Spring Rain

by Gayle Roper

  After several days of talking with Clooney as he dug those stupid little holes in the sand and collected all kinds of worthless junk, he knew more about the whole neighborhood than he wanted to.

  The stuff he’d learned sort of surprised him. He’d always thought that people who lived in pretty houses had pretty lives, unless, of course, you were Mafia. Then you killed each other all the time. But no. Rich guys were as bad off as he was. The guy in that big house a block over, the one with all the glass, beat his wife, just like his own old man used to beat Ma. At least Ma used to slug back, which is more than the rich lady did. She just drank until she passed out.

  He hadn’t believed Clooney at first. He did now though. He went and checked their trash last night, and it was full of booze bottles. He peered in the windows, amazed that people forgot that windows weren’t just for looking out of. And there was wifey passed out on the sofa with her mouth open and a spilled glass hanging from her hand. An empty bottle sat on the carpet beside her. She had a beautiful shiner and a bruise on her arm where the guy must’ve grabbed her and twisted. He knew that that really hurt.

  He’d sat in the swing on their deck for a long time thinking about what a waste it was to have all that money and be no better off than his pathetic family. When he got the treasure from Leigh-Leigh, he wasn’t going to beat on women or drink himself into a stupor. Well, maybe once in a while for fun, but not always. No way.

  He looked up at the window of the Wharton house again, and he saw them all gathered around the bed. If he was the sick guy and everybody stared at him like that, he’d get the willies.

  With a shudder he turned to the garage. Johnny used to make fun of Leigh-Leigh for living in a garage. Johnny was wrong though. This place was sort of cute. He laughed a little because he used to think that she lived in a garage like where you took your car to be fixed. No matter how hard he tried, he could never figure out where the bedrooms would be.

  But this place was nice, and there was plenty of room for the bedrooms even if they were little. And standing on that itsy-bitsy deck outside her bedroom, you could see all the way to Atlantic City. He liked that. When he had the treasure, he was going to become a high roller and stay in the casinos over there. He smiled at the picture of himself with gorgeous women hanging all over him as he gambled and won. Always in his pictures he won. Always the women loved him.

  He reached for Leigh-Leigh’s front door. It was time to begin.

  Six

  SHE WAS SO DOGGONE kind to Ted, Clay thought as he put the empty pie plates in the dishwasher. Feeding him. Making certain he’d taken his medicine. Putting on surgical gloves to protect herself. Smoothing cream on the sores on his mouth. Helping him rinse the sores inside his mouth. She didn’t seem put off at all by his appearance, and frankly, Clay’d seen healthier skeletons last Halloween.

  He watched out of the corner of his eye as she tied a red plastic bag shut and put it in a separate container on the porch. Ted’s contagious waste.

  She came back into the kitchen and leaned against the closed door. She sighed and drew a hand wearily across her forehead. His mother entered the room, and immediately Leigh straightened and went to her.

  “I think he’ll sleep through the night.” Leigh put an arm around her. “He’s very tired.”

  Mom nodded. “I don’t know how many more days he’ll be able to even manage sitting on the deck.”

  “I was wondering that myself.” She grabbed a dirty pie dish and walked it to the sink. “He’ll be very upset when he can’t get out to hear and smell the sea anymore.”

  “Should we bring him downstairs? Make up the dining room as a bedroom?” Mom asked. “Would that be better for him?” She glanced from Leigh to Clay.

  Clay went cold. How was he supposed to know whether they should bring him down? “What benefit is there in moving him from his room?”

  Leigh looked at him and nodded, one of the few times she’d actually looked full at him. “Good question. I don’t see any benefit and one major drawback. He can’t see the ocean down here because the dunes are too high.”

  “You’re right.” Mom smiled wearily at them. “I felt that way myself, but I needed to hear your opinions.” She closed her eyes, frowning. “He’s so weak tonight.”

  Leigh went to Mom again. “Now don’t get too worked up. You know he might be stronger tomorrow.”

  “And I know he might not.”

  Leigh looked directly at Clay for a second time in as many minutes. “It’s a good thing you came home. There’s probably not too much time left.”

  Something inside Clay shattered at the casual way Leigh spoke of his twin’s death, but he looked at the two women with a blank face. “Right.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Julia.” Leigh kissed the woman’s soft cheek. “Try and get some sleep.”

  Mom just nodded.

  “Good night, Clay.” Leigh nodded in his direction. She turned back to the stairs. “Come on, Billy. Say good night to Ted and Terror.”

  Clay slid the last plate into the dishwasher slot and straightened. “Let me walk you back.”

  Leigh’s chin went up and she shook her head. “Thanks, but that’s not necessary.”

  “I know, but I want to.”

  She turned back to the stairs. “Billy!”

  Clay took her arm and turned her to the back door. “He’ll be along.”

  He could feel her reluctance in the drag against his pull, but he kept the pressure steady. He knew she had to come with him or make a scene, and he was betting she wouldn’t make a scene in front of his mother.

  He opened the door and held it for her. She pulled free from his grasp, ducked under his arm, and set off for the garage at a good clip.

  “Slow down,” he called, irritated that she wanted to get away from him so fast. “I won’t hurt you.”

  He saw the slight hitch in her steps at that comment, but she didn’t turn around. She did slow down.

  When she’d bumped into him when he first arrived, he’d been as momentarily thrown as she’d been. It had taken all his concentration merely to say hello to her. He’d seen her face when she realized who had hold of her, the horror and uncertainty and—was it fear? Of him? That was a very unsettling idea. Why should she be afraid of him after all these years? Angry, maybe, if she held a long grudge. But afraid? Ridiculous. Still, she’d certainly run from the room fast enough, like she couldn’t wait to get away from him.

  Michael Jordan Spenser. Even now it made him smile in spite of his pique, especially the raspberry. The Leigh he remembered would have been too much a lady or too shy to make a noise like that.

  “We’ve got to talk,” he said to her stubborn, straight back as he followed her across the lawn. “Leigh, wait up. We’ve got to talk.” He let his irritation show.

  She stopped and turned to him, her chin lifted in what he recognized even in the short time he’d been around her today as a silent declaration of war. No. Not war. Nothing so overt. It was more like she had raised a wall around herself, a wall to guard herself from him. She stood there, holding herself aloof and withdrawn within its protection. A stone princess inside her castle.

  He glanced out toward the ocean, miffed and strangely insulted.

  She can feed Ted, tend his personal needs, tell him she loves him, yet she can barely stand to be around me.

  “Leigh.” He ran his hand through his hair. Where to start? “I—” He looked at her and was struck by how beautiful she was, her dark hair turned silver by the pale moonlight. She was a night sprite, an ethereal vision, a dozen times more lovely than the girl he’d known. And a dozen times more dangerous.

  He opened his mouth to apologize for his past behavior, to tell her how much he regretted his reprehensible actions, to expiate a decade of guilt, but what he said was, “Now I know what you’d look like as a blonde, a beautiful platinum blonde.”

  “What?” She looked at him in disbelief, startled and wary, and he was glad it was too dark for h
er to see his flush of embarrassment. Talk about sounding like an idiot.

  “The moon,” he hastened to explain. “It gilds your hair.”

  Her scowl deepened.

  “Gilds. You know, turns gold. Or in this case, silver-gold.”

  “I know what gilds means,” she said, her voice clipped.

  “Yeah, well …” He swallowed and wondered how he’d gotten himself in such an embarrassing quandary. He hadn’t felt this tongue-tied since, well, since the night he left her eleven years ago. How did she do this to him?

  She wrapped her arms about herself. “I need to go in. It’s getting cold out here.” She started to turn away.

  “I need to apologize,” he said in a rush, reaching for her arm. He couldn’t let her just leave.

  She froze, not looking at him but not pulling away from his touch.

  He looked away from her toward the dunes and the soft shadows of the dune grasses swaying in the slight breeze. How could he tell her that the years of regret had eaten a hole in his gut? That he knew he’d hurt her? That he’d begun countless letters of apology only to rip them all up? That he’d driven by her old house time after time, looking for her, praying for her to come outside because he didn’t have the courage to go to her door? How did he put the depth of his remorse into words? I’m sorry was so paltry!

  “I’m listening,” she said quietly.

  He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

  “But I reserve the right to rebut.” Her words were cool but emphatic.

  He blinked. She seemed to expect an argument or a self-serving explanation about their past. Did she think so little of him? He sighed silently. Well, why shouldn’t she? He’d done nothing in the intervening years to create goodwill and understanding.

  He noted her squared shoulders and hiked chin and almost smiled. She, on the other hand, had grown teeth during those same years.

  “What happened between us back then—” She waved her hand vaguely, like it wasn’t worth mentioning, like it wasn’t important.

  But it was, brutally important. It had molded him like no other single event in his entire life. Surely it had affected her. How could it not have? How could it have devastated him and not touched her?

  “It was so long ago,” she said softly, looking off toward the sea. “We should just forget it. Accidents happen, right?”

  Accidents happen? It chilled him to the bone to hear something of such magnitude to him called a mere accident.

  “I can’t forget it,” he said, taking hold of her shoulders, her very stiff shoulders. “I’ve felt guilty for years. I was very wrong, and I want you to know that I know that.”

  She turned her head now and looked at him. He could read nothing in her expression, her eyes dark caves in the moon cast shadows. His face must look dark and unreadable too, but hopefully the sincerity of his voice would reach her.

  Oh, Father, please let it reach her.

  She twitched her shoulders slightly, saying quite clearly that she didn’t want him touching her. He lowered his hands.

  “I was the Christian,” he said. “I was the one who knew what was acceptable and what wasn’t.” He reached out, palms up in supplication. “I know it’s feeble, and I know it doesn’t make things right, but I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

  She stood quietly without saying a word, and he began to itch inside.

  Say something, he thought. Anything. Yell. Cry. Sneer. But do or say something!

  “I’ve struggled over what happened between us a lot.” She turned back toward the water, and he had to move closer to hear her soft voice. “I resented you. A lot. I even hated you for a while. You preyed on my loneliness.”

  “I never meant—”

  She turned steady eyes to him. “It doesn’t matter what you meant. The fact remains that you did.” The anger in her voice ripped his heart. “And I’ve had trouble coming to terms with that.”

  Her voice caught on the last word, and he realized suddenly that she hadn’t been waving away his words because the event was unimportant but because of the pain she still felt all these years later.

  She continued to stare at him. “It seemed that everywhere I turned, you were there even when you were absent. I saw your brother all the time, and it was like looking at you. Then your mother and father became my surrogate parents. They knew nothing of our history, brief though it was, and still don’t. But they talked about you, the son they were so proud of, the fine example of all that was good and godly.”

  He closed his eyes, feeling more a heel than ever. “I’m so sorry.” Hollow words.

  “When I became a Christian,” she said, ignoring his words, “one of the hardest fights for me was to be willing to forgive you.” She gave a short laugh totally devoid of humor. “Before you showed up tonight, I thought I’d succeeded.”

  He found himself staring at his feet, humbled and without defense.

  “But maybe I haven’t after all.” She sighed. “I feel very confused.”

  She walked toward her front door, and he followed. She stood quietly for a moment, head down. He tried to imagine what she was feeling, thinking, but knew he’d never even come close.

  Then she spun and poked a finger in his chest. “And I resent immensely that you can upset me this way.” She ground her nail into his breastbone with amazing strength.

  “Hey!” He rubbed the crater she’d dug.

  “So sorry,” she said with complete insincerity.

  They stared at each other for a minute, he frowning, she all wide-eyed innocence. He’d never wanted to shake anyone more in his life. Here he was, pouring out his heart, and she was mocking him.

  “Shoot-out at the OK Corral,” she said suddenly and lifted her index finger, the one that had dislodged a piece of his flesh. She blew across the smoking barrel. “I won.”

  He stared at her in disbelief.

  Slowly her mouth quirked up, and in spite of himself he copied the movement. Suddenly they were both laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” Billy called as he ran across the yard from the house.

  “Nothing special,” Clay said. “We’re just laughing at old times.”

  Leigh looked at him and rolled her eyes. “Hah!”

  “Hey.” Billy stopped in his tracks. “There’s Mama.”

  Clay watched a monster cat amble around the side of the garage. “That’s Mama?”

  “Isn’t she great?” Pride puffed Billy’s bony chest.

  “Marvelous.” Oh, boy. Terror was going to be eaten alive.

  Billy picked up the enormous animal and held her in his arms like a baby. She lay there with all the backbone of a jellyfish.

  Leigh reached over, rubbing beneath the animal’s chin. “What are you doing out here, baby? You’re supposed to be in the house.” Mama began to purr.

  Billy scratched the cat’s ears. “But it’s more fun out here, isn’t it?”

  The back door to the main house opened, and Terror came rushing out, all excitement and sass.

  “Uh-oh,” muttered Clay. He reached for the dog who darted around him with the agility of a matador sidestepping a bull. Terror jumped happily against Billy’s leg and froze, staring in surprise at the orange lump draped over Billy’s arms. Then he whuffled and whined and gave one stiff bark.

  Mama was slow in perceiving the threat because she’d been almost asleep in Billy’s warm embrace. The bark brought her to abrupt life. She leaped to the ground and crouched, staring malevolently at the terrier dancing wildly about her. When he took one step too close, Mama reared up on her hind legs and punched him in the snout. Hissing and spitting, she socked the startled dog a second time and a third before he turned tail and ran. He fetched up on the back step, cowering, whining for Julia to open the door and rescue him.

  Mama gave a mighty sniff, walked toward the door to the apartment, and disappeared.

  Swallowing a laugh so he wouldn’t hurt the dog’s feelings any more than they were already hurt,
Clay turned toward the porch. He patted the side of his leg and crooned, “Come on, Terror, boy. It’s okay. The mean kitty’s gone. Come on. Be a brave guy.”

  “Don’t be afraid,” Billy said, holding out a hand and clicking his fingers. “I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

  For a few minutes the dog wouldn’t move. Then he began a wary trek back across the yard, scanning the shadows continually for his enemy. Billy dropped to his knees and hugged the unhappy animal.

  “It’s okay, buddy. She’s gone. She can’t hurt you.”

  Terror gave a low whuffle, comforted but not convinced.

  “She’s just a nasty bully.” Billy patted Terror on the head a few times, then looked at his mother and grinned. “You know how girls are.”

  “Hah!” said Leigh, eyes sparkling in the light by the door. She turned to Clay. “We girls aren’t the ones who kick a person when she’s down, then disappear.”

  “Ouch.” Clay rubbed his chest as he watched Leigh move to the apartment door. “A shot directly to the heart.”

  She was nodding with satisfaction when he saw her freeze and heard her gasp.

  “What?” he and Billy asked in unison.

  “The door,” she whispered. “It’s not latched.”

  Seven

  AFTER HIS MOTHER, Leigh, and Clay left with the dessert dishes, Ted lay against his pillows. Numb with fatigue, he watched Billy wrestle with Clay’s dog. Terror. Stupid name. Cute dog.

  We should get Mom a dog, he suddenly thought. A big one. We’re kind of isolated out here next to the beach, and it’d be good protection for her. A rottweiler maybe. She’d get a kick out of its brown eyebrows. And it’d keep her from being alone in this large house after I’m gone.

  After I’m gone. He still had trouble grasping the finality of that phrase. Even with the deaths of his father and Matt, it was still difficult to wrap his mind around the idea of not being anymore, at least not being as he knew being. But soon he would be gone; there was no question, especially on days when he felt as awful as he felt today. He knew he was walking through what the psalmist had called “the valley of the shadow of death.”