Spring Rain

by Gayle Roper

  The blackness that often filled her as she lay sweating in the dark wasn’t just the cessation of light; it was the implosion of her heart. The weighty, piercing shards would lodge beneath her breastbone, making breathing difficult and sleep impossible. Through the years the pain had lessened until sometimes weeks passed between the nights of agony. Then had come the AIDS diagnosis, and the implosions began again.

  She took a deep breath. Resolutely she put Ted and her failure from her mind for the moment. She thought of her pride in her other son. She didn’t love Clay more, but she understood him, appreciated him, agreed with him, thanked God for him. He was so much less complicated, and he loved God with his whole heart. She felt they were on the same wavelength in spite of his lengthy absences.

  For a moment failure laughed at her again. If she were a better mother, surely Clay would come home more often. Why, he’d hardly been there even when Will died. It must somehow be her, or he’d like to visit if only to see Ted and old friends.

  Pushing that thought aside—after all, he was coming home now—she began cleaning the table while Leigh, coming out of her trance, rose to help her. Leigh rinsed the dishes while Julia loaded the dishwasher.

  Leigh. Julia smiled as she watched the young woman scrape most of her dinner into the sink to be chewed up by the garbage disposal. It wasn’t just Clay and Ted she was proud of. It was Leigh. What a wonder the girl was! Here was success, and in the best ways possible. And God had let Julia be part of it.

  Eleven years ago, shortly after the boys had graduated from Seaside High, she had gone shopping at the Acme on Eighth Avenue. As she waited in the checkout line, she felt a rush of pity for the poor, young checker as she watched the woman in front of her hand over a wad of discount coupons. The girl, a pretty thing with long chestnut hair and big brown eyes, stoically punched in all the numbers, flipping the coupons one at a time. Tap, tap, ca-ching. Tap, tap, ca-ching.

  Julia blinked as she felt a touch on her shoulder. She turned, but there was no one near. Strange. She picked up a copy of Newsweek and began flipping through it to pass the time. Suddenly there was a tap on her shoulder again, and again when she looked up, there was no one near her. Frowning slightly, she put the Newsweek back and reached for a gardening magazine. This time the tap made the back of her neck prickle.

  That was when the voice spoke. Well, the voice didn’t actually speak. It more or less just filled her mind. HELP HER.

  Feeling like a victim of Candid Camera, Julia shifted her eyes cautiously, looking for the jokester. No one was paying her any attention. Certainly no one else seemed to hear a disembodied voice.

  HELP HER.

  A shiver went through Julia as she tried to understand what was happening.

  HELP HER.

  “Who?” she blurted in something akin to panic.

  “What?”

  Julia blinked and looked at the cashier.

  “Did you say something?” the cashier asked, her brown eyes curious. Her name tag read Leigh. Julia recognized her now as Leigh Spenser who had just graduated from Seaside High with the twins. She was a good friend of Ted’s. And, Julia thought with sadness, her mother was dead, and her father was in jail for a long, long time.

  “Did you say something?” Leigh repeated.

  “N-no,” Julia said quickly with a smile. How had her groceries all been checked already? She pulled out her checkbook and wrote a check that would get her twenty dollars change. She nodded to Leigh and hurried from the store, waiting for another tap on the shoulder at any minute or another “Help her.” But there was nothing. She began to relax. It had all been her imagination. Or maybe it was the beginning of menopause. Everyone said it did strange things to your mind.

  That early July evening, she had a compulsion to walk the boards. She and Will rarely went near the boardwalk during the summer. They liked off-season walks when there was hardly anyone around but them, and the smells were surf and fresh air instead of grease for French fries and funnel cakes, spun sugar for cotton candy, or that distinctive popcorn aroma.

  Will hadn’t protested her suggestion too much. He was passing time waiting for Mrs. Redmond to go into labor.

  “Then the fun will begin since the baby’s breech,” he told Julia as they strolled. “Again.”

  “How many is this?” Julia asked. “Six?”

  “Seven. I just keep praying it’s her last. She can’t take much more.”

  “Let’s get a soft ice cream,” Julia suddenly said and pulled Will across the boardwalk and through the throng until they took their place in line.

  At the first tap she turned to Will and said, “What?”

  He looked at her strangely and shook his head.

  The second tap made her feel creepy all over.

  The third tap sent her silently screaming to God. Lord, what’s going on? Help me!

  HELP HER, came the response.

  Julia stilled, struck by a new and overwhelming realization. Lord, is this You talking to me, tapping me?

  HELP HER.

  It is You! She shivered and wrapped her goose-bumped arms around herself. She’d never experienced anything comparable to this in her life. God didn’t speak to her, Julia Wharton, not like this, in audible words. Or rather in audible impressions.

  She loved God deeply, felt His presence, His love. She prayed regularly, daily, by the minute as needed, but this! This was incredible.

  HELP HER.

  “Who?” Julia said.

  “What?” asked the girl behind the counter.

  Julia started and stared. It was the same girl who had checked her out at the Acme. Leigh Spenser.

  “Her?” Julia said.

  HELP HER.

  Julia stood transfixed, wondering what she was supposed to do for Leigh. “You work two jobs?” Julia asked, saying the first thing that came to mind.

  Leigh looked at her and nodded. “What flavor?”

  “I’m Mrs. Wharton, Ted and Clay’s mother.” Julia smiled. “Oh, and this is Dr. Wharton, their father.” She waved a hand at Will.

  “I know,” Leigh said. “What flavor?”

  “Vanilla for her,” Will said when Julia continued to stare. “Black raspberry for me.”

  Leigh turned to get the cones.

  A beep sounded. Will grabbed for his belt and the beeper there. He glanced at the number. “Mrs. Redmond.” He grabbed the cones and threw down some money. “Keep the change,” he called over his shoulder as he elbowed his way back into the mainstream pedestrian traffic. “Hurry up, Julia, if you want me to drop you at home.” He handed her the vanilla cone.

  Julia took the cone and licked absently. God, I can’t believe You spoke to me like that. I’ll help her, but how?

  There was no voice now, but she knew, just knew, that God would show her how to help. What an adventure! What an honor! She couldn’t stop smiling.

  Even now, eleven years later, the memory made her smile. Watching Leigh become such a wonderful young woman had been one of the great joys of her life.

  “Let’s take dessert up to Ted’s room,” Julia suggested as she wiped off the counter.

  Leigh nodded and began collecting cups and saucers, the teapot and cozy, plates and forks, sugar and cream. Julia cut generous pieces of pie, pleased at the consistency of the lemony custard. The meringue was high and light and browned just right. She smiled. Ted would love it. If he could eat it. The sores in his mouth were bothering him badly. She turned to the refrigerator and pulled out a dish of Junket. The custard would slide down easily if the pie were too much.

  A car pulled into the drive.

  Leigh looked at Julia. “Were you expecting David?”

  Julia told herself not to blush as she shook her head.

  Leigh grabbed a paper towel to dry her hands. “Maybe he decided to stop and see Ted.”

  “Right,” said Julia with what she hoped was nonchalance. Dr. David Traynor was an infectious disease specialist, and Ted was his patient. The fact that he seem
ed as interested in Julia as her son made having him in the house difficult, uncomfortable, exciting, special.

  I’m too old for this, Julia thought, twirling the wedding ring she still wore on her right hand. The last thing I want is someone interested in me romantically.

  And you’re too old to lie to yourself, too, Julia Wharton. You’re so flattered you can hardly stand it.

  Embarrassed, Julia had to acknowledge that truth. She was flattered. She just didn’t know what she was supposed to do about it. Or him.

  David was a good-looking man, she had to admit. His dark hair was only slightly gray at the temples, and he carried very little extra weight about the middle. And he was tall. She liked tall men. Will had been tall. Ted and Clay were tall.

  Forget tall, she told herself. Forget distinguished and delightful and humorous. Forget!

  Instead, she remembered the first time he came to the house, ostensibly to see Ted. She’d known David for years. He and his family went to Seaside Chapel just like she and Will and the boys. She’d been friends with his late wife, Leslie. She’d grieved deeply when Leslie and their seventeen-year-old son, Adam, had been killed in a tragic accident on the Garden State Parkway several years ago. When Will died, David had been terribly kind and supportive. An old friend. A good friend.

  But a romantic interest? She couldn’t help but grin at the absurdity of it all.

  On that first visit a couple of months ago when Ted first came home, David talked briefly, very briefly, to Ted, rose, and waited for her to walk him to the door. Instead of leaving like she expected, David turned to her.

  “Walk with me?” he asked. “I need to know how you’re coping.” He took her arm and turned her toward the narrow path through the dunes to the beach. He held her arm close to his side until they were walking along the edge of the water in the wet, packed sand left by the receding tide. Then he let go with what seemed to her reluctance.

  It wasn’t until he released her that Julia realized that aside from her sons’ hugs, that was the first time a male had touched her in so personal a manner since Will’s death. It was a disconcerting thought. Even more disconcerting was the fact that she’d liked the comfort and warmth of his touch.

  Careful, woman, she cautioned herself, twirling her wedding band as they walked. You’re vulnerable.

  And more so every time he came around. The loneliness she felt somehow became more lonely. And was that special look in his eyes when he saw her just her unruly imagination, or was it real? And how could she resist his kind and understanding manner as he tended Ted’s pain, or his commitment to faith that matched hers?

  She sniffed. As if someone as wonderful as he would be interested in her with her hot flashes and varicose veins and sagging bosom.

  She shook her head as she wiped down the kitchen table. So how come she hadn’t felt this alive since Will’s death?

  Four

  LEIGH REACHED BEHIND her for the door as she flicked her paper towel toward the trash, hoping for a three-point swish.

  “Michael Jordan Spenser, basketball champeen,” she murmured. She blew a raspberry when she missed.

  Her hand reaching for the door missed too. She turned to see where the door had moved and bumped hard into a very solid, very warm body.

  “Wha—?” She bounced like a tennis ball off a racket and felt herself begin to fall. Her arms wind-milled wildly, and she gave a garbled cry. An arm whipped around her waist, stopping her descent, and she grabbed a handful of blue shirt to steady herself.

  “Thanks, David,” she began as she found her footing, then stared, appalled, into the face of the man she had spent more than ten years carefully avoiding. Her fist clenched more tightly in the fabric of his denim shirt.

  Most times when she thought of Clay, she saw in her mind’s eye the eighteen-year-old who had graduated with her, undeveloped but promising, thin—no, make that skinny, very skinny and bony, with a beak nose too big for his handsome face. But he was no longer that boy in spite of the same sharp blue eyes that looked down at her. His beak of a nose finally fit his face, and his jaw was hard and lean. His shoulders were broad enough to handle any problem.

  “Hello, Leigh,” he said, his voice sounding strained and unnaturally husky. “Or should I say Michael Jordan Spenser?”

  A flush crept from her neck to her forehead, and she glared at him.

  Lord, did I have to begin this awkwardness looking like an idiot?

  She needed to move from his embrace. Yes, she did, and she would, just as soon as she was able. The problem was the paralysis, hopefully temporary, that kept her ignominiously clutching the fistful of material. The struggle to gather her scattered wits was surely only a minor glitch in the unruly computer that was her brain. With something akin to panic she realized that even her involuntary systems seemed on the blink as evidenced by the trouble she was having breathing.

  “Clay!” Julia’s joyous cry broke the spell and released Leigh’s mind. She dropped her hand and pulled back so hastily that she all but tripped over her feet. Her waist felt branded.

  She turned her back, trying belatedly to hide her flushed face and still her hammering heart, as Julia flew into her son’s arms. For years whenever she pictured facing Clay again, Leigh saw herself as an ice princess—cool, aloof, scorning, spurning, totally in control.

  Instead, I end up hanging on him like some dithering antebellum Southern belle! Oh, dear Lord, get me out of here!

  She grabbed a laden tray, ignoring the clatter as all the pie plates slid to one side under the force of the sudden motion, and headed for the door to the hall. She would deliver the dessert to Ted’s room, grab Billy, and leave by the front door. Then she would go home and lock the two of them in for the rest of the week. Or two weeks. Or however long Clay was here. Anything to stay out of his way.

  What a wonderful plan! What a stupid plan.

  She risked a glance back as she left the room and found Clay staring at her over his mother’s shoulder. The corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. Her face flamed anew. He was laughing at her! She knew it. She turned and ran.

  Halfway up the stairs she stopped, leaning against the banister. Her heart still pounded, and her mouth was dry. In contrast her hands were so moist and clammy it was all she could do to keep a grip on the black lacquered tray.

  This is ridiculous! Get hold of yourself, Spenser.

  But what if he figures things out about Billy?

  Panic rolled through her like a hurricane surf, battering, surging, drowning her. For a moment she literally could not think. She forced herself to take several deep breaths. Inhale. Hold it. Exhale. Inhale. Hold it. Exhale.

  How could he possibly figure it out? No one else had in all these years. Here she was, literally in the bosom of his family, and they’d never suspected. Why should he? Billy didn’t look enough like anyone but himself to arouse suspicion. Surely she was safe; they were safe.

  Oh, Lord, please, keep us safe!

  She closed her eyes, willing her heart to stop crashing against her ribs before it split them. It was better this way, she tried to convince herself, bumping into him unexpectedly. She had been spared the long uncertainty of waiting, wondering when he’d come. That agony would have been terrible.

  It’s like a tooth extraction. It’s better for me to get it done today than have to come back tomorrow and worry all that time.

  Hah! That may be the theory, but in real life it still hurts just as much today as it would have tomorrow.

  She looked at the tray with the plates crowded at one end, overlapping and askew. The pie wedges were dented and squished, the beautifully scalloped edge of one piece of crust broken completely off. Normally she would have felt compelled to straighten the mess. Given the current situation, she couldn’t find the energy to be concerned about a few pieces of pie, even if they were from Julia’s prize-winning kitchen.

  They look fine. Well, they look adequate, and they’ll still taste exceptionally good. Nobody’s going
to complain.

  What Julia would think when she saw them was another thing, crunched and broken as they were. She’d just have to hand them all out before Julia saw the damage.

  She sighed. Julia was downstairs reveling in Clay’s return. In a couple of minutes she’d be coming upstairs to sit with her dying son. The least Leigh could do was treat her pie with respect even if she couldn’t manage it for the returning prodigal.

  With one hand she balanced the tray on her hip, and with the other she straightened the plates. She noted with hope that her hands weren’t shaking too badly.

  Inhale. Hold it. Exhale. Inhale. Hold it. Exhale.

  All you have to do is act naturally, she assured herself. That’s the key to surviving the next few weeks. Act like he doesn’t mean a thing to you, which, of course, he doesn’t. Act like he didn’t irrevocably change your life, which, in reality, he did. Act like his arm on your waist didn’t feel as wonderful today as it did all those years ago, because it didn’t.

  It didn’t!

  In other words, Spenser, act like an adult. You aren’t eighteen anymore! You aren’t that pathetically lonely daydreamer in love with Prince Clay Charming.

  You aren’t! His presence will make no difference whatsoever in your life.

  Yeah, right.

  Oh, Lord, help me. Please!

  She lifted her chin and took a deep breath. She would show him how much she’d changed, grown. She was no longer that naïve little girl flattered by the attention of the school hero, that socially inept outcast in awe of the class’s most popular boy. She wasn’t that nobody in secondhand clothes thrilled by the attention from the son of one of Seaside’s leading families. No, she wasn’t even if she suddenly felt like it.

  She was Leigh Wilson Spenser, a strong woman, God’s woman. She was a college graduate with her master’s just around the corner. She had survived single parenthood for ten years and had a delightful son as proof that she was doing a fine job. She had a satisfying career and a decent income. She had friends. She had Julia and Ted. And she had Jesus.