Читать книгу Predicting Rain? - Mary Anne Wilson - Страница 11

Rain fought every instinct to try to free herself of his hold, and stood very still. “What, do you want me to thank you for not braining me with that lamp? Or do you want me to do a spirit dance around you while you try to correct your very-out-of-whack Karma?”

He almost smiled, and she had a flashing knowledge that he was a man who didn’t smile easily. “Neither,” he said and let her go. “I just wanted to know who you are.”

She stayed where she was, not moving at all and definitely not rubbing her arm where he’d gripped her. “I’m an idiot who thought I was rescuing a cat. I even gave him some dolphin free tuna to eat, and he turned his nose up at it. Then you came after me with that lamp.”

“I never threatened you with the lamp or anything else, and as far as my karma goes, it’s just fine.”

“Rainbow!”

She heard George calling from somewhere beyond the entry door and his voice cut through the loft with a boom even from that distance. “I’m in here, George!” she called back, not taking her eyes off the man in front of her. “I’ll be right there.”

“Okay,” he called back and she heard their loft door close with a soft clang.

“Rainbow?” Jack asked, the way so many people had said her given name over the years.

“Rain is fine,” she muttered. “George just likes to use the full version.”

“George?”

“Your neighbor. The guy Zane gave the key to in case Joey showed up?”

“Joey?”

“The cat.”

“You were talking to the cat earlier?” he asked.

“Sure. I was trying to coax him off the wall to start with, then tried to get him to eat very expensive tuna.”

Jack kept watching her, a tiny woman who talked fast, moved with real ease and whom he’d felt against him on the floor. He took a breath, but wished he hadn’t. She carried the scent of…something…sweet and soft…but elusive. And she lived next door. And all he knew about anyone else on this floor was what Zane had said.

“There’s a middle-aged hippie next door to the loft, George Armstrong. He’s a good man, but he’s beyond eccentric and if you let him, he’ll give you hours of lectures about corporate greed. He paints, I think, and comes and goes on whims, apparently. He never got past the ‘do your own thing’ or ‘if it feels good, do it,’ era,” she said.

“You said you live next door?”

“I moved in a few weeks ago. George is my—”

“I know all about George,” he said before she could go into their relationship. He understood all too well from what Zane had told him. But it bothered him that she was involved with the man.

She frowned, then cocked her head to one side and her hair moved in a soft veil. “Oh, sure, of course, you know.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just more labeling. Since George doesn’t conform to what you think he should, you’re sure that he’s some irresponsible hippie living like some flower child.” She bit her lip. “Gad, you’re a snob.”

A snob? “Now I’m a stuffed suit and a snob?”

She shook her head, then went past him into the main living area that was deep in shadows except for the light slicing in from the hallway. He followed her, watching her silhouetted against the light coming in the door. She was at the entrance before she stopped and turned back to him. In that fleeting moment, the light behind her softly exposed her slender figure. “Sorry for the intrusion. I’ll let that Zane person know the cat’s back.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll take care of it,” he said.

“Oh, sure, the responsible one,” she muttered.

She was going back to that middle-aged hippie and he felt vaguely sick. “I’ll take care of it,” he repeated.

“Of course, and, oh, by the way, my name’s Rainbow Swan, for the record. Good night, Jackson Ford.”

With that, she left, quietly closing the door behind her. Before he could do more than absorb the fact that she’d obviously had the last word, the door opened again and this time he could see through the thin cotton of her T-shirt. “I’ve got the key,” she said. “Tell Zane that he can come get it any time he wants to. But until then we’ll guard it with our lives so that you’ll be safe from any and all undesirables who might be in the area.” And she closed the door after her.

Jack crossed to the door, opened it and heard another door shut firmly. Rain was gone. And she’d had a double last word. He hated that. He closed his door, threw the bolt lock on it, then saw the cat. The animal was walking silently along the shelf on the top of the partial wall. He got to the bedroom area, looked at Jack, then leaped in the opposite direction and disappeared. A cat. A hippie. He looked at the clock. The whole thing had lasted fifteen minutes, tops. It had seemed to last forever.

The middle-aged hippie and Rain. It sounded like the title of a bad novel, or some crazy song. But it knotted his stomach with distaste. Instead of going to the bedroom, he crossed to the work station, turned on two lights and sat down in front of the computer. As the monitor warmed up, he heard the cat somewhere close by mewing softly in the darkness. Then a heavy thump came from somewhere beyond the wall across the room that was shared with the next loft.

He looked at the computer screen, logged onto the Internet and went to the mail program. There were several notes from Mrs. Ferris, and a single note from Eve. He opened Eve’s note quickly. All thoughts of Rain pushed to the back of his mind…for now.

RAIN WENT INTO the loft and called out to George. “I’m back.” She crossed to the kitchen to make herself a cup of green tea.

“What was going on over there?” he asked coming up behind her.

“Labeling,” she muttered, a bit shocked that Jack Ford had gotten under her skin so completely. Labels didn’t matter. She’d known that all her life, but for some reason his attitude stung.

“What?” George asked as Rain put the teakettle on the stove, then turned to her father.

Yes, he was a hippie. From the long gray hair, thin on top, pulled back in a ponytail with a friendship rope that Bree, her mother, had made for him, to the rope sandals, the six earrings in his left ear and the cutoffs worn with a shirt that sported a skull and roses on it, he was a hippie. Although Rain liked the term a free, caring spirit better than hippie. He was middle-aged, sincere about helping to make the world a better place, and vastly talented as a painter.

She glanced at the loft, a cavernous space free of any real adornments, with pillows instead of chairs, bed pads on the floor in the side alcoves, and his paintings all around, in various stages of completion. “Want some green tea?” she asked, not about to get into this with her father, too.

He waved that aside with, “No, thanks,” and headed over to his latest canvas, a huge, four-by-six-foot work in progress that he’d labeled Experimental. Red he called it, and it was that. Very red. Lines, sweeping swirls, dots, splashes, all in various shades of red. Even though she loved her father and thought he was beyond talented, it still amused her at George’s chagrin that “normies,” as her dad called the rest of the world, actually liked his work and bought it. “The cat showed up, huh?”

“Sure did,” she said and turned as the kettle started to whistle. As she made a mug of tea, George put on one of his tapes of lute music. She turned with the steaming mug in her hands and inhaled the combination of paint and incense in the air. “You said LynTech used that loft sometimes when their people came to town?”

“Yeah,” George said, studying his painting, hands on his hips and his head cocked to one side. “They’ve got it set up so they can work without ever seeing the light of day,” he said. “I hear they’ll need it with all that stuff going on at LynTech.”

“What stuff?” she asked.

“Something big, and I don’t mean that charity ball next month.” He looked away from his canvas and back at her. “Business intrigue that no one’s talking about.”

She crossed to the rope hammock by the fire escape window on the back wall and settled into it, cradling her tea. This was the way it had been whenever she was here with George, her sipping tea in the hammock, him with his painting. It felt good, even if she was twenty-eight years old. “What’s the big secret?”

“I don’t know, but they called in a big gun from London, Jackson Ford. He’s dead in the middle of it.”

“He’s also dead in the middle of the loft next door,” she muttered and took another sip of the tea.

George looked surprised. “You sure?”

“I just ran into him when I was feeding that cat.” Now she understood a slight hint of a certain properness in his voice. England. Yes, it could be a hint of an English accent he might have absorbed living there. Then again, maybe it just came from him being so incredibly uptight. “They must use that place a lot. It’s set up like a control center for NASA, every business machine you could want. Well, not you.”

“Mmm,” George said as he looked back at the painting. “Next door, huh? Well, from what little I’ve been able to find out, Ford and some others are working on a big deal, and it looks as if that very big deal could fall through.”

Rain wondered if Mr. Jackson Ford was on the edge of being booted from LynTech for some mess up on his part? Maybe that was partly why he was so uptight. “Too bad,” she said.

“It’s all a part of the corporate mindset, that need to work your butt off and make big bucks and destroy this country in the process,” George said. “That can’t be easy on anyone.”

She didn’t want him to get started on this. She’d heard the speech far too often, and her nerves couldn’t stand it now. “No it can’t,” she said, ready to deflect the topic, but he did it for her.

“Do you think this is too much?” he asked, pointing at a huge blot of crimson dead in the middle of the canvas. “Too…intense, too flamboyant?”

Everything about George was flamboyant, another character trait that she’d adjusted to a long time ago. “You’re asking me that, the person who you once said, if I remember correctly, had the artistic bent of a log?” she teased.

He turned with a grin. “I forgot for a moment. Thought I was talking to Serenity.”

She called her mother Bree, but George never called her by anything except the nickname he’d given her the summer they met years ago at a commune on the coast of California near Big Sur. “So, she called, didn’t she?”

“Sure did.” The grin seemed permanent now. He always seemed to glow a bit when he talked about her. Over the years, through all the changes in both of them, she’d never doubted that her parents loved each other very much. They just didn’t commit to a relationship the way the world thought they should. “Did I tell you I’m taking off soon?” George asked.

“No, you didn’t, but then again, when did you ever check in when you wanted to take off?” She’d just gotten here, and with the mess at the hospital, she was hoping he’d be around for a while. But George moved when he wanted to and she was used to him just up and leaving when the spirit moved him.

“True, and that being the case, I’m assuming that I didn’t tell you where I’m going?”

“I didn’t expect you would,” she said. “Is there a gathering or something?”

“No, not at this time of the year.” Then he came over to the hammock and stood in front of Rain with his arms out at his sides. “So, how do I look?”

She shrugged. “Like you usually look.”

For some reason that seemed to please him. “Good, good,” he murmured and moved across the studio area to the makeshift dining table all but covered with stretched canvases and paint supplies.

“So, where are you going?” she asked.

“The Golden City,” he said, the smile deepening.

That meant San Francisco, more specifically, Palo Alto. “Oh, is she expecting you?”

“She’s always expecting me,” he said. “And while I’m gone, chill and get centered.”

“I’m chilling, and I’m centered,” she said.

“No, you’re not. I can’t remember how long it’s been since you’ve been centered. That so-called institution of higher learning might have given you a degree, but it also made you uptight.” He frowned at her. “And since you showed up on my doorstep saying you were going to play doctor in Houston, well…” He gave a mock shudder. “Girl, you need to get back to the basics.”

She wasn’t in any mood for one of his lectures on her choices. For a person who believed in free will and live and let live, he got remarkably judgmental about her life choices. For a moment she thought that despite his attempts at being so different from the suits, he and Jack Ford had something in common. Judging her. “George, stop. You know this is a non-topic. You taught me to make my own choices, and my own choice was to become a clinical therapist for children.”

“I know, I know, and you’re really trying to help children, just going down a different road.” He came across to her. “It’s just hard for me to think of you, my daughter, being a real professional with a real Ph.D.” He looked genuinely shocked by that. “Who would have thought it?”

“Yeah, who would have thought it?” she murmured with a grin.

He kissed her on the forehead, then stood back and said, “I’m leaving later this morning.”

She had always been amazed at her parents’ idea of “marriage.” Her mother lived in Palo Alto and George, whom her mother called “Dune,” lived wherever he wanted to, but mostly here in Houston where he painted. But twice a year, George headed west and twice a year, Bree headed east. That had been going on since Rain was eight and her mother had decided that she needed a “home” that stayed put. So the two of them had agreed on an arrangement, and it worked. Amazingly, twenty years later, they were still “connected,” and happier than a whole lot of couples held together by a piece of paper.

“Give her my love?” she murmured.

“Why don’t you come out with me? She’d love to see you.”

“I saw her two weeks ago when I left there to come here,” she pointed out. “And you know I can’t anyway, not with this whole thing at the hospital up in the air.” She shrugged. “I never expected to get here, thinking the staff position at the hospital was a done deal, then to be told that there were ‘budget considerations,’ and they put me on hold. I talked to Dr. Shay earlier today and he said it could be a week or two before they get the approval.” She shrugged. “I think they look at it as another clinical psychologist in pediatrics isn’t a life and death role, not like a surgeon or an internist.”

“Don’t they know that the soul and spirit pretty much rule our physical health?”

She slid off of the hammock and put her mug on a paint smeared shelf nearby, then turned to George. “I guess not. Now tell me what you need done while you’re gone.”

He grinned. “That’s the beauty of my life here. There is nothing to do. Just chill and—”

“I know, get centered.”

“That’s it.” He crossed to a wicker trunk under the high loft windows.

“Well, I’ve got nothing but time on my hands until the call comes from the hospital.”

“There’s a fine free clinic down on Brown and—”

“That’s a drug treatment center, George,” she said. “That’s not my specialty. You know that. I work with children.”

“The only children thing I know about is the day-care center at LynTech,” George said as he rummaged through the wicker trunk.

“A corporate institution?” she asked with true amazement.

“No, not really. It’s in LynTech, and was started for them.” He turned with a pair of rope sandals in his hands. “But it’s changed. Lindsey Holden, the CEO’s wife, has transformed it into a real community effort. It’s just getting off the ground and they’re taking in the children of workers in that area, anyone who needs a good day care for their child. I mean, a lot of workers in that area can’t really afford expensive day care. I’m betting they’ll have some kids coming in who need the kind of help you could give them.”

She was shocked that he’d mellowed to the extent that he’d give anything connected to a corporation consideration. Then again, he’d been talking a lot about LynTech since she’d arrived. “You could be right.”

“They’re even sponsoring a huge benefit next month for the children’s hospital intensive care pediatrics wing expansion. Robert Lewis, the founder of LynTech, was involved in the fund-raising, and it seemed natural to get the day-care center in on it, too. I think they’re on the right track.” He crossed to a canvas knapsack sitting by the door to the hallway. “It was encouraging that they’d reach out like that, especially to a children’s hospital. A huge fancy ball wasn’t what I’d choose to raise money, but they weren’t interested in any of my suggestions.”

She didn’t ask what his suggestions were. “It sounds as if their corporate heart is in the right place.”

“Who would have thought that the words corporate and heart would be in the same sentence?” he murmured with a touch of disbelief.

“Well, that’s an idea, maybe volunteering there for a week or so,” she said, and headed into the side space where she’d set up her bed mat. “You’re leaving early?”

“Sunup,” he said.

She stopped and looked over at him. “Oh, speaking of corporate hearts. Mr. Ford said that he’d let them know about the cat. So, you don’t need to bother telling Zane…whatever.”

“Holden, Zane Holden,” he said. “And speaking of Zane Holden, do you want me to give him a call and put in a good word for you at the day-care center?”

“No, thanks. I’m not sure it’s a good idea anyway.” That’s all she needed was to be around people like Jack Ford all day. “The hospital might call soon.”

“Whatever,” he murmured. “Do what you think is best.”

That’s the way she’d always lived her life, with no strong parental rules. She’d just happened to make what she thought were good decisions. Staying clear of people like Jackson Ford was a very good decision.

TWO DAYS LATER, Rain gave up on a quick resolution of her position at the hospital and impulsively made a call to the day-care center at LynTech, Just For Kids. She’d spoken to a woman named Mary Garner, and Mary had been thrilled that she was interested in volunteering at the center.

Now she stood in the middle of the center, the main playroom with an awesome fantasy of a tree fashioned out of wood and paint, with tunnels in its trunk and limbs that ran from one side of the room to the other to play centers near the walls. The children were happy, and the staff seemed to be very caring. It was so much more than George had told her about.

She’d just finished a tour conducted by Mary and was taking in beautiful murals on all four walls, a ring of laughing, playing children, each with a name by them. There were maybe fifteen children in the main room right then, lying on nap mats under the sprawling wooden limbs of the play tree and soft music was being piped in. It all seemed inventive and effective.

She turned to Mary, a slightly built woman, with a cap of gray, feathery hair, and rimless glasses perched on her nose, magnifying kind blue eyes set in a softly pleasant face. She was possibly in her early sixties, spry and gentle, with a voice that matched the sweetness in her expression. Right now she was looking at Rain, and asking in a partial whisper, “So, what do you think of our lovely center?”

“I think it’s terrific. Just great,” she said in a voice that matched Mary’s.

“I’ve only been here a few months, but I do love it so. And I want others to love it, too.” She looked at Rain’s clothes, the navy slacks and white short-sleeved sweater that she’d hoped would be suitable under the circumstances. She’d confined her hair in a single braid down her back, skimming it simply off of her face. “I’d advise that you wear more casual clothes when you’re here, jeans and such. It can be hard on one’s wardrobe,” she said, then pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m assuming far too much.”

Rain didn’t hesitate. She’d done this impulsively, but it had been absolutely the right thing to do. “No, you aren’t. I’d love to be part of this.”

Mary touched her arm. “Wonderful, wonderful, now all we have to do is take care of the formalities. Wait right here,” she said and hurried off toward the office area.

Rain watched the children, enjoying the sense of peace in the space, then Mary was back with the folder Rain had brought with her containing her credentials and references. “After you called yesterday, I talked with Lindsey, Mrs. Holden, and she would be very grateful if you could help us out for a bit.” She handed the packet to Rain. “We’re growing so quickly and with new children coming in, we could use someone on call that could help if there was a problem.”

“Well, I’ve got plenty of time now, but once I’m on at the hospital, any help will have to be planned around my schedule there.”

“Of course. That’s understood,” she said. “I wonder how you heard about us.”

Rain didn’t need anyone’s preconceived ideas about her father tainting her. As much as she loved her father, when people found out about him and his lifestyle, they automatically included her in the equation. The way Jack Ford had. She was a clinical psychologist specializing in helping troubled children. That was all the credentials she needed here.

“I actually heard about you at the hospital when I was going through the interviewing there. They’re very excited about the charity ball.”

“We’re all very excited about it.” She tapped the top of the folder in Rain’s hands. “Just take that all up to Personnel and they’ll give you some paperwork.”

“Personnel?”

“Even though you’re not getting paid, we still need you to be on staff. Insurance, I think that’s what Lindsey said. The center has an office in LynTech Personnel for now. When you’re through there, Mrs. Holden would like to meet you. She’s in her husband’s offices on the top floor. She’s pregnant and been having morning sickness day and night, poor thing.” Mary told her how to get to Personnel and to Zane Holden’s office, then said, “Ask for Charles Gage or his assistant. They work for us. They’ll be expecting you. Take the elevator just across the corridor outside the main doors.”

“Okay,” Rain said with a smile. “I’ll see you soon.” Then Rain left, quietly going past the sleeping children and out the entrance doors. The main reception area was to her right, more corridors to her left, and straight across the broad, marble-floored area, was a bank of elevators. She saw a lady step into the nearest car, and she called out, “Hold the car, please!” as she hurried past a couple of people.

The woman, thin with short, dark hair smiled at Rain as she kept the door from closing. Rain stepped inside and pushed the button for the sixth floor. Before the door closed she saw Jack Ford walking toward the center.

This Jack Ford wasn’t the same man she’d met in her ill-fated foray into the loft in the small hours of the morning. Now he was the image of what she’d labeled him that night, a corporate suit. He was in one of those suits, done in dove gray, double breasted, sleekly tailored and probably obscenely expensive, as expensive as the leather briefcase clutched in his free hand and the leather shoes on his feet. He was on a cell phone, and his face, even more sharply angular in the clear light, was set in an expression of extreme concentration. The tension in him the night before had only intensified, and she had the impression that whatever was going on right then, wasn’t good.

He stopped right by the doors to the center, and closed his eyes as the elevator doors finally slid shut. She was inordinately relieved that he hadn’t seen her. At least working in the center, she wouldn’t have to be around him at all. There was no way they’d get involved. Her use of words shocked her slightly. Involved? He didn’t even exist in the same reality she did and even more importantly, he wouldn’t want to.