darinio told Edith Ender’s mother her teeth were so big and so white that when he grew up he wanted to have teeth just like hers. She said why wait, and popped out her false teeth, holding them out for the boy. Bobby didn’t come back to school for two weeks. I couldn’t help myself and let a smile slide across my lips.
The old woman nodded and sat down. I shuffled toward the back of the bus.
