Heaven Sent Rain (12 page)

T
he new twin-size bed in Dinah’s home office definitely cramped her space. So should she move her office out to the living room or into her bedroom? Pros and cons to either plan kept her dithering. The new chest of drawers, larger than Jonah’s old one, would be delivered later in the week. She and Jonah fixed the bed after she washed the bedding, the blue plaid comforter one he picked out. She was fairly certain his choice of blue followed the Royals. She stood in the doorway. A bookcase, he definitely needed a bookcase. A desk?

“Jonah, would having a desk where you could do your homework be a help?”

“Why? What’s wrong with this table in the kitchen? Besides, I don’t have a lot of homework. I get most of it done at school.” He glanced up from the drawing he was working on, Mutt with all her shaving and stitches. In all his pictures, she had one ear up and one flopped half over.

Did second-graders even have homework?

“Mommy always listened to me with math and spelling.” He tapped the eraser of his pencil on his front teeth. “I have flashcards.” He went back to his drawing.

Dinah moved some of her summer clothes that hung in the office closet into her own room and laid them on the bed. How could one little boy have so little? She thought of other families she knew. The children had all kinds of toys and computer games and bicycles and skate boards and—she shook her head.

All he had packed in his duffle bag was that stuffed bear. Once it had been a Royals franchise toy, with a snazzy blue Royals vest. Now the vest was faded, one eye and some fur were missing, and its arms were loose, attached by not much more than a thread. He also had his paper, pencils and erasers, a few clothes, a children’s Bible. He traveled light.

He set the bear against his pillow and the Bible next to the pillow. The duffle sat on the closet floor, a lonely tribute to his former life now that she had removed the shoe boxes, too. They were stacked in a corner of her bedroom. Looked to be about time to go through her own things and get rid of all she didn’t use. She’d been meaning to for some time, but that other closet had made storing things far too easy.

She wandered back into the kitchen. “What would you like for supper?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes me and Mommy had popcorn on Saturday nights and watched a movie on the TV. Mommy and I.”

“Do you own any movies?”

He shook his head. “Sometimes people at church gave us movies and we used to get them from the library, but Mommy wouldn’t let me go to the library by myself after she got too sick for us to take the bus. We took the bus to church, too.”

Church. Would he expect to go to church on Sundays? Tomorrow was Sunday. Perhaps if she didn’t mention it. Mutt went to stand at the door and, when no one paid her any attention, did a two-tone yip.

“Mutt has to go out. I can go by myself.”

“I’d rather you didn’t after dark.”

“It’s not all the way dark yet.”

She was quickly learning that with Jonah things were either dark or not dark. No gray areas. “You are right, but for now, I need to go with you. Where would you go if you needed help?”

“Mr. Watson. He likes the Royals, too—did you see his hat?”

“He wears that all the time.” She figured it was because he didn’t like being shiny on top, but to each his own. So why didn’t he like Cleveland or Cincinnati teams? For that matter, why did Jonah’s father like the Royals if they lived here in west-central Ohio? Mysteries.

Together they went out the door and down the stairs, Dinah letting Jonah lead the way and open the doors. Yes, he could manage.

“Remember that after dark the door here is locked, so you must have the key along.”

He pulled the key out of his pocket and held it up. She had forgotten about the key until just now.

“What would you do if you lost the key?”

“And the door was locked and we were outside?”

“Yes.”

“We would walk around the building and into the front door and Mr. Watson would say, ‘What, did you lose the key already?’”

Dinah about choked. Jonah sounded so much like the manager, even to the slightly Minnesota accent. “You’re right. That is most likely what he’d say.” She studied him. “How did you learn to do that?”

“Do what?”

“Mimic someone like that?”

He shrugged. “It made Mommy laugh.” He pulled open the rear door and he and Mutt walked a little way outside.

Dinah could hear him talking to his dog and within moments they reappeared, he carrying a plastic bag that he dropped in the garbage can by the door. One more thing she’d not considered: cleaning up dog poop. But obviously to Jonah this was part of owning a dog. Were all kids his age this responsible? She knew too many families where this was not the case. Jonah had had to grow up so soon to help take care of his mother.

“We need more dog food tomorrow,” he announced after fixing Mutt’s supper. “We have enough for breakfast.”

“Okay, we’ll go find a pet store in the morning.”

“After church?”

Stall, Dinah, stall.
“Where do you go to church?”

“Since Mommy couldn’t go anymore, I went with Grammy Trudy and Claire. We took the bus.”

“Do you know the name of the church?”

He frowned. “Something Community Church. I can’t remember the whole name.”

“How about we skip tomorrow and we’ll call Trudy next week and ask her.”

He studied her, his dark eyes intent. “You don’t go to church?”

She shook her head.

“Then how do you know that Jesus loves you?”

He doesn’t. He isn’t real.
But she couldn’t dump her whole life on him. “What would you like for supper? We have tomato soup with grilled cheese sandwiches or macaroni and cheese in the freezer or—”

“No popcorn?”

“Sorry.”

“Fried cheese sandwiches with no soup.”

“You have a deal. And I think there is ice cream in the freezer, too. I’m not sure.”

“How come you don’t know?”

“Things get behind other things and I forget to look harder.” She had to clamp her teeth on the next thought. Clearly, Jonah and his mother had not had enough groceries at one time not to know everything there was. How long had they been living in that kind of poverty? Would Mr. Jensen have answers to some of her myriad questions?

In the morning they walked to the Bagelry, had breakfast, and stopped by Braumeister’s.

Mrs. Braumeister shook Jonah’s hand. “Welcome to our neighborhood. We got a grandson about your age. You are eight?”

“Seven. I’m in the second grade.”

“So grown up.” She glanced up at Dinah, who nodded faintly.

Yes, she would tell Mrs. Braumeister a bit of his background. “Jonah, if you ever need something and Mr. Watson is not available, you can always come here.”

Mrs. Braumeister nodded. “You come to us. You always have a place here.”

“Can Mutt come, too?” He looked down at his dog.

“Mutt is a funny name, but yes, Mutt can come here, too. In fact, I have some special treats that we keep behind the counter for our very special customers.” She brought out a dog biscuit and a red sucker and frowned from one hand to the other. “Now who gets which, do you suppose?” She started to hand the sucker to Mutt but when Jonah laughed, she did, too, and handed him both. “You give to your dog.”

By the end of the day, Dinah realized she’d not given the interview or the release of the interview a single thought all day. She and Jonah had gone in the car to a shopping area out beyond the veterinary clinic, where they found dog food, dog treats, a shiny dog dish, a water dish, and a dog bed. At a department store, she bought Jonah a Kansas City Royals winter jacket, two pairs of jeans, a hoodie sweatshirt, a couple of long-sleeved tee shirts, underwear, socks, and two pairs of pajamas.

“Why do I need two?”

“In case I don’t get the laundry done?”

“Oh.”

They had lunch at the food court at the mall and went to see a movie at the theater, including popcorn. A tub of it.

At bedtime, Jonah snuggled down under the comforter, his new blue comforter. “Thank you for today.” Mutt stretched out beside him, only on top of the bedding.

“You are welcome.”

“Mutt thanks you, too.”

Mutt laid a paw on the back of her hand. Dinah patted the dog and then Jonah’s shoulder. “Sleep tight.”

“Mommy always listened to my prayers.”

“Okay.” Dinah waited, then realized he was waiting for her to close her eyes, so she did.
You can at least act like you’re praying,
she reminded herself.
It’s not like you really are.
But when Jonah asked God to bless Dinah and make her business go well, she had to swallow hard.

“And, please, Jesus, say hi to Mommy for me. I know she is happy with you. Amen.”

Dinah blinked several times and sniffed. “Night, Jonah.”

In one swift move he threw his arms around her neck and hugged her. “Night.”

Her arms automatically clasped him close. “Night, Jonah. And thank you.”

He tucked his bear under his arm and rolled over, the other arm thrown over Mutt, who looked up at her as if to say, I will keep him safe during the night. You don’t need to worry.

But Dinah did worry. She knew all about grief, and knew one day it would come for Jonah. When it did, would she and this dog be enough to help him through it?

E
ven though he’d left instructions to call if there was any change in Valiant, Garret woke, sure something bad was happening. He could feel it. So he made a run to the clinic just before daylight. For a change, he was wrong. At least it seemed that way. They had been turning the dog over several times a day, but it always took two of them, big as he was.

He and Sol, their night guy, turned the dog again, made sure he was clean and dry, the IVs were flowing, his vitals were stable, and he was resting as comfortably as they could make him. But when Garret slid the blood smear under the microscope, white cells dominated the count. That meant infection somewhere in spite of the antibiotics they were giving him. Up the antibiotics or change to something different? What was the best treatment?

Leaving Sol to the early morning chores, Garret went online to UC Davis, the site of the major veterinarian school, hospital, and research center for California. He knew several of the people there, and they would have the latest suggestions on what to do next.

He posted the situation, described the surgery, the treatments, including the seizure, thanked them for their help, and backed out. If he was going to Bible Study and church, he better get a move on. Halfway home, his cell rang.

He pulled over. “Garret.”

“Good morning, and let me tell you it is early here. Time difference, you know.”

“I’m sure it is, John; thanks for getting right back to me.”

John Haycock, Garret remembered, got out and ran every morning at sunrise, probably the reason he was still robust at age sixty-two. “You are aware that this dog will not be allowed to be in the service program any longer?”

“I am, but I guess I kept on hoping.”

“I know, hope springs eternal and all that, but his owner can’t have false hopes.”

“This is her second service dog; she knows the ropes. But I hope they will let her keep him as a pet if we can save him.”

“That’s iffy. Sorry to be a bearer of such realities on a Sunday morning. But I’m emailing what I think you should try. There’s a new antibiotic out designed to nail pesky infections. There are good reports coming through. Preliminary, but it might be worth a try. You might have a superbug on your hands here. You probably can’t order it, since it is still experimental, so I’ll overnight you some. Keep clinical records on it, is all I ask; we might be able to use him in a clinical study. And I suggest upping the dosage you have him on now, then start him on this as soon as it arrives.”

Garret fought to push back the wave of sadness that threatened to swamp him. At times like this he wished he had hung up his vet practice and spent all his waking hours painting and drawing his cartoon strip. “Thanks, John. I appreciate you getting right on this. Valiant is a magnificent animal, and I have a feeling there is more to his story than we know yet.”

“Keep me posted.”

“I will.” They cut the connection and he whipped around the block and back to the clinic, where he added the extra dosage, then told Sol to stay and watch him until Karen came in, promising to return after church. “Call me if anything happens.”

“Good morning, Garret. Uh-oh, you look like lack of sleep has been bulldogging you.” John Hanson greeted him at the door, like he always did his class.

“You’re the second John I’ve talked to this morning. The first was at UC Davis in California.”

“You have a bad patient, or rather sad patient.”

“Climbing white count post surgery.” Garret scrubbed the palm of his hand over the top of his head.

“There’s plenty of hope in our lesson for today.”

“Good thing. I could use a major dose right about now.” He nodded when John gripped his upper arm. “Thanks.” Now he remembered why he did everything he could to make this class every Sunday.

Several members of the class greeted him as he took an offered seat. The room was rapidly filling up. This morning he did not feel like being one of the SROs. They needed a bigger room.

“Hey, Danny, how about if we pushed that wall out and put these two classrooms together?” He thumped on the wall beside them.

“Might be a weight-bearing wall.” Danny Stedman, a local contractor, often took on small projects for the church and its members. His work had saved the congregation thousands of dollars.

“So we put in a beam and a post or two?”

“Be expensive.”

“Cheaper than a new building at this point.” While a major building expansion project was on the dream and drawing boards, it wouldn’t help the class now. “We could do it in a week?”

Danny grinned at him. “You do realize you are not one of the most patient people I know.”

“Really?” Garret waggled his eyebrows. He turned to greet the person sitting down next to him. “Ah, good morning, Elizabeth.”

John took his place at the front of the classroom, where folding chairs now filled every inch of space and still several people already leaned against the back wall. “Good to see all of you. Let’s pray.”

Garret closed his eyes and
the eyes
stared at him.
Why now?
Thoughts of the star-crossed little Jonah and his Mutt, and most of all the sad, withdrawn Dinah Taylor, kept intruding at the strangest times. Was this a hint from God that he ought to be doing something? If so, the hint was going to have to be a lot more blatant.

“…And hope does not disappoint us because You, oh Lord, are a fountain of hope that never ceases flowing. You are our wellspring, our Lord, our Savior, and this morning and every minute of every day, we thank You and praise Your mighty name. Amen.

“Today I want to remind you that hope is a four-letter word.”

That earned him a titter that chuckled around the room.

“It is interesting to me how many of the most powerful words in our Bible are only four letters, or five, like faith. Love, wait, hope, care, bless. Big words are not necessary to describe a big faith or a big life or love or hope. So, the bottom line is, as always…” John glanced around the room.

In unison the class finished the sentence: “what does this mean in my life today?”

“Sounds like a good antidote for depression,” someone tossed out.

“Okay, but how?” John looked around the room again, making eye contact with his students. “I know, no pat answers here. But that ‘how’ is always the stumbling block. How will this change my life right now?”

Again a range of answers, some frivolous and some profound, came from all around the room.

Garret listened with his ears, but he studied that wall with his eyes. Beyond it, a small, one-window room pretty much served as a huge walk-in storage closet. They could stick a bunch of its stuff, like the old folding chairs, into the small, unfinished basement, parcel out the rest to other closets.

“Like the little kids answer every question with ‘Jesus’ during the children’s sermon.”

“Amazing how that really is the answer. The one and only answer. Jesus. The all-powerful name Jesus. You put that in your mind every time you catch yourself worrying or getting afraid or confused or doubting.” When John smiled, Jesus shone through. That was what Garret had always thought.

And the woman with those sad eyes sprang to mind yet again.

“It is so simple and so hard to do.” Everyone groaned right along with him.

“But not impossible. Practice, practice, practice.” John’s cell time announced the end of class. “Let’s pray. Lord God, son of God, Jesus our redeemer. Remind us always to use Your name. You want us to cry help me Jesus at the first sign of trouble. Please, we beg of You, remind us instantly—before we get into trouble. Amen.”

“My word, I think I was just run over by an eighteen-wheeler.”

Garret turned to smile at Elizabeth, whom he’d forgotten was even sitting beside him, he was so wrapped up in the class and his thoughts. “I often feel that way. John used to drive heavy equipment in the military before he got promoted beyond that. It shows.”

Somehow one would think the service would be anticlimatic after the class, but today God didn’t seem to let Garret off the hook. He heard “Trust me” ten times, though Pastor Hagen never said it once.

He joined the Sunday lunch group as always and ended up sitting by Elizabeth again, by her design, or God’s—he wasn’t sure which. Right now the only thing he was sure of was that he was unsure.

Danny and his wife sat across from them at the table. “I think we ought to get a plan together and submit it to the city planners.”

“That’s one way to spark a conversation,” said Burky from down at the end of the table.

Danny grinned. “We’re talking about Garret’s idea to take out that wall in the classroom and make the two rooms into one. I checked after class. It’s a weight-bearing wall, but two posts and a beam will handle it. There’s only Pastor Hagen’s office overhead. He’s expendable.”

Jennifer, the church’s accountant, wagged her head. “I hate to be the one to throw water on your fire, but—”

“Try gasoline instead. That’s the only way things get done.”

“
But
where in the budget is a line that funds a project like this?”

“Spoilsport.”

“I know, but someone has to keep their feet on the ground.”

“So, we ask for donations.”

“From the class? I don’t think the class is big enough.”

Garret asked, “Ballpark estimate, Danny? What are we looking at here?”

The server arrived with her pad and pencil. She took orders and delivered food, and other conversations picked up the slack. Chatter ebbed as people ate.

Garret finished his eggs and swapped conspiratorial looks with Danny.

Danny announced, “About that wall. I’ll submit a plan to the city and our governing board at the same time. If we can fund it, why would the board object?”

“Danny, this is not part of this year’s plans.” Jennifer didn’t seem to mind the water-throwing role. But then bean counters weren’t usually dreamers.

“I’ll spearhead the funding drive.” Garret heard his mouth say the words before he could trap them.
Put your money where your mouth is
was coming true again. Good thing he hadn’t hung up his vet card; he might not have the funds from his other life’s dream to do things like this.

“And we can all pray about this. We certainly can all see the need.” Danny looked at Jennifer. “Putting the plan together is not a firm commitment, you know that. Just the next step. You know, do the next right thing. If God wants this done, He will make sure all the ducks get in a row.”

“Or maybe not. Faith is not a four-letter word, but He sure stretches ours plenty of times.”

Others chimed in, but the topic was pretty much covered. Garret turned to Elizabeth. “So, how did the event go last night?”

“Got me. I stayed home and loved every minute of it. Auntie Jane and I ordered in pizza and watched two movies. She makes a mean bag of Redenbacher popcorn, too. So thank you for declining. I hope you had a good evening.”

“I wouldn’t know, but I must have, because I didn’t wake up until just before dawn.” Even the thought brought on a yawn.

As people were making leaving noises, Garret tapped his water glass to trap their attention. “Okay, you can think on this and pray, of course. But to get Danny’s plan going, we need some sort of idea how much would come available. I suggest: Write down what you will be willing to contribute to our classroom expansion. I don’t need your name. Just write a number on a piece of paper and hand it to me as we leave.”

Even Danny was staring at him.

He raised a hand. “Hey, this is
not
my normal way of doing things. You know that. Just trying to do what I am told. I’m as surprised as you are.” He motioned to John. “Who knows what will come of our class today? I hope we have the expenses covered. I know we honor our big God with big dreams. Someone said that recently.”

John chuckled, stood, and gave the benediction, followed by “See you next Sunday if not before.” They all filed out, laughing and teasing like always. Garret ended up with a fistful of slips of paper.

“Can I give you a ride home?” he asked Elizabeth.

“Thanks, but I have my car here.” She paused. “You want to come to supper tonight? Auntie Jane said to ask you.”

“She did, did she?”

She shrugged and looked almost bashful. “I concurred.”

“What time?” He couldn’t believe he was doing this. He’d planned on—what had he planned on?

“Six be all right?” When he nodded, she walked off with a small wave.

Danny stopped beside him. “Let me know the total, okay?”

“I will.”

He usually tried to avoid the clinic on his days off, but he swung by there anyway to check on Valiant. No change.

That afternoon, after spending some time with his furred and feathered housemates, Garret gathered up all the studies he’d done of Dinah, Jonah, and Mutt and pinned them up on the cork wall in his studio. He had sheeted the whole east wall with cork, just for times just like this. The opposite wall faced out onto the garden, with several panels that could be slid open when the weather permitted. He’d seen walls like this in Hawaii, and when he built this house, Danny had put them in for him.

He dug another easel out of the walk-in closet, the sturdy one he used for oils, and laid in a stack of stretched and gessoed canvases. He put up a sixteen-by-twenty but then laid it down and put up a twenty-by-twenty-four. Perhaps if he got her eyes down on canvas, it would get them out of his head. With oils he could keep reworking the painting until he got it right. Straight-on head shot? Or one of Jonah and Mutt? He pulled out another prepared canvas, and another easel, and set the two side by side. This way he wouldn’t have to wait for the oil paint to dry. He could keep on painting. Who was it said he lacked patience? How silly.

An hour later, with three canvases up on three easels, he had rough-sketched the three studies. A head shot of her, a full study of boy and dog, and a third that he still hadn’t settled on. With dogs and cats resting on their beds, he squeezed oils on a paper-lined palette and, with an inch-and-a-half brush, started painting. At some point he switched to palette knives for the background on the head shot.