Spring Rain

by Gayle Roper

  “Now presents,” Bill announced from his seat on the floor by Ted. He rose and went to the small tower of gifts that sat on the coffee table. “I’ll play Santa Claus or whatever you call the giver of birthday gifts.” Terror followed him and stood with wagging tail looking at the brightly wrapped packages.

  “The Birthday Fairy,” Mom said. “Cousin to the Tooth Fairy, but instead of money, you bring gifts.”

  “I don’t think I’ll tell anyone that, Grandma Jule.” Bill shook a present at Terror who rose to his back legs to get a better look.

  “That dog’s like a kid,” Clay said. “He thinks one’s for him.”

  “Sorry, guy.” Bill patted the dog. “This is for Ted, not you.” Terror trailed happily as they took the present to Ted. They came back for another and took it to Clay. For the next few minutes everyone was busy oohing and aahing over the gifts, whether heavy sweat socks with blue stripes around the top for Clay and green stripes for Ted or wild pajamas for both of them with huge red hearts on a black watch plaid background.

  “I’m supposed to wear these?” Clay asked Bill who had given them. “They’ll keep me awake even with my eyes closed.”

  Bill laughed happily. “Birthdays are the best.”

  “I remember your birthday, Bill,” Ted said. He was resting in the lounger just like yesterday, his feet raised. He now seemed a bit pale to Clay, almost gray, his rosy cheeks gone, but he was animated, wired. He barely broke verbal stride when he coughed a couple of times. “It was quite a night, let me tell you.”

  Clay saw David check Ted visually, saw David’s small frown, but Ted looked happy and at ease. Whatever David was thinking, he kept it to himself.

  “Tell me,” Bill coaxed. “Come on; tell me.” It was obviously a story he’d heard many times before, but it never grew old.

  Leigh suddenly leaned forward. “Not tonight, Billy. Ted’s tired.”

  “Bill,” corrected Bill, Ted, and Clay in perfect unison.

  She rolled her eyes, sighed, then settled back on the sofa.

  “It was a bitter winter Friday night in the middle of January,” Ted began in his best storyteller’s voice. “The snow was coming down hard, and I’d just come to visit your mom for the weekend. She was quite chubby, if you know what I mean.”

  Bill nodded. “With me.” He grinned over his shoulder at Leigh.

  “We decided to go out for something to eat because she didn’t feel like cooking.”

  “That’s because I’d just worked a five-hour shift at the Acme, on my feet the whole time, and this after a morning of classes, and I had to work eight hours the next day,” Leigh defended herself. “My ankles were balloons. And I think we should drop the story for tonight. Please.”

  Ted kept his eyes fixed on Bill. To avoid dealing with Leigh’s request? Clay couldn’t decide. All he knew was that he felt an unexpected tension fill the room. His mother suddenly sat up straight, no longer leaning comfortably back against David’s shoulder. David was alert, his eyes moving from Mom to Bill and back. And Leigh was rigid.

  “We came down the steps from the second floor apartment where you guys lived,” Ted said. “We had to bend our heads into the wind, and snow was blowing down our collars. We were halfway up the walk to the parking lot when your mom looked at me and said, ‘Not tonight. It’s too snowy. By the time we’re finished, it’ll be really bad. Peanut butter and jelly would be better than this.’ So we turned to go back to the apartment.”

  “And that’s when it happened,” said Bill, his imitation of Ted right on. “I was walking along—”

  “Hey,” Ted said. “Who’s telling this?”

  Bill giggled.

  “Ted, please.” Leigh held a hand out in plea.

  “I was walking along,” said Ted, eyes riveted to Bill, “kicking the snow, when I heard a terrible scream right behind me.” Ted paused dramatically.

  Bill picked up the story. “Slowly I turned, and there was your mother—my mother—flat on her back in the snow.”

  Ted nodded. Clay glanced at Leigh. She felt his gaze and looked up. “Ice under the snow. Knocked the wind right out of me, let me tell you.” She tried to smile, but anxiety radiated from her.

  “That’s not all it did,” said Bill, turning to her. It was obvious that he loved the drama of the tale and that he felt none of the apprehension that the various adults for some reason felt. “It made you go into labor!”

  “I stuffed her in my car and drove to the hospital with her moaning and groaning the whole time,” Ted said.

  Mom looked at Leigh. “It’s obvious he’s never been in labor.” She took Leigh’s hands in hers and rubbed them. “It’ll be all right,” she said so softly that Clay almost missed it. “Today’s as good a day as any.”

  Leigh looked at Mom in surprise, and Clay watched his mother lean over and kiss her cheek.

  “When?” Leigh whispered.

  “Sunday.”

  Leigh’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry.”

  Mom shook her head, her eyes glittering with tears. “Don’t worry. I love you. I always will, no matter what.”

  Through narrowed eyes Clay looked at his mother and Leigh. What was going on here? He put a hand on Leigh’s shoulder to offer his encouragement though he had no idea why she needed it. He felt her shudder, but she reached up and patted him twice. She kept her eyes fixed on her lap.

  Bill noticed none of the byplay and finished the story with a flourish. “And I was born twelve hours later!”

  Ted grinned. “And a wee little one you were, Bill. Three and a half pounds.”

  “Mom.” Bill turned to Leigh. “Were you scared for me?”

  “Petrified,” she said, forcing a smile. “Scared to death. You were so tiny!”

  “Would anyone like another piece of cake?” Mom asked, standing so quickly she had to grab Leigh’s shoulder for balance. “David? Ted? Clay?”

  Ted kept his gaze fixed on Bill. “You were so little because you were two months premature.”

  “Yeah, I know. I was supposed to be born in the middle of March.”

  “The middle of March,” Ted said slowly and clearly.

  The room fell absolutely silent.

  Bill mused over the fascinating fact of his due date.

  Ted sat absolutely still, waiting.

  Mom sank back into her seat, her face fixed on Leigh, while David looked with concern from Mom to Leigh to Clay.

  And Leigh seemed to have stopped breathing.

  Clay noticed all these things in a vague manner because the enormity of what he’d just heard drove every other thought from his mind.

  The middle of March!

  The room was suddenly devoid of oxygen, and his blood thrummed in his ears as he tried to breathe. A great groan tore from his soul as he dropped his head to his chest in distress and disbelief. Failure. Colossal, indefensible, unforgivable failure.

  He was the louse.

  He became aware through the great flood of misery pouring over his spirit that Leigh had taken his hand, wrapping her fingers around his.

  “Are you all right?” she asked gently, her eyes full of concern. There might have been no one in the room but the two of them.

  “What?” He looked at her blankly.

  “Are you all right?” She traced her thumb from side to side across the back of his hand, offering comfort.

  “I’m so sorry.” It was all he could do to force the whisper out. His hand grasped hers tightly. “I’m so sorry.” His voice broke.

  “It was long ago,” Leigh said. “You were young. We were young.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. “And that’s an excuse?”

  Again that sad smile. “No, but it’s the best I can offer.”

  How could she be so nice? He reached a hand to rest on her cheek. “You’re amazing.”

  Ted watched Leigh and Clay across the room. He had held his breath when he finally made the time frame of Bill’s birth clear, uncertain what would happen. There wer
e so many possibilities.

  Would Clay miss the whole point? For all his intelligence he wasn’t the smartest of men at times. Of course they’d all been incredibly obtuse about this issue, so he really couldn’t dump on Clay for not getting with the program sooner.

  Would he understand and get defensive? Ted’s own experience with his brother proved that this response was one of Clay’s more refined and long-lived reactions to situations he didn’t like. If Clay took this route, they’d all just have to protect Leigh.

  Or would he be okay with the truth, unpalatable and unbelievable though it was? Would he clasp Bill to his chest and proclaim, “My son”? Then would he look at Leigh and ask, “How much back child support do I owe?” The answer to that ought to keep Leigh in fine style for years to come. Or at least get Bill through college.

  He knew he’d distressed Leigh and his mother by telling Bill’s birth story. Both of them knew all too well the potential problems of opening this particular Pandora’s box. But he’d hardened his heart and ignored their pleas for silence. He’d almost yielded when Leigh said, “Please” in that disbelieving, hurt voice. And then his mother had jumped to her feet with that question about more cake. It was only by looking straight at Bill and only Bill that he could keep going.

  He was pleased that he’d had the fortitude to hold firm to his plan. It was basically a matter of his desire to help Clay being stronger than Ted’s fear of hurting the women. And snide though his thoughts and comments about and to Clay often were, he knew he truly did want to help his brother. The man irritated him in so many ways, but he was his twin. Today was their birthday, their last birthday together. This gift of knowledge was his last gift to his twin.

  “What’s wrong with Grandma Jule?” Bill asked from beside him, Ted’s new electronic game forgotten in his hand. “She’s crying.”

  Ted glanced at his mother, deep in David’s embrace. Thank God for David. He shrugged. “I guess birthdays make her weepy.” Bill frowned. “She never cried at mine.”

  Ted shrugged again and turned his attention back to Clay and Leigh. Clay looked devastated, a reaction Ted hadn’t foreseen, and he felt a clutch in his heart. Clay always seemed so secure, so sure of himself. That he could be so distraught shook Ted. His idea hadn’t been to cause hurt but to promote healing, to give Clay the gift of knowledge, of a son. Clay’d never believe it, but he hadn’t meant to wound him. He’d wanted to help. Ted shook his head. No, Clay’d never believe that.

  Ted smiled softly at Leigh’s earnest face as she continued to talk softly to Clay. Imagine the wronged woman offering succor to the villain in the piece. He knew he was seeing something unusual, a combination of Leigh being her usual sweet self and the power of God at work through her.

  Satisfaction bloomed in his chest. He had done the right thing. He had. He’d accomplished his purpose. Clay knew. What he did with the knowledge was up to him. Now Ted could relax, lie back, and close his eyes.

  As he let go of the fierce determination he’d gathered about him to see the revelation through, exhaustion overwhelmed him in a great, gray wave. The adrenaline drained away and left no physical reserves. He felt light-headed, faint. A coughing spell wracked him, his chest heaving, and he struggled to catch his breath. He began to shiver with fever.

  He felt his mind go fuzzy, and he hadn’t the strength to fight it. He needed to tell Matt about his success. Matt would be proud of him. He’d understand why he did it. He wanted to tell his father too. And he wanted to go to the beach with Clay and build sand castles.

  Why doesn’t he build castles with me anymore? I’m his twin. We always built castles together. And we buried Dad. In sand and for real. We buried Dad.

  He wrapped his arms about himself trying to keep warm as shivers took him.

  Twenty-two

  JULIA TURNED AUTOMATICALLY to David when Ted’s story was finished, and he wrapped her in the security of his arms. She felt as if her heart had been torn open, and she was almost surprised that she wasn’t leaving bloodstains on his crisp shirt.

  Why had Ted deliberately ruined their evening? Tonight had been so important to her. She’d planned every little detail with such care—the chicken cordon bleu, the twice baked potatoes, the brussels sprouts that Ted had loved from the time he was a boy. And the chocolate cake with caramel icing. She wanted them all to have a precious memory to pull out and relive in the dark days ahead.

  Ted seemed to understand her plan without her even verbalizing it. He came to dinner wearing clothes instead of his pajamas and robe. He hadn’t bothered with clothes for a couple of weeks. She’d been so pleased. And then he had told his story.

  It wasn’t like Ted to be so cruel. He was the son with the gift of mercy. He was the one who cared unflaggingly for Leigh and Bill, who helped her learn to live again after Will’s death. But he had deliberately ignored Leigh’s pleas and her own foolish cake comment.

  “It’ll be okay, Julia,” David’s deep voice whispered in her ear. “We worship a redeeming God. He’ll bring good out of this seeming catastrophe if we give Him time.”

  She nodded and tried to make herself believe him, but at the moment the sentiment seemed only empty words. After a couple more comforting moments leaning on him, she made herself pull back. She had to stop acting like a weepy heroine from some sappy romance, throwing herself into his arms every time something upset her. She had managed on her own for the past three years. She must continue to do so. She rubbed at the tears on her face.

  She looked at Clay and Leigh, intensely focused on each other, and felt near despair. What was going to happen to them, these people she loved so much?

  “They’re both good people, and they both love the Lord,” David said quietly, as if he could read her mind. “Trust them. They’ll sort it all out.”

  She closed her eyes. “I hope so. Oh, God, let it be so,” she prayed.

  She turned to look for Bill. He was playing with the handheld computer game David had given Ted, Terror seated beside him watching the blinking lights and quirking his head at the beeps and burps.

  “I don’t think he understands what’s going on,” David said, again reading her mind.

  She nodded, agreeing. The tension and loosed secrets flying about the room seemed to have sailed right over the boy’s precocious head. “Thank goodness! He needs to be told, but not like this.”

  “Leigh will tell him.” David’s voice was steady and confident. “She’s been a wise mom so far. She’ll be one again.”

  Julia rubbed the back of her neck even as she wrapped an arm about her middle. She couldn’t decide which hurt worse, her tense neck and shoulder muscles or her bubbling mud pot of a stomach. She needed her ibuprofen and her antacids! She was too old for all this emotional chaos.

  “Let me.” David stepped behind her and began kneading her tight shoulders. She sighed under his touch.

  “Uncle Ted!”

  She jumped at the panic in Bill’s voice, her hand reaching automatically to David. She spun toward Ted.

  “Uncle Ted! What’s wrong?”

  Ted lay in his chair, head back, eyes closed, face white. He looked like a doll flung aside by a little girl too busy to play with it anymore, limbs askew, totally slack. For a moment, Julia thought he was dead, and her heart stopped.

  Then he shivered and began to hack painfully.

  “Ted!” she cried, rushing to her son, David right behind her. She put her hand on his forehead. “He’s burning up!”

  “Bill,” David said, his tone clipped and urgent. “Go to my car and get my bag.”

  Bill ran, looking back over his shoulder at his uncle with fear in his eyes.

  “Let’s get him to bed so I can check him.” David turned to Clay. “Help him upstairs.”

  Clay, attention frozen on Ted like everyone else, dropped Leigh’s hand and went to his brother. He slid his arm around Ted’s shoulders and tried to help him stand, but Ted wasn’t up to the task. Finally, Clay just lifted him like he might
a child, an arm behind his back and an arm beneath his knees, and carried him. The sight of brother helping brother made Julia’s own legs weak.

  Bill ran back in with David’s bag. Leigh took it and turned Bill toward the TV. “Watch for a while.” She spoke softly, giving him a gentle shove. “We need to let Dr. Traynor be alone with Uncle Ted for a bit.”

  Bill did as he was told, but Julia knew he wasn’t watching the flickering image. He kept glancing up the steps while the weatherman on the Weather Channel, who under normal circumstances rated an “Ugh!”, kept reporting the varying climatic conditions around the country for the coming holiday weekend. They were on the third installment of the local weather before David reappeared. By this time, Julia was so taut with apprehension that she vibrated.

  As David ran a weary hand across his face, Julia rushed to him. He slipped an arm across her shoulders.

  “He’ll be all right.” He patted her shoulder. “I hear crackles in his right lung base, but I don’t think it’s too serious yet.”

  “Pneumonia,” whispered Julia. Fear rolled over her in a great wave. Pneumonia was deadly for AIDS patients.

  “I had some sample antibiotics in my case,” David said. “I’ve given him a dose and left some. I’ll leave a prescription for you to fill tomorrow. If he doesn’t become short of breath and if he takes lots—and I mean lots—of fluids, he can stay home for the time being. If he gets worse, I’ll have to send him to the hospital. I’ll check with the home health nurse tomorrow and stop by if I can.”

  She looked at him. She knew her eyes were wide and full of panic, and she hated it. Most of the time she kept a tight clamp on her fear, but sometimes it was more than she could contain. It burst forth, swirling, seething, a great undulating serpent wrapping around her and squeezing rationality and faith from her.

  Ted was dying, maybe this week! Since his eventual demise was old news and as inevitable as the rising of tomorrow’s sun, why did it continue to have this power to devastate her?