Spring Rain

by Gayle Roper

  “Shh, Leigh,” he whispered, rocking her gently. “Shh. It’s going to be all right.”

  Fat lot you know! She clenched her fists against his chest and cried harder.

  “Mom?”

  Billy’s scared voice put the starch back in Leigh’s spine. She straightened and scrubbed at her eyes.

  “I’m fine, Billy.” She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Don’t worry.”

  Billy looked completely unconvinced.

  “She’ll probably punch me for saying this,” Clay said as he offered her a clean handkerchief. “But it’s a girl thing, crying like this.”

  Leigh punched him on cue and had to smile as he grabbed his stomach and moaned dramatically. She heard a rocky giggle from Billy.

  She reached out for the boy, and he came into her hug with all the need of a kid whose world has been knocked awry. It might have been exciting while you waited for the police, but it was scary when you saw your room torn up, your models knocked on the floor, your clothes heaped into a miniature mountain on your bed, your cat’s dry food soggy and floating in the kitchen lake, and your mother crying.

  “It’ll be okay,” she said, kissing Billy’s temple. “We’ve survived worse than this, and we’ll survive this too.”

  He didn’t even pull away. In fact, if anything, he burrowed closer.

  “Come on, everyone,” Clay said as he wrapped an arm about Billy’s shoulders. “It’s time for a group hug.” His other arm pulled Leigh close. “The ultimate comfort.”

  The three of them huddled together in a welter of entwined arms, and Leigh felt some of her tension dissolve. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for Clay to begin to pray.

  “Father, we need You right now. I ask You to be with Billy and help him feel relaxed. May he know Your peace. And I ask the same for Leigh, Lord. She’s had a rough hit with this vandalism. Help her feel safe and at ease in her own home. We thank You that there is no real damage. And I thank You that we didn’t meet the intruder.”

  Leigh listened to Clay’s words and felt more tension slough away. Billy seemed to relax too. She realized that his head almost rested on her shoulder. She smiled, thinking how tall her baby was growing. He rested against her at the same spot she rested against Clay.

  Against Clay.

  At that thought she stiffened and lifted her head. “Thanks, Clay.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound too clipped.

  Act naturally.

  She pulled away as gently as she could and ruffled Billy’s hair. “I think you need to go to bed, sweetie. We’ll finish cleaning up tomorrow.”

  “My bed’s all messed up.”

  She nodded. “Just push anything on it onto the floor.”

  He grinned impishly. “That’s what I do every night.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” she told his retreating back.

  She stepped well away from Clay and said formally, “Thank you for all your help.”

  He looked at her, a half smile curving his lips. “You are more than welcome.”

  She flushed. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “It’ll be hard to miss me.”

  Don’t I know it. “Good night.”

  He nodded and started down the stairs, recognizing a dismissal when he heard one. He stopped halfway down and looked up at her, concern written clearly in his eyes. “Are you certain you’re all right?”

  “Sure,” she said, reminding herself that she didn’t need or want his concern. Too little too late.

  The phone rang, and both of them turned toward it, startled. Leigh reached for it as it lay on the floor beside the rocker. She expected to hear Greg or Pete asking some question about the vandalism. She couldn’t think of anyone else who would call at this late hour.

  “Hello, Leigh-Leigh?”

  The blood drained from her face.

  “I know you have the treasure, and I’m afraid I want it.”

  “W-what treasure?” she whispered, turning frantic eyes to Clay.

  “Leigh, what’s wrong?” He tore up the steps and to her side.

  The voice, husky and somewhat hostile, slithered through the phone and wrapped around her, squeezing the air from her lungs. “This evening is just a warning to let you know how serious I am.”

  She stood frozen and dumb, unable to respond.

  “The treasure, Leigh-Leigh?” he repeated.

  She jerked and repeated, “What treasure?”

  “Don’t play games with me, girl. I mean it.”

  “I believe you.” She gripped the phone so tightly her hand cramped. She looked at the books lying helter-skelter and saw through the door to her bedroom all the chaos there. “I believe you.”

  He gave a soft, very nasty chuckle. “That’s a cute boy you have there.”

  Her legs would no longer hold her as terror bit deep, and she sank to the floor. Clay grabbed the phone as she fell.

  “Who is this?” he demanded. Almost immediately he slammed the phone in the cradle. “He hung up on me!”

  She nodded, not surprised. It wasn’t Clay he wanted to talk to; it was Johnny Spenser’s daughter.

  “He called me Leigh-Leigh,” she said as Clay reached for her and lifted her to her feet. She grabbed his arms to hold herself steady and stared without seeing at the third button on his shirt. “No one ever called me Leigh-Leigh but my father.” And he did it because he knew I hated it.

  She felt the shock go through Clay as it had gone through her.

  “But your father’s dead.”

  “I know.” Her teeth were chattering. “It wasn’t him.”

  “Someone he knew. From prison?”

  “I don’t know,” she managed to whisper.

  He led her to the sofa and pushed her gently down. He sat beside her and tried to pull her into his arms. She knew he was just trying to comfort her, and she craved that comfort, oh, how she craved it. But in some small area of her mind, she was enough aware of the danger he represented to stay sitting stiffly on the edge of the cushions.

  “He wants the treasure.” She stared at her clasped hands, then up at him.

  “The treasure?” Clay frowned. “What treasure?”

  She shook her head, dazed.

  “You have no idea?”

  “None.” And she couldn’t think clearly enough to formulate one.

  “Could your father have hidden some money somewhere?”

  She thought of her father sitting in front of the TV summer and winter in his sleeveless undershirt, beer in hand. If he had money, he might not have moved from his chair or put on a decent shirt, but he would have drunk better beer, imported beer, designer beer.

  “Oh, look at them fancy beers they’re advertising,” he’d sneer. “So la-dee-da.” And he’d look at his bottle with disgust. “Get me a new bottle, Leigh-Leigh. It’ll taste just as good as those. Yeah, it will.”

  But it didn’t, or at least he thought it didn’t. And he wanted those fancy beers so much he’d have bought them if there’d been money.

  She shook her head at Clay. “We never had money.”

  “Maybe he stole it. Before his last job, I mean. And hid it.” Clay looked uncomfortable, as if he didn’t want to hurt her. As if her father’s reputation were a secret or something.

  She shook her head again. “I don’t think so. You have to be good at your work or incredibly lucky to steal any amount of money and get away with it. Believe me, Johnny was neither.”

  Clay was studying her carefully. She could feel his eyes on her. Go home, she thought. Leave me alone. Don’t be nice. I can’t deal with your being nice.

  He shifted on the sofa, and she thought he was rising, preparatory to leaving. She turned to him, knowing her eyes were huge and frightened and needy.

  Don’t go! I’m scared!

  But he was only turning to face her more directly, his concern for her evident as he placed one of his huge hands over hers. She stared at his hand, so large it overwhelmed her s
maller ones. She kept her head lowered to veil the need, the panic, the relief that he wasn’t leaving, and resented the comfort his touch gave her.

  Of course, considering the night she’d had, it could be anyone’s touch, and she’d feel better. At that thought she felt relief and let the resentment slip away. All that was left was mind-numbing fear.

  “There’s more, isn’t there?” he finally said. “Something he said at the end when you collapsed.”

  She shuddered, her hands beneath his gripping each other so tightly that the knuckles were white. “He threatened Billy.”

  Nine

  HE LAY WITHOUT moving, as invisible as could be, watching for her to come out of the main house. The dunes were a great hiding place even if the sand got kind of cold after a while. And hard. Funny when sand looked so soft and inviting that it was actually so hard.

  He lay on his belly behind a clump of dune grass. The night was real dark except for that little bit of moon, and he was wearing all black. He even had some black stuff on his face like the army guys before a fight. And he wore a black knit cap pulled down over his ears.

  He felt safe burrowed in the dunes, even from the ocean. The ocean gave him the creeps. It kept moving all the time. Big waves, little waves, high tide, low tide. It was too much like a living thing for him, like a scary alien or something in one of those space shows on TV. And it was gray-green, not clear and sparkly like a pool. He liked pools. No surprises. With the ocean you couldn’t see what was waiting to get you. He’d seen Jaws lots of times and all the other deep-sea creature movies. He knew what lived in there, and he knew you never saw any of them until they grabbed you. No way was he ever going in it!

  He shuddered at the very thought and scrunched more deeply into the dune. He sighed, content. He didn’t have to worry about anyone sneaking up behind him here in his hiding place. There were more dunes between him and the ocean, and the grass added extra cover.

  His brother used to like to sneak up behind him.

  “Hey, twerp,” he’d yell as he grabbed him around the neck. And squeezed.

  The first time Stanley grabbed him like that he’d wet his pants. He’d been so scared! Stanley was big and strong and mean and liked to hurt people and animals. On TV brothers were nice to each other even if they had fights every so often. Stanley was never nice to him. When Stanley got killed in Vietnam, he’d been happy even though he knew from TV that he should be sad.

  He bet that even the TV brothers would have been glad if Stanley had been their brother and tried to choke them all the time.

  He remembered how he tried to pry Stanley’s fingers off his throat, but he was too little and too weak. He struggled and struggled while his vision grew dimmer and dimmer. Stanley laughed that scary laugh of his as he squeezed, the laugh that meant he was going to hurt someone.

  He had hated being that someone!

  He never went to his parents for protection or help. He learned that lesson the day he and Stanley were playing carpenter with an old hammer they found. Stanley hit him in the finger with the hammer real hard. Just pounded and pounded.

  “Kill it, kill it,” he muttered with every blow.

  It hurt real bad and got all swoll up and turned black-and-blue. He learned later that he should have put some ice on it, but he didn’t know that then. He was only five. Stanley was seven.

  Crying, his wounded hand cradled in his good hand, he’d gone to the old man who was sitting in his favorite chair watching wrestling.

  “It’s your problem. You take care of it,” his father said with a sneer and a backhand across the mouth. “That’s how you learn to be a man.”

  “But, Dad,” he sniffed, a tear falling onto his mangled fingers. “It hurts.”

  The old man climbed out of his chair and leaned over him, both fists clenched. “Don’t snivel! Do you hear me? Don’t ever snivel! I can’t stand crybabies.” He raised his hand.

  Broken fingers held to his chest, he escaped and never complained to his father about Stanley again.

  Ma was usually too drunk to be of much help with anything. When she did say something, she always yelled at him even if whatever was going on wasn’t his fault. And it was never his fault.

  “What do you mean telling stories about Shtanley like that, you little liar?” she slurred. “He’sh a good boy, Shtanley is. You’re not. He’s big and strong and handsome. You’re little and ugly and a liar.”

  So Stanley crept up on him for years.

  It was a while before it dawned on him to make choking sounds before he felt like he was choking. He’d make the noises, then just go limp, and his brother would drop him. He’d end up in a heap on the ground, lying as still as he possibly could. He made believe he was dead. He even tried not to breathe. Then his brother would laugh again, a different laugh, a happy laugh, and go away. He thought he’d won.

  But Stanley hadn’t won. He’d won, and he loved the feeling of beating Stanley, even if Stanley didn’t know it. Especially if Stanley didn’t know it. It was his private secret. It made him feel smart, like a genius or something, and it gave him power.

  Now he was going to beat Leigh-Leigh and get the treasure. If he could beat big, mean Stanley, he knew he could beat her. He was the one with the power. He was the one who would make her afraid. She was only a girl.

  He grinned. He sort of liked Leigh-Leigh. He’d been watching her for days now, and she seemed real nice, especially to that Julia lady and the AIDS guy, though how she could be nice to someone sick like that, he didn’t understand. Wasn’t she afraid of catching it?

  And she was pretty. Real pretty. He liked her curls. They were always flying all over her face. Maybe she was a bit skinny. Maybe? There was no maybe about it; she was skinny. He grinned. Of course he liked girls like the ones on calendars. Leigh-Leigh’d never make a calendar, never ever. Still she was pretty in her own way. And nice. He wondered why Johnny didn’t like her.

  Of course, Johnny was slime. His best friend, but slime.

  He watched her to go up to the door, the kid and the brother trailing behind. Here came the good part. His breath came fast. All she had to do was go inside. Would she scream when she got upstairs? He hoped she’d scream loud enough for him to hear. It’d be so great to make her scream that loud.

  But no! They walked back to the big house. Not there, he wanted to scream. Upstairs! Upstairs!

  He moved forward into the yard and watched through the window as she used the phone. It was a quick call. Who would she talk to this late?

  He almost choked when the door flew open. They were coming out! He rushed back to the dunes and dived behind the first mound of sand he came to, getting a mouthful of grit in the process. Gag! He spit and spit and spit. He rubbed his sleeve across his tongue and tried to work up some more saliva. He knew he was stuck with an ugly mouth for the rest of the night, and it was Leigh-Leigh’s fault. He wouldn’t forget that.

  Muttering to himself, he climbed the dune and slowly raised his head to see if they’d seen him. They hadn’t. They were just sitting there on the back step like they were waiting for something, her and the kid and the brother guy. But what was she waiting for?

  Women. They never did what you thought they should.

  He blinked in surprise when he saw the police car pull into the drive. He rubbed his suddenly sweaty hands over his jeans seat. He always got nervous when he saw the cops. Then he grinned. He’d forgotten. They didn’t know he was here. He was invisible.

  He grinned wider as the police went into her apartment alone, just like there was a dangerous person waiting in the dark rooms.

  Out here, he wanted to yell. Your dangerous person is out here!

  Got that, Stanley? I’m dangerous!

  Leigh-Leigh, the kid, and the brother guy went in next. He waited with growing impatience and an ever deepening chill. After forever the police finally left, but the brother guy stayed.

  He lay there in the sand with his cell phone in his hand and fumed. The brother
guy was not part of the plan. Then he thought, Why can’t the brother guy be there when I call? I’ll just scare him too!

  Feeling invincible in the dark, he dialed. Leigh-Leigh answered, and he told her everything he’d planned. He made his voice as low and mean as he could. He could hear that she was afraid, really afraid. He smiled. Power. It was his.

  Then the brother guy snatched the phone and yelled at him. He dropped his own phone on the sand in surprise. He grabbed it and punched off. He slithered backward off his dune and raced to the beach. He ran until he came to the house of the rich guy and his drunk wife, the one with all the windows. He ran into their backyard and hid behind their garage.

  When he had the courage to look behind him, he sagged against the garage side when he saw the brother guy wasn’t on his tail. No Stanley tonight.

  As he tried to catch his breath from his race across the beach, he replayed the phone conversation in his mind. He smiled. Leigh-Leigh was scared, real scared. Her voice shook and everything. The shaking was almost as good as a scream.

  Satisfied with his night’s work, he sneaked from his hiding place, his mind full of the next step in his plan. He’d show her he meant business, he would. When she saw what was going to happen next, she’d run to him with the treasure as fast as her little legs could carry her.

  Still grinning, he crept by the big house with all the windows. Movement in the big room with the TV caught his eye. He turned his head and watched the rich guy pop his wife right in the jaw. She went down fast, out cold, spilling her drink all over her husband and the floor. The rich guy stared at her for a minute, then walked from the room. He stared at her for a minute too. When he saw her chest was still moving up and down, he nodded. She’d be all right. He went on his way.

  But he knew he’d never hit Leigh-Leigh like that. Never.

  She was too nice.

  Ten

  TWO HOURS LATER, Leigh stared through the darkness at the ceiling of her bedroom. She was so tired both physically and emotionally that she was desperate for sleep. If she slept, she wouldn’t think, at least not consciously. And she wanted not to think. She needed not to think.