Heaven Sent Rain (4 page)

“Good.”

Dr. Miller’s pocket buzzed. “In the morning, then. I see I have another patient. If you have any questions, call me.” He handed Dinah a business card and extended his hand. “Good to meet you, Ms. Taylor.”

She shook hands; his clasp was firm and warm. “And you, Dr. Miller. Thank you. Come on, Jonah.” Together they left the clinic and stepped into a lightening world. At least the sky promised sun later.

Once they were buckled into the seat belts, she inserted the key as if it weighed a pound or two. “You want something to eat?”

Jonah grinned at her. “Extraburger isn’t open yet.”

“No, but we passed a fast-food joint on the way here. Can you make do with that?”

He nodded as if considering carefully. “I guess.”

Later, fortified by coffee, hot chocolate, and breakfast sandwiches, they headed toward home.

As they passed the still-dark Extraburger, Jonah asked, “Can I stay with you so I don’t wake my mom?”

“What if she were to wake up and see that her little boy never came home?”
And she’d call the police and this time I really would be jailed.
Dinah didn’t add that out loud.

“It’s okay. I don’t want to worry her.”

“Jonah, she’s your mother and she doesn’t know where you are.”

“It’s okay. I left her a note with your card lying on it. She’ll know.”

Dinah sighed. “Jonah…”

“Later, okay? When we go see Mutt.”

But she didn’t know his mother’s name, where she lived, or her phone number. Jonah didn’t seem likely to tell her now, and after the other day at his school, calling the police seemed a bad idea.

Brushing aside feelings of guilt, she nodded and kept on driving to her parking garage. They made it to the condo, staggered in, and he crossed to the sofa.

“Can I lie down here?”

“Sure. I’ll get a quilt.” He was already asleep when she returned, having had to dig the quilt out of the back of the linen closet. She wasn’t prepared to fix temporary beds for guests.

She paused. The bloody clothes. Filthy enough that she could smell them. She got her white terry robe from behind the bathroom door. “Jonah?
Jonah.
Wake up.”

He looked at her.

“Put this robe on. I have to wash your clothes.”

“Huh?” He looked down at his shirt front and sat up.

She went into her bedroom to give him some privacy.

When she returned to her sofa he was curled up on it again, already back asleep, wearing her robe. His soiled clothes sat on the coffee table neatly folded.

His shoes on the floor were lined up precisely, toes in toward the sofa.

What kind of child was this?

G
arret Miller dropped his mask on the table. His cup of coffee had grown cold but he downed it anyway. What a night! Good thing the other Miller would handle the morning shift. They were going to have to look into adding more staff, the way things were going lately. He rubbed his eyes with his fingertips and tipped his head back. How easy it would be to fall asleep right here and right now.

“You want me to drive you home?” Jason, who looked about like Garret felt, offered on his way out.

“Thanks, but I can make it.” Recently Garret had moved out of his apartment a block from the clinic (if you took the alley) and into a house only a couple of miles away. He craved land around him, real land, not asphalt like the parking lot surrounding the strip mall.

The Saturday morning shoppers had yet to venture out as he swung into the Bagelry drive-through, picked up half a dozen plus one ready to devour with lox and cream cheese, warmed, and headed west. By the time he pulled into his house on one-half acre, he’d downed the bagel, inhaled the coffee, and within minutes was crashed on a king-size bed. That Taylor woman’s eyes were the last image he remembered.

Dinah was standing at that magnificent tank in Dr. Miller’s waiting room, and when he came in she could not breathe. He left, she took a breath, he returned, she could not. Recognizing it as a ridiculous hallucination was what woke her. Why would she think she couldn’t get enough oxygen when that man was around?
That man
was the only way she could refer to him. She knew his name. Garret Miller. But her mind refused to acknowledge that. As a scientist, she knew everything had to have a reason for being. Nothing happened by accident, including lack of oxygen. But the dream world does not operate on scientific principles.

Finally, she realized that Jonah was standing near her bed. Her body gave an involuntary start. She had forgotten she had a guest. How long he’d been waiting there she had no idea. “Are you all right?”

He nodded. “Can we go see Mutt now?”

She glanced at the clock. Nearing ten. “Have you eaten?”

Another nod. “You don’t have much here to eat.”

She trapped a yawn. “I know. What did you have?”

“Peanut butter crackers.”

“How about I fix something a little better?”

“Can I call about Mutt?”

“Of course you may. The number is…”

“I have it.”

“Good. Did you call your mother?”

Nods were becoming his chief form of communication. “She said to tell you thank you. I told her we were going to the vet to see Mutt.”

“And she was comfortable with that?” Dinah felt instantly wary.

“Sure. She likes you.”

“She doesn’t know me.”

“Sure she does. I told her all about you.”

And that was enough? Stopping her head from shaking, she nodded toward the door. “Why don’t you go get out the eggs. You like eggs?”

“Yes. Boiled.”

“Coming right up.”

“I’ll start the water boiling.” He turned to go.

He seemed young to use the stove, but she didn’t know much about kids.

“Good, and there is bread in the refrigerator for toast and maybe we should do sliced bananas. How does that sound?”

“I didn’t make coffee.”

“You know how to make coffee?” She felt her eyes widen.

“Not with your fancy machine.”

“I’ll hurry.”

As soon as he closed the door behind himself, she threw the covers back and warp-speeded through an abbreviated routine. But as she passed her sofa she suddenly stopped, stunned. Blood and dog hair still stained it. Okay, stains can be removed. Usually. But this was very nearly lifeblood. Blood and grit. The stink, the filth, the foulness of it slammed into her much harder than they had assailed her last night. Her stomach nearly flipped. At times a keen sense of smell was more liability than help.

When she walked into the kitchen, he had the table set, a pot steaming ready for the eggs, and the bananas on the counter. Her rose graced the table still.

“Your flowers are pretty.”

“Thank you. I like them, too.” While they chatted, she got the coffee maker going and added the eggs to the boiling water, setting her timer for four minutes. “Hard or soft?”

“Not real runny, please.”

“What do you want to drink? I don’t have any hot chocolate.”

“Mommy makes me white coffee.”

“Okaaay.” She dragged out the word but added another mug to the one by the coffee maker. “Sugar? You want to add your own? So what did the vet say?” How could a child his age seem so grown up?

“The lady said Mutt didn’t eat her breakfast.”

“Anything else?”

“She feels better. She’s wagging her tail. She misses me, the lady said.”

“We’ll go right away.”

His smile was an adequate reward for hurrying on a Saturday morning.

When they got to the clinic, the attendant told Jonah that Mutt was heavily sedated and may not know him.

Mutt knew him. The tail flapped joyfully, the tongue stroked his cheek and nose. And then they left so that the dog could rest.

Garret scrubbed both hands across the mass of curls that drove him nuts. He hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep, as usual. He also
had
to get a haircut, the only way to keep the unruly mass from needing a rake. Totally on habit mode, he fed his animals, then punched the speed dial for the clinic to check on his patients. He smiled when Lucita said a small boy had already arrived to see his dog. That was one thing he did right: hire staff that cared about both animals and owners, especially when the owner was a child.

He glanced at the wall opposite the foot of his bed where four of his studies, for want of a better word, waited to be given away. Could he get the one of last night’s visitor done today?

His fingers itched for the Prismacolor markers that he used in his creations. While animals came first, drawing was a close second. If that was what you called what he did. Drawing, painting, sketching—all he cared for was the delight on a child’s face when he presented his gift.

A yawn threatened to dislocate his jaw, but there was no use even thinking about going back to sleep; his mind had already hit overdrive and kept on going when his eyes opened. While he shaved, the electric razor on autopilot, he took out a mind file called “comic strip” and played with his latest idea for
The Day I Ran the World
. Since a local newspaper printed the first one six months or so ago, he was now being forced to consider syndication. Who would have thought such a dream come true could happen with something he played with? He’d only sent it in to the
Daily Call
on a dare. Did God have a sense of humor or what?

Heating two bagels in the toaster oven, he hit the start on the coffee machine that brewed one cup at a time and promised perfection. The machine had yet to fail him. Coffee in hand, bagels hot and on a plate, he moseyed into the sun room/studio/aviary and favorite place where his tiger cat and two yellow Labradors lay curled together on the stuffed bed in the sun. Sun was to be coveted in late March in Ohio. They each opened one eye, tails twitched, and they returned to dreamland. So much for loving and attentive pets.

He sat briefly at his easel to sketch in the boy and dog while they were fresh in mind. And Ms. Taylor. That was what she had written on the form. Married? Divorced? Widowed? No ring, but that meant nothing these days. He set the easel with its unfinished sketch off to one side, put his lunch on the wrought-iron table, and sank into the padded lounger. He stayed there long enough to polish off the bagels, drain the coffee, and check his messages.

And stare at the sketch. Why did that woman seem so familiar? Why did he immediately want to get to know her better and at the same time lock the door against her? Some women did that to him. If he could only deal with the animals and the children and not ever the parents, leastways, mothers, life would be perfect.

A perfect wolf whistle came from the macaw cage and another bird shrieked, “Shut up.” He never said that unless it was appropriate. The finches and various other little birds flitted about the aviary, their songs providing a soothing balm when he was overtired. Like now. He rested his head against the padding and, eyes slitted, studied the easel with the cat picture he’d been working on a few days ago.

The problem was that the cat draped over the arm of a small girl and the cat was almost as long as the child. He’d wished he’d had a camera for that one, the pair so perfect together. The grin in the drawing showed the child’s missing tooth and the bored look on the cat. Getting up, he grabbed a couple of marker pens, added some lines here and there, and stood back, nodding. Now it was right. He ripped it off the easel pad and pinned it to the wall. Ready for delivery.

After feeding the birds, making sure the two macaws, one a hyacinth and the other a scarlet, had fresh fruit and enough toys to entertain themselves, he checked the thermostat, since the sun was warming the room nicely. Then he headed for his SUV. First stop, haircut. Second, birdseed at the pet store, and third, the clinic, of course.

An hour later, his ears again out in the breeze, his back seat full of birdseed, and feeling free of his consternation, he parked behind the clinic and entered by the back door.

Susan Miller, wearing her requisite lab coat and harried look, glanced up from the microscope. “Hope you slept in.” She shook her head at his shrug. “I know, going from shift to shift is hard. But I thought you were tired enough, you’d drop.” She turned the magnification dial. “Just what I thought.”

Garret paid no attention to her muttering. Susan often talked to herself, perhaps because at home she rarely got a word in edgewise with five-year-old twin girls, book-ended by brothers.

“How come you’re here?”

He shrugged again.

“I know, just don’t trust the rest of us to care for your patients correctly.”

He snorted and shot her what was supposed to be a scathing glance but instead made her laugh.

“Did you know Dinah Taylor brought a dog in last night?”

His forehead wrinkled. “So?”

“So you don’t know who Dinah Taylor is?”

“Should I?” The blue-gray eyes flashed across his memory.

“Garret, Garret, you have to keep up on things.”

“Why? We seem to be doing fine with you keeping up on things and me making sure the ends meet.” He knew that would make her laugh. His sister-in-law Susan was the business head behind their partnership, he the idea man. Together they balanced each other’s strengths and weaknesses and made a great team. Except when she expected him to keep up with what was going on in Eastbrook. Or anywhere else, for that matter. He figured keeping up on the latest medical research and techniques was far more important. The dichotomy gave them good sparring topics. “All right, I give. Why should I know Dinah Taylor?”

“Her company, Food for Life, had a big rollout party the other night for their latest product. The news said this new whatever might end diabetes forever and anyone can purchase it over the counter.”

“Riiight.” He studied the charts of the two dogs they had in quarantine. One looked to be easing into full paralysis. Both of them would most likely have to be put down, leaving their owners heartbroken.

“Did you hear me?”

“Of course, you said…” He finally shook his head. “Sorry. Did you check on the scruffy dog who looks like a patchwork quilt with all the stitches I put in her? I think she was savaged by another dog or even two.”

Susan rolled her eyes and shook her head. “That’s what I am trying to tell you.”

Fine, get to the point.

“The dog is doing as well as can be expected. We’re keeping her on IVs; tried to get her to eat, which happened when her boy came through the door. I swear you could see the relief on that dog’s face. And the little boy, what a charmer.”

Garret nodded. “Good.”

“Dinah Taylor brought him in.”

“So?”
Get to the point.

“So, Dinah Taylor is not married, and has no son. From what I’ve read, she only lives for her business.”

He shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

“So where did she get the boy?”

“Who cares? No matter what kind of celebrity she is, we treat the animal, comfort the boy, and do all we can to not gossip.” He put a little force into that last.

“Just thought you should know. I never pass anything on, you know that.”

He nodded. “Have they left yet?”

“About fifteen minutes ago. He promised his dog—by the way, he seems to have the same talent for thinking of names as you—that he’d come see her this evening. I figure that will make sure the poor critter eats and drinks.”

Garret entered the cage room and stopped in front of D’s cage. She was up on her belly instead of flat on her side, a good indication. No temp, no other symptoms, according to her chart, so perhaps Jonah could take her home tomorrow. No, tomorrow was Sunday. Monday, then. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, girl?” Her tail whisked from side to side. It was nearly the only part of her without a shaved patch. “Good girl.” He checked the rest of his patients, stopped in his office to dispose of a stack of things needing his signature, returned several calls, and poked his head into an exam room where their intern was giving shots one right after another. This was their low-cost-vaccination day, so they shuffled the dogs through production-line style.

He froze at a greeting he heard. She was back. How could he even remember her voice? She’d hardly spoken. Frantic, he pushed open the first door he came to and there she stood.

“Hello, Doctor.” Cool, stiff. Was she like this all the time?

He nodded and immediately shifted his gaze to Jonah. No smile, only fear. “Don’t worry, son, D—”

“You can call her Mutt.”

“Thank you. Mutt is doing very well. I hear she gobbled her food as soon as you came in the door.”

“That’s what they said.” His grin lit the room. “She is better, huh?”

“She is that.” Garret tried to pay polite, though scant, attention to Ms. Taylor, while all his senses screamed for information about her. Scent—something fresh and blooming. Circles under her eyes. Hands slightly shaking. Guarded. A soft and gentle hand on Jonah’s shoulder. Maybe she was the boy’s aunt or—as if that mattered. Viewed objectively, she was certainly attractive. And here she was wearing white again. The only splash of color was her scarf, a beautiful silk number, probably Japanese, with bright flowers.