Falling for Rain

by Gina Buonaguro

  He was shocked by the change in her appearance. She was wearing her city clothes again but no makeup. Her hair was combed but not styled and its soft unruliness contrasted with her severe suit. But it was her eyes that alarmed him the most. Shock, fear, anger, all three – Martin wasn’t sure what he saw there. He assumed it was the trauma of the fire that had left her looking this way, but when he mentioned the event, she gave him a puzzled looked as though she didn’t know what he was talking about. If it isn’t the fire that’s upsetting her, he thought, then what is it?

  They sat down on either side of his desk, and he showed her the papers he had prepared.

  “I’ll just go over these with you,” he said, “just to make sure I’ve understood your wishes properly.”

  “Does this give Rain everything, Martin?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he answered. “Are you ready to sign?”

  “Not on your life.” Emily picked up the papers, and, as Martin stared at her dumbfounded, she shredded them over the wastepaper basket. “I’m not giving my parents' farm to the man who killed my mother.”

  “What are you talking about?” Martin said.

  “Did you know that Rain went to the police and admitted his involvement in my mother’s death.”“Yes, but-”

  “No buts. That’s all I need to know.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Emily, let’s be reasonable....”

  “Reasonable?” she shouted.

  Martin put out a hand and touched her arm as if to calm her, but she shrugged it off. “It was a long time ago. He was sorry....”

  “That’s not good enough,” she said, getting up from her chair. “Tell Mr. Storm that I’m going for the whole farm. I’ll bring up his role in my mother’s death if I have to. It was a pretty small item in the paper. The world may have forgotten or not noticed at the time, but I’m sure it’d be interested now that he’s about to become a celebrity.”

  “I won’t represent you.”

  “Heaven forbid. I know where your loyalties lie. Tell Rain,” she said, slipping unconsciously into the familiar nickname, “that I’ll take the farm in exchange for my silence. All he has to do is agree to give me his half and he has my word that the world will never learn of his role in my mother’s death from me. If, on the other hand, he insists on pursuing the terms of the will, I will do everything in my power to stop him. If nothing else, I’ll make it very embarrassing and very expensive for him.” Briefcase in hand, she went to the office door. “I’ll have my Toronto lawyer call you tomorrow. You can tell him Rain’s decision then.”

  She opened the door, about to leave, when she stopped, turned, and looked the lawyer in the eye. “When you told me that Rain was like a son to my parents, did you know about this?” she asked quietly.

  Martin nodded. He could see by the look in her eyes it was pointless to argue.

  “You are a bastard,” she said as she left, slamming the door behind her.

  * * *

  Rain pulled the truck into Maple Tree Farm, his heart sinking when he saw that Emily’s car was no longer parked in front of the house. She can’t have left, he thought, not after last night. He parked the truck, and, with barely a glance at the wet, blackened ruins of the barn, ran into the house. He went through the rooms. This morning when he’d come to find her some clothes, her suitcase had been sitting on the dresser of her old room. Now it was gone.

  Panic rising, he ran to the cabin. Of course she wasn’t there. Her things were gone, her car was gone. Unless someone had come and stolen them, she had left and taken her things with her. The phone rang, and his heart soared as he leapt for the phone. “Emily?” he asked breathlessly into the receiver.

  There was a moment of silence at the other end. “Afraid not, Ray. Martin Wright here.”

  “Is she there with you?” Rain asked.

  “She just left,” Martin said. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

  Just then, Rain caught sight of the article sitting on the fax machine. He grabbed it. “Damn. It’s that blasted newspaper article. Somebody faxed it to her!”

  “That’s what I was calling about. Ray, did you not tell her?”

  “How could I? I thought at first she knew. How could she hate me for so long when she didn’t know?” He threw the fax back onto the machine and paced back and forth in front of the desk with the receiver pressed to his ear. “But she didn’t know, and she hated me anyway. She had no grounds to believe the tractor was unsafe. She just needed someone to blame, so she blamed me and her father. She spent years cultivating an image of me as a stupid farmhand whose negligence led to her mother’s death.” He kicked the chair out of his way and sent it crashing into the side of the desk. “And she was absolutely right.”

  “Ray, enough,” Martin said firmly. “It was an accident.”

  “It was a needless accident, and it's called criminal negligence. In layman’s terms, it’s murder,” Rain rebuffed. “I knew the tractor was dangerous. Henry told me there was a problem that needed fixing but I, thinking I knew more, ignored him and didn’t do anything. And nothing can change that. But when I found out she didn’t know I’d been charged, I thought I could break it to her gently. Convince her it was an accident, make her fall in love with me again, and then very carefully tell her the rest. And it was working. She stopped thinking of me as a stupid farmhand, and last night...,” he paused, remembering how happy he’d been. “Damn it Martin, I’ve been thinking all morning that maybe today I would tell her. If she knew how guilty I’ve felt all these years....” He snatched the incriminating paper off the desk again and shook it. “Who the hell could have done this?”

  “Ever heard of a Jonathon Pilling-Smith?”

  Rain thought to the day before and the man in Emily’s kitchen. He’d had a bad feeling about him. “I think so.”

  “That’s my bet. But you’ve got a real mess on your hands. Either you sign the farm over to her, or she’s going to open up this whole can of worms. She seems to think that now you’re a writer, it might be of interest to the public, not to mention a way of overturning her father’s will.”

  “I don’t give a damn what the public thinks of me. She’s the only person whose opinion matters. And I’ve blown it.” He swore again. “I’m just going to have to call her and try to talk to her.”

  “I don’t think it’ll do any good, Ray. She was pretty angry. She says her lawyer is going to call tomorrow for your answer. And Ray, I wouldn’t beat yourself up over this too much. She probably would’ve reacted the same way if you’d told her yourself. She’s pretty determined not to let this go.”

  Rain sighed. “It is hopeless, isn’t it, Martin? But when I saw her the other day, I just knew I had to try. She’s the only woman I’ve ever loved. I would do anything for her. But I can’t go back in time and fix that tractor. God knows I would if I could.”

  “Well, you’re right. You can’t go back in time. I hate to be blunt, Ray, but I think it’s time you start thinking about yourself here. What am I going to tell her lawyer?”

  “I don’t know, Martin. Tell him whatever you like. I really don’t care anymore.” Rain slammed down the phone.

  Almost immediately it rang again. Rain grabbed it, his hopes instantly soaring, only to have them dashed once more. “Mr. Storm?” asked a strange voice.

  “Yes,” he said cautiously.

  “It’s the Village Examiner.”

  Oh god, he thought, it’s happening already. They’re reopening the story. Emily must have gone to talk to them. This can’t be happening.

  “What do you want?” he asked defensively.

  “I’m calling about a subscription drive we’re having this month. Could I interest you in a subscription?”

  Rain smashed down the receiver without a word.

  * * *

  After the quiet isolation of Maple Tree Farm, Toronto seemed overwhelming to Emily’s senses. The noise, the traffic, the lights, the skyscrapers – it was all too much. She turned on the radio t
o catch the traffic report, only to find she’d just missed it. “Well folks, the traffic may be snarled, the sky may be grey, and it’s getting dark pretty early these days, but at least for the moment it’s not raining. To celebrate, here’s Otis Redding singing Johnny Nash’s I Can See Clearly Now the Rain Is Gone.” Emily listened to the first few bars before switching off the radio. She took the Don Valley Parkway to the city centre, where the rush hour traffic was at a near standstill. Nerves strained, she drove through the financial district, where glass-walled office towers, still blazing with light, formed a well-illuminated corridor. Stopped in a traffic jam at a red light, she looked up to where her own office was located, twenty-one floors above the street.

  A teenage boy with spiked purple hair jumped in front of her car and brandished a large squeegee at her windshield. She lowered the window and handed him a dollar coin. He nodded his purple spikes at her and ran to the car behind her.

  Finally the traffic started to move, and before long she was pulling into the parking lot of her condo building. The lot was packed. Emily looked up to where Graham Richards’ floor was ablaze in lights, wondering if the musician was having one of his famous parties. His fetes were extravagant affairs well attended by Toronto celebrities, musicians, actors, writers, and gossip columnists. It was one of the places to be seen around town; Emily had made some pretty important connections there herself. Strange how unimportant it all seemed now.

  She let herself into the building with a key and walked to the bank of elevators in the centre of the lobby. Her heels clicked on the hard, shiny marble floor, echoing through the large, empty room. With another key, she entered her elevator, travelled up to her floor, and stepped out into her apartment.

  It felt cold and dark and very, very lonely. She switched on a light and flicked the switch that operated the motor that drew back the curtains. The city lights glittered on all sides of her. It was always a dramatic moment, and for a second Emily forgot her misery, admiring the brilliance of the city at night. But then when she thought how much she’d like to share this view with Rain, she was depressed all over again.

  The elevator shaft was in the centre of the apartment, which was in effect one large room surrounded by windows. Everything was designed not to interfere with the spectacular view. The bathroom backed up to the elevator shaft and was the only room with walls. The bedroom was divided off from the living room with only an antique folding screen. There was a kitchen area, its state-of-the-art appliances concealed within a centre island. The living room took half the floor space. It was sparsely but expensively furnished with antiques and eastern rugs. Emily turned on the gas fireplace and thought how pathetic it was after the log cabin’s massive stone one that burned real logs.

  She went to the kitchen and chose a bottle of red wine from the rack on the island. She wasn’t particular about which one. She wasn’t concerned about taste, only alcohol content. She opened it and poured a glass. Finally, she took her coat off.

  The answering machine was blinking, and she checked the display before listening to the messages. There were only three: one from Jonathon, one from Graham Richards – no doubt apologizing in advance for the noise from his party – and one from her office. No message from Rain. She wondered if he would try to call her. What would she do if he did?

  She pressed the play button on the machine. “Hello, baby.” Jonathon sounded unbelievably cheerful. “Just called to say welcome home. Call me at work tomorrow, and we’ll go for a drink. Goodnight and sleep well.” She deleted the message. Graham Richards had called to invite her to his party, and the office was checking to see if she was back yet. She considered Graham’s invitation for a moment. She was going to need a lot of distractions if she was ever going to stop thinking about Rain, but ultimately she decided against going. Another glass of wine, a hot bath, and maybe she could fall asleep while watching a movie. She knew she had to eat even though the thought was nauseating and so made herself a bowl of tinned tomato soup with lots of milk and crackers. Comfort food, her mother had called it. It was true – it had solved most of childhood’s disappointments, but Emily suspected that the degree of comfort it brought had more to do with the person who prepared it than the food itself.

  She unpacked her suitcase next, not looking at the photographs. She didn’t know if she’d ever look at them again. They brought so much pain. She placed them out of sight in the bottom drawer of her dresser. The clothes went in the hamper under her bed to be dry-cleaned later, and the teddy bear went on the bed.

  She took her glass of wine into the marble bathroom and soaked in the luxurious Jacuzzi tub. When the water turned cold, she stepped out and dried herself with a thick towel. She put on her bathrobe and after closing the window blinds and turning off the fireplace, she dropped the bathrobe on the floor and slipped naked beneath the sheets. How hard and lonely it felt after Rain’s bed!

  She used the remote to find a movie on the television. It seemed to her they were all love stories, and she didn’t think she could bear the inevitable happy ending. Finally she settled on a nature program about forest preservation, though even that reminded her of the farm. How was she ever going to forget how close she’d been to having real, lasting happiness? Because that was what happened this week. She had found happiness, and she had found love. Yes, it had turned out to be a lie. But for one very brief moment she’d been very, very happy.

  She curled her body into a fetal position and, with the teddy bear clasped in her arms, willed herself to sleep. In her dreams, she was in the cemetery behind the Blue Church, kneeling at her mother’s grave. Snow was on the ground, and the scarlet roses she laid on the grave looked like blood against the whiteness. She knelt there for a long time crying, until it seemed that she heard her mother’s voice telling her to look up. She obeyed and slowly raised her eyes until they met those of a young deer on the other side of the fence. It was a doe, young and delicate with soft tan fur and white markings. With no fear in the big dark eyes, she looked at Emily with a gentle, trusting gaze. Oddly, the doe’s eyes were the same colour as Emily’s, a deep rich brown. They regarded each other for some moments, and Emily felt herself strangely comforted. “Hello, there,” she whispered.

  At the sound of Emily’s voice, the doe lifted her head and sniffed the air delicately. With another glance at Emily, she turned and sprinted down the slope on strong but delicate legs, white tail lifted. Emily stood up and watched the doe as it crossed the creek in a single, effortless bound. Once on the other side, the doe stopped and looked back up the hill where Emily stood. Emily raised her hand in a slow wave as the young deer vanished for good among the trees.

  * * *

  The following day Rain stood outside Emily’s office building on Bay Street screwing up his courage to go inside. It was a busy building, and the revolving glass doors never stopped turning with the constant coming and going of well-dressed executives and office workers. Afraid he might be swept into the building with the flow of people, Rain crossed the sidewalk and leaned against a blue Toronto Star newspaper box.

  He was dressed in his black leather jacket and inevitable blue jeans, a dynamic contrast to the sea of black suits around him. Two attractive women paused for a moment outside the doors, looking appreciatively at Rain. “My god,” one of them said. “Where are the movie cameras?” Absorbed as he was by his own thoughts, Rain was completely oblivious to their bold stares. He stared up at the building, as if in its mirror-like facade he could find some answer to his problems.

  All night he had paced the floor of his cabin. A dozen times he had picked up the phone to call Emily at her apartment, and a dozen times he had put the phone down again. When it rang at nine o’clock, he had seized it, praying it was Emily, only to have it be his publisher, who asked him to come to Toronto the following day for a last-minute reading on the release date of the book. Rain agreed to do the event, seeing it instantly as an opportunity to see Emily. Surely if he could make her see how sorry he was, she’d f
orgive him. Now that he was here, standing on the street outside her office, he wasn’t so sure. He lowered his eyes from the building and sighed, knowing that the odds of her ever forgiving him were far from good.

  An elderly man in a ragged coat and broken shoes stood only a few feet away. “What’s the trouble, lad?” the old man said. “Even I don’t got troubles big enough for a sigh like that.”

  Rain took in the old man’s scruffy appearance and the two plastic carrier bags stuffed with dirty clothing. He smiled warmly at the man, thinking that the poor guy looked like he’d seen his share of trouble, and took a five dollar bill from his pocket.

  “God bless you, lad,” said the man, his eyes as big as saucers as he took the bill.

  “You’re welcome,” Rain said, starting toward the door of the building.

  “I’ll pray the Lord will fix whatever is making those sighs,” the old man called after him.

  “Thanks. I could use the help about now.” Rain called back as he stepped through the revolving doors.

  He read the directory in the lobby, found the office number of Emily’s firm, and took the elevator to the twenty-first floor. He found the office without difficulty and let himself in. It was richly furnished with antiques, Middle Eastern carpets, and expensive-looking art. It came as a bit of a shock to Rain as the building was so modern.

  A pretty woman with short blond hair and good-natured blue eyes looked up from a computer monitor. “May I help you?” she asked with a pleasant smile.

  “Yes, I’m Ray Storm. Are you Lee?” Rain had phoned here often enough when Emily’s father was dying to feel he actually knew Lee, even though they had never met in person. Lee had been sympathetic to Rain’s entreaties for Emily to come home and had done some lobbying on his behalf. Not that it had helped.