The Scent of Rain (26 page)

Still, the prick of tears stung behind her nose at the thought of being without Sophie. “Who is going to diagnose Mark every day and make me feel better?”

“I'll send you a DSM-V of your very own. You can be a private pseudo-psychologist in your own home.” Sophie smiled. “Which, by the way, isn't half bad. You made some nice finds at the secondhand stores, and your church filled in the rest.”

“My church,” Daphne said out loud. “I guess this is where I am for now.”

“Paris isn't big enough for you and Mark. Until you find out how he got that job, you just need to heal without him anywhere near you.”

Daphne nodded.

“You've got that far-off look again. Stop it, Daphne. You don't miss Mark. You only miss the idea of him. Remember that.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“As soon as I'm out of here, you'll have more time to get your new life going. And don't forget to work on that packaging for Volatility! It's too good not to sell, Daph, but you've got to do your part and protect it. But first, protect yourself.”

“I thought that was your job. If you want to be near Daphne Sweeten, you must pass muster with Dr. Sophie. She will run a short battery of mental health tests at Stanford, and we'll be able to go forward from there.”

“I think you're going to like living alone. And everyone is so friendly. I think I've met more of your neighbors here this week than I've met in five years of living in Palo Alto.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Mr. Riley's already been here this morning. Who could that be?”

Daphne opened the door to a young man in a hoodie and jeans. “Daphne Sweeten?”

“Yes.”

“Have a nice day.” He handed her a thick envelope and hopped off the stoop to a waiting car.

She stared at the official seal. Was it really necessary that her father had the lawsuit arrive in that fashion? Unless he was suing her too. She ripped open the envelope.

“It's Daddy's lawyer.” Her parents didn't have time to check on her well-being, but they had time to start the lawsuit process and make sure Mark paid in full for their humiliation. Which in her father's language meant loss of money.
That's where you hurt a man
. She ripped open the contents.

SUPERIOR COURT OF THE STATE OF OHIO
COUNTY OF MONTGOMERY
PLAINTIFFS: GEORGE SWEETEN
And
DAPHNE SWEETEN
V
.
DEFENDANT: MARK GOODSMITH
On May 14, 2011, GEORGE SWEETEN entered into an
agreement in good faith with his former future son-in-law
(MARK GOODSMITH) . . .

Yada, yada, yada. “At least he's not suing me. But good luck getting a penny or a rock out of Mark. He'll just slither into Switzerland with a secret bank account.”

She continued reading. Daddy alleged fraud and wanted his twenty thousand dollars returned, along with another five grand for emotional suffering and lawyers' fees.
Who suffered?
She supposed it didn't count that her distress included nearly being asphyxiated. Her father had selective awareness skills. But then, emotions didn't count in the game of money.

She tossed the official letter on the unfinished wood floors. “He bought the wrong house. Can you stand it? How did I ever buy that this was a God-fearing man?”

“Delusion is a powerful drug,” Sophie said. “I'm adding delusional to my diagnosis of narcissistic personality disorder, along with passive-aggressive and avoidant patterns.”

“Mark's got a lot of letters behind his name. Think he can fit it all on stationery?”

“I'm serious, Daphne. Get healthy. Listen to your body and stop second-guessing yourself. I think you knew the truth all along.”

Everything she had, her talents, her relationships, her family life in San Francisco, had been stripped away while her debts and connections to Dayton grew. Even if she wanted to go back to Europe, her chances of doing so dwindled by the moment.

She had a home now.

She had a car payment now.

She had a Visa bill with extensive repairs and medical bills.

As she went out onto the cement porch, a light summer rain began to sprinkle on the driveway. “Sophie, look! It's raining.” She breathed in deep. “It's a sign. The scent of rain.” She raised her arms and let the small droplets of water hit her. “I think it smells better here than it did in Paris!”

“You can smell?”

“No, but I'm imagining it. And it's better. Everything is fresh and renewed. I'm right, aren't I?”

Sophie nodded. “You're right.”

Daphne stepped back inside and tightened the belt around her new forties-style khaki skirt with its oversized buttons and slid into her oxford pumps. She felt classically stylish—like a sexy professor—and she was glad she'd taken the time to dress well that morning. She needed the confidence boost.

In her new outfit, all traces of the former Daphne Sweeten had been washed away, like a summer rain cleansing the pavement.

Chapter 17

D
aphne entered Gibraltar with a confident stride, ready to make the most of their sports detergent and live up to Jesse's expectations.

Anne was already behind her desk when Daphne arrived. “Daphne, how's the new place?”

“Oh, Anne, it's perfect. I can't wait to have you and Roger over for dinner, and I won't even have to cook. Mrs. Riley down the street is pelting me with casseroles.”

“Good, you need to gain some weight.”

Daphne couldn't say that without her sense of smell and taste buds, the casseroles were only a mushy, unnatural texture, and she hadn't found herself hungry. She saw Jesse walk into his office. He stole a glance at her and promptly turned away. “Jesse's here early.”

“He's always here early.” Anne stared up at her over the rims of her glasses. “Why don't you go see him first? I know he's been waiting for you.”

Daphne walked down the lengthy hallway to his office and rapped on the open door. “Good morning.”

“Good morning. I trust you're feeling better.”

“I am feeling better, and it was good to have the time to move in properly. I'm sorry I didn't plan that too well. I guess I was just too anxious to get out of San Francisco.”

“That's what I do for a living. I streamline processes—and yours looked like it could use some tweaking.” She smiled, and he started to laugh.

“What's so funny?”

“
I streamline processes
. Gosh, I sound so full of garbage. I think I've been here too long. Shut the door.”

She did, and then focused on his desk. “Your desk is so clean. That's a sign of mental illness.”

“Who says that?”

“Sophie. But she says a lot of things, and sometimes I think she overanalyzes. Maybe you're just neat.”

“Let's go with that.”

“No,” she said. “The first day you had all those marketing reports on your desk—that's why I thought you were messier.”

“That's what I want to talk to you about. Have a seat.”

She sat.

“The marketing reports are gone.”

“Oh.”

“Willard and John are creating a product out of your scent. We're presenting it at the next staff meeting, which will have the board involved.”

“Does Dave know?”

“No. He thinks we're making sexy fabric softener because it's Kensie's idea. He thinks yours is on track for next quarter.”

“Gee, thanks. But we're not?”

“I don't know. Maybe we are. This is
you
, this fragrance. I assume that means there's emotion involved and that might resonate with buyers. Like the sports detergent. All I can smell is the scent of winning. What emotion do you feel when you think of Volatility!?”

“Right now? I think of volatility, because I know my ex is trying to figure out the last note. But when I was creating it, I thought of love. I felt singled out and special, like I was the luckiest woman alive. I didn't understand what I'd done to be worthy of such love. I felt treasured. Now . . .” She paused. “What I feel most is not rejection, but a loss of innocence. I don't know that I can ever believe in love that wholeheartedly again, and I worry I won't be able to create on that emotion ever again. But you showed me that we can come close. It's not all emotion.”

Jesse's brows were raised, and she felt the heat of the Ohio summer, though the building was well air-conditioned.

“I did it again,” she said. “I'm talking too much. I'm nervous.”

Jesse's eyes were locked on hers. He cleared his throat and wrote down some notes on a notepad. “What else makes you feel like that?” He met her eyes again. “Besides love.”

“God. When I'm in worship and I just feel the connection between the two of us. And I know—” She stopped. “Wait— you mean winning? What makes me feel like that?”

She was pouring out her heart like she was in a therapist's office. She'd spent too much time around Sophie for the last two weeks. This man didn't know her from toilette water, and she felt his patience wearing thin.

He nodded. “I'm trying to make the most of what you do. I want to create a scent around an emotion, but I think we need an alter ego for Volatility! I have an idea, if you can think of a way to feminize that cologne for a female fragrance.”

“Feminize Volatility!, you mean?”

“If you're comfortable with that. I just thought it would be easier than starting from scratch. And in case Dave doesn't like the first two ideas, I want to have backups.”

“That's great. Great.” Equal parts excitement and anxiety tore through Daphne. She wanted to use her signature scent, but she also wanted to get back to Paris with it. This presented a happy, Mark-free answer. She could prove her process. Prove that she'd created it and owned it, but it wouldn't do her any good without an actual product.

“Dave and Willard have been working on ideas, but so far they have nothing. They're two old bachelors, so I'm not sure the ‘treasured' emotion comes into play unless it's from one of Dave's game controllers. Or maybe Willard's ham radio. So . . . my idea. The reason I need two . . .” He held his hands up for punctuation. “Dog shampoo!”

“Dog shampoo?”

“We could have a dry dog shampoo as well, for weekly spritzes. A whole line of them, really.”

She didn't want to be offended, but her signature scent . . . for dogs?

“Hear me out. Dogs give you unconditional love. They make you feel treasured. Volatility! is the perfect scent for a freshly bathed pup. We'll have to come up with the perfect name—we don't want anything that makes you think
wet dog
when you're thinking about how much they love you and you want to treasure them. It will work for both sexes, but if we wanted to expand the marketing, we could have a pink brand and a blue brand.”

“You came up with this?” She blinked. “You don't even have a dog, do you?”

“I don't know how I didn't think of it before, actually. You made the scent for Mark. Mark's a dog. It's a natural fit.”

Daphne felt utterly wistful. “When you were kissing me in that dream, you had a dog. Three of them, actually.” Her mouth stopped moving.

“What was that?” He looked up from his desk, where he'd been scribbling a note.

“I was thinking about marketing.”

“A line of dog products. I think that might work, Daphne. We've got some solid ideas for the staff meeting. Maybe Dave was right about you.”

“Well . . . good. Thanks.”

“Why don't you get started on the female version? Your fragrance lab is all set up; you should be able to start mixing for the sample. Work with Willard on a formula. He can keep a secret.”

She couldn't wait to get to the lab. “I've done a mock-up for the detergent. Sophie helped me with it at home, and I think you're going to be happy with it. Sophie said Gary would use it, and he's pretty manly.”

“Daphne, I know this wasn't the idea you had originally for the cologne.”

“No, but it's more important to be a part of something. We can fix this division.”

“Dave can't know anything about this until we present the ideas with your samples at the staff meeting. So that means Kensie can't know about it either. As far as they both know, we're working from the marketing plans.”

“Which are?”

“Now dissolved into a giant fireball worthy of a Bruce Willis movie.”

“Very nice,” she said, impressed by his creativity. “That's a process that eliminated a lot of other processes.”

“I told you, I'm all about procedure. The lab staff meeting is this morning, so find out what John is working on and talk about that.”

“I can't lie,” she said. “What if Kensie asks me?”