Following Rain Read online

  Rain nudged Paul and made a face. “How long have you been sitting on that joke?”

  “It just came to me,” Paul replied, feigning modesty.

  The line continued until everyone had been served. The guests spread out through the dining area. A few sat together in small groups and visited as they ate, but most sought the privacy of their own company. The elderly man sat at a nearby table and rubbed his hands together. He talked to himself as he picked up his spoon and studied the bowl appreciatively. Then he scooped a hearty spoonful and slurped loudly, murmuring contentedly.

  Paul watched him for a moment and whispered, “I know you can’t tell me his story, but can you at least give me a hint?”

  Considering the question, Rain replied, “His name is Harold and, like most of the guests here, his story isn’t a happy one.”

  Paul nodded grimly.

  “He’s is a sweet man, though,” Rain continued, “and loves to share his woodcarvings with the children. We allow him to stay because he does so much good.”

  “Harold the Woodcarver!” Paul said, gesturing as though indicating a newspaper headline.

  Rain chuckled. “That’s catchy.”

  “It’s a gift,” Paul replied, shrugging in pretended humility.

  Maria interrupted their discussion. “I have a meeting with the board of directors after lunch, Rain. So you and Paul can eat lunch in the conference room. It’s private and you can talk about the fundraiser details. Just keep me up to date, okay?”

  “Of course,” Rain replied, feeling a nervous tingle course through her as she considered being alone with Paul again. She dished up a bowl of chicken and dumplings for him, and then she served herself before leading the way to the conference room. Closing the door behind them, she said, “I know you’re busy, so I shouldn’t keep you too long. What did you want to talk about regarding the fundraiser? Is there a problem?”

  Paul smiled. “You want to get right down to business, huh? How about we enjoy the chicken and dumplings first?”

  “Okay, if you have the time.”

  “Twelve thirty,” Paul said, glancing at his watch and chuckling.

  Rain clicked her tongue and shook her head. “You’re on a roll today.”

  “Hey, you walked right into that one.”

  She laughed lightly as she took a spoonful of chicken and dumplings. It felt strange but good to banter with him. The other day, when she had driven with him to his parents’ place, she felt particularly self-conscious and had tried to force herself to relax. After all, he was very good-looking and successful. She had wondered then and still wondered now how it was possible for someone like her to be spending time with someone like him. If not for their fundraiser connection, he wouldn’t even notice her. And why should he? She made no attempt to attract men. Matter of fact, she discouraged men from coming around. Several had asked her out on a date, but she always declined and then distanced herself from further involvement. But with Paul, it was different. It had to be. He was the designated link between the sponsors and the fundraiser. It was a business association, she told herself.

  Paul took a spoonful and then said, “This sure brings back memories.”

  Rain remembered his earlier reference to chicken and dumplings and asked, “How is your mom doing, anyway?”

  “Today’s a good day. I talked with her on the phone this morning. She was walking around with just her cane.”

  “I’m so glad to hear that.”

  “You’ll be glad to hear this, too. She and Dad have come up with an idea they want me to bounce off you.” Paul gazed at her for a moment. “They were quite impressed with you, Rain. So was Kaz.”

  “But I didn’t do anything? I didn’t even have a chance to go into detail about the fundraiser.”

  Paul shook his head in disagreement. “You don’t understand. They were impressed with you as a person. And they’re excited to help out. Especially Dad. He wants to sponsor a raffle.”

  “A raffle? We’ve never done one before. What would we raffle?”

  “He suggested a new car.”

  Rain gasped and looked at him in disbelief. “A new car!”

  “Yeah, a nice little subcompact for zipping in and out of traffic. And Mom suggested some smaller items to allow for more winners. Dad tends to get carried away sometimes, so he’s agreed to put up five MacBook Pro laptops, as well.”

  “A car and five laptops. That’s . . . unbelievable!”

  “My parents are determined to make this a big event.”

  “It is a big event. Especially now.”

  “But they’d like to make it even bigger.”

  “How?” Rain asked, almost pinching herself to make sure this wasn’t all a dream.

  Paul took another spoonful and then said, “What would you think about changing your idea of showing a movie after dark?”

  Rain shifted in her seat. “Changing it to what?”

  “A concert. Dad wants to hire a band and is talking Pearl Jam! He’ll arrange for the stage and sound system. It can take place at the far end of the football field so it won’t be in the way of the other activities.”

  “Pearl Jam?” she said in a reverent whisper.

  “Like I said, Dad likes to think big. And he’s well connected. If he can’t get Pearl Jam, then it will be some other big-name act. So what do you say?”

  It was all too much. The strain of traversing the emotional peaks and valleys of the past few weeks overcame her. She buried her face in her hands and her body began to tremble.

  A moment later she felt Paul’s arms around her, gently encircling her and holding her close. “It’s okay,” he whispered softly. “It’s okay. Let it all out.”

  She did.

  The tears flowed as she melted into his embrace. She thought of a verse from the Bible that Maria frequently quoted as it related to their work with the homeless. Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days. Rain never fully understood what that meant. It had seemed a strange notion to throw bread into the water. What was that all about? But as Paul held her and spoke to her soothingly, her sobs softened to whimpers and finally stopped altogether. She exhaled slowly as a sense of release washed over her.

  Her role in life was that of caregiver and provider. She always placed the needs of Charlie and everyone else ahead of her own. Now someone was caring for her and providing emotional support in return. And for the first time in her life, she felt like she understood the meaning of the verse.

  CHAPTER 21

  Paul sat in his cubicle, staring at the wooden horse positioned on the corner of his desk. It bothered him to think that little Jayden and his mother were on the move again, traveling from one shelter to the next. When would it end? And even more disconcertingly, how would it end? The hard, cold statistics on people breaking the cycle of homelessness were not encouraging.

  His thoughts shifted to what had happened in the conference room with Rain. The muffled sound of her crying still echoed in his ears, and he remembered the warmth of her body against his. He could still smell the fragrance of her hair and feel the soft contours of her shoulders.

  He had held her until her emotions were spent, wondering if she might suddenly rush from the room in embarrassment. But she had remained still, childlike, while he wiped her tears with a tissue. When he looked into her eyes, he witnessed a momentary opening in the barrier she lived behind, and he was once again struck by the contradictions that typified her. Unlike the women he had dated, Rain had no hidden agenda or ulterior motives. She harbored no expectations of something in return for favors granted. And this, ironically, made him all the more anxious to give.

  He wanted to give her shelter from further financial concerns and peace of mind regarding the future of Welcoming Hands. He wanted to give her opportunities to make the fundraiser a success. He especially wanted to give her a chance to open up more and let the real Rain McKenzie emerge.

  Soon after he had dried her tears, the opening in t
he barrier began to close and she retreated behind it once more. But for a few moments he had glimpsed the strong but fragile person inside. And he was touched by her genuine show of appreciation, which stood in sharp contrast to the sense of entitlement possessed by many of the women he had dated.

  He wondered why it was so difficult for Rain to express her feelings. Why was she so guarded and closed? What was her story, anyway? She was like a locked journal, whose pages were only accessible if you possessed the key. And she wasn’t giving any hint as to the key’s location.

  He went to his laptop and opened Google. Flexing his fingers, he typed Rain McKenzie in the search bar. Then he hit the search button.

  He was disappointed but not surprised when the search netted no results. He checked to see if she was on Facebook or Twitter or any of the other social media sites. Nothing. She appeared to have no networking connections. For someone who worked online in promoting the fundraiser, she left no digital footprint. It was possible that Rain wasn’t her first or even her legal name. He needed to find out and he knew how to do it the fast way.

  Reaching for his phone, he placed a call to Mack Hansen, his contact on the Seattle Police Department. The detective was his occasional drinking buddy and golf partner. He had a short fuse and a wicked slice, but he was good at his job.

  “This had better be about setting up a tee time,” came the response before Paul could even say a greeting.

  “Hello to you, too. Sounds like someone hasn’t had his afternoon coffee yet.”

  A grunt came at the other end of the line.

  “I need you to run a background check on someone for me, Mack. The tee time will have to wait.”

  “Figured as much. A background check, huh? I don’t remember joining the staff of KNEX-TV.”

  “You’re an honorary member. Come on. I don’t bug you that often.”

  “Oh, really? Last week you needed a police report on someone you were investigating. The week before that it was a criminal check on a man who had suspected Mafia ties. And last month . . . Shall I go on?”

  “I could go on, too, Mack. What about the lead I gave you on the Ponzi scheme case that you were finally able to crack?”

  “I know, I know. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. Okay, look. I’m buried under a ton of paperwork here, so let’s just keep this off the record. Again.”

  Paul lowered his voice to a whisper. “Works for me. I need you to fast track a background check on a woman named Rain McKenzie.”

  “Do you have her social security number?”

  “No.”

  “Birthdate?”

  “Nope.”

  A sigh of exasperation sounded in the phone. “You’re killing me here.”

  “She works at Welcoming Hands, the homeless shelter on Broad Street. Check the staff records.”

  “Okay, give me a minute.”

  Paul heard the tapping of keys and muttered complaints in the background. In a minute his contact came back on the phone.

  “There’s a Raina Leanne McKenzie listed. Birthdate June 16, 1988, Tacoma, Washington.”

  “That would put her at about the right age,” Paul noted, copying down the information.

  “Parents are Weldon and Linda McKenzie. She attended Woodrow Wilson High School, but apparently didn’t graduate. A medical report indicates she was once hospitalized but there are no specifics. She has no criminal record or priors. Not even a jaywalking ticket. That’s all I got.” There was a pause and then he added, “By the way, this isn’t your idea of scaring up a hot date, is it? Using police time and resources like that could get us both in trouble. You owe me, buddy.”

  “Put it on my tab.”

  “Forget it. You’re picking up the green fees next time.” And then the line went dead.

  Paul drummed his fingers on the desk and considered his options. If he was going to find out any more about Raina Leanne McKenzie, he was going to have to dig deeper.

  * * * * *

  Rain met with Maria before quitting time to update her on the fundraiser. The director was thrilled with the raffle idea and even more excited about the evening concert. Like Rain, she was almost overcome with emotion as the scale of Super Saturday grew in size and potential earning power.

  On the bus ride home, Rain tried explaining the details to Charlie, but he was confused about the car and laptops raffle. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t have one if they were giving laptops away. Rain tried to explain how a raffle worked, but she soon changed the subject to what he wanted for dinner. She was not surprised by his answer.

  Following their evening meal of macaroni and cheese, Rain read with him for a while and then allowed him to mark the chart taped to the refrigerator. It was the beginning of a new week, and so the chart was blank. Charlie had earned enough points last week to play Angry Birds for an hour, which he gleefully did on Sunday afternoon. She extended his playing time by twenty minutes—the bonus time he had earned for doing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen the other night. She delighted in his delight and appreciated his genuine enthusiasm. It was infectious and complimented the general aura of peace and contentment she felt since finding a sponsor for Super Saturday. And in that spirit of celebration, she let him play even longer.

  Now as he watched his favorite TV show on the Cartoon Network—he needed a few minutes to unwind following the strain of reading—she tidied the kitchen and dusted the furniture. Then she vacuumed the area rug in the small living room and proceeded to do the bedrooms.

  She found a pair of white socks under Charlie’s nightstand. She picked them up and clicked her tongue, reminding herself to add a Tidiness category to his reading chart. Originally the chart focused on reading time only, but gradually she had widened its parameters to include other aspects of his behavior she wanted to modify.

  As she continued cleaning his room, she let her mind wander. She thought of Paul’s visit to the shelter and of the good news he had come bearing. A tingle of excitement coursed through her as she contemplated working with him until the Super Saturday event was over. She liked the prospect of seeing him again, but then she caught herself. In the past she had always discouraged men from making advances toward her. It was simply better that way. Conflicting emotions tore at her as she contemplated the situation.

  After finishing Charlie’s room, she vacuumed her bedroom. Then she sorted through the clothes in the hamper, separating them into lights and darks. Remembering a pair of blue jeans she wanted washed, she walked over to the closet. As she reached for the jeans, her eyes went to the shoebox sitting on the top shelf. There was something about the shoebox’s position that caused her hand to pause in midair. It was sitting slightly askance on the shelf.

  She wracked her brain and thought back to the other night when she cradled the shoebox in her hands and tearfully looked through its contents before putting it back on the shelf. Had she left it sitting like that? She thought she had pushed it as far back as it would go, but now she wasn’t certain.

  Peering out her bedroom door, she looked at Charlie. He sat on the couch watching a TV program. Her brain began racing as a series of questions returned like haunted echoes. Was it time to tell him? Was he ready to learn the truth?

  These were tough questions—ones she’d asked herself repeatedly over the years. And each time she had decided the answer was no, not yet. Now as she watched Charlie laughing and mimicking the characters on the TV program, she again decided against telling him. He was not ready. Or was she the one who was not ready?

  Sighing in resignation, she straightened the shoebox. After gathering up the laundry, she stepped out into the hallway and closed the bedroom door behind her.

  CHAPTER 22

  The following day, Paul and Grunge visited a spot along Ranier Avenue, where a fourteen-year-old black youth had been gunned down the previous night.

  Paul stood beside a graffiti-covered wall and looked solemnly into the camera. “The number of gangs in Seattle is on the rise,” h
e said. “And during the past year, there has been a rash of drive-by shootings and murders, claiming more than a dozen lives. You see signs of gangs everywhere.” He pointed to the wall behind him. “Graffiti is their hallmark, and each gang has its own special signature. According to police reports, there are two hundred gangs in the Seattle area, although most of the violence can be traced back to only a few.”

  Grunge zoomed in on Paul.

  “When asked what the police are doing about the gang problem, the chief answered that it’s not a problem. It’s problems, with an s. Multiple solutions must be arrived at to deal with the various issues at stake. One program that has been implemented is the Youth Violence Initiative. It is an intervention program directed at youth in middle school, and involves counseling and family support strategies. As the chief said, ‘If we wait until the youth are in high school to intervene, it will be too late.’ Paul Blakely, KNEX-TV, Seattle.”

  He and Grunge returned to the station and Paul finished up his feature. Then he turned his attention to something that had occupied his thoughts almost constantly since yesterday. His experience with Rain. It was a personal matter, true. But he was up-to-date on his e-mail and Facebook postings, so he felt he deserved some personal downtime.

  After opening his laptop, he Googled the Online Newspaper Archive site and typed in: Tacoma News Tribune. Beginning with newspapers dated 1989, he began searching through the local news headlines, sipping a cup of coffee as he read. He also skimmed the obituaries and the letters to the editors but found nothing to pique his interest.

  He continued into 1990 and then 1991. The problem was, he didn’t exactly know what he was searching for. He began typing key words into the search bar, but nothing popped up of specific interest. Realizing it was going to take too much time at the rate he was going, he narrowed his search and focused exclusively on the local headlines.

  By lunchtime he was in 2000 but no nearer to finding what he was looking for. He might have already missed something of worth or there might not be anything to find. But he was determined to continue, and so he grabbed a sandwich from the vending machine and ate on the fly.