Spring Rain Read online

  “Why’s everybody mad at you?”

  Clay jumped, turned, and found Bill in jeans and a Phillies sweatshirt and cap standing behind him. “Hey, champ.” He slid over and patted the empty place on his rock. “Up pretty early, aren’t you?”

  “Uh.” Bill lowered himself beside Clay. He studied the sky intently. “It’s going to be a nice day. No clouds.”

  “Just right for Easter vacation.” Clay smiled at the boy. At his son.

  Bill nodded and stared out to sea. After a moment’s silence he took a deep breath. “Why are they all mad at you?”

  “I take it you’ve seen Grandma Jule this morning?”

  “Yeah. She’s acting real quiet, like she’s gone inside herself.”

  Clay looked at Bill, amazed at his perception. The kid didn’t get that from him, that was for sure.

  “She acted like this a lot when Ted got sick.” Bill scratched his forehead. “I think it’s how she works things through.”

  “So what makes you think she’s mad at me?” Clay asked, interested in spite of himself.

  “I asked. ‘Who got you upset, Grandma Jule?’ That’s what I said.”

  If you want information …

  “She wouldn’t tell me. She’s too nice.” Bill glanced at Clay, a quirky little smile on his face. “So I asked again, ‘Are you mad at me? At Mom? At Ted? At David? At Clay?’ No, no, no, no, silence. I’m smart enough to take it from there.”

  Clay popped the bill of the boy’s cap, knocking it down over his eyes. “Good detecting, champ.”

  Bill righted his hat. “Notice that I asked if it was you last. Grandma Jule was so happy to see you when you came that I figured she’d never be mad at you. But you’re the man.” His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  It was Clay’s turn to study the horizon. “Because I did something a long time ago that was very wrong and stupid, and they all just found out. It’s especially hard on Mom.”

  Bill thought about that. “It hurts when you learn bad things about people. I cried when I learned Uncle Ted was going to die. So did Mom.”

  “Well, I’m not going to die. I just did something I shouldn’t have done.”

  “But we all do wrong and stupid things. That’s what Jesus is for.”

  Clay half smiled and looped an arm about Bill’s neck. He pulled him close and ran a gentle knuckle across his skull. “Thank you, Bill. That was very kind.”

  Bill shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s true.”

  The pride that uncoiled in Clay’s chest threatened to choke him. This child of his was marvelous. Leigh had done a wonderful job. And his parents. And Ted.

  “And I missed the whole adventure.”

  “Yes, you missed the whole thing.”

  Well, not anymore.

  Bill looked at him. “So Grandma Jule’s mad at you because you hurt someone?”

  Clay sighed.

  “Yeah.”

  “Who?”

  Clay wished he could ignore those piercing eyes staring through the smudged glasses, but he couldn’t. “Your mother.”

  Bill nodded. “I thought maybe.”

  “And Grandma Jule’s not exactly mad.” Clay rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s more upset because I disappointed her.” The thought that he had hurt his mother as surely as Ted had was painful indeed. Another proof of his failure with the people he loved most. “She thought I was a nice man, and she found out the truth. It disappointed her.”

  “Moms are good at that disappointed stuff, aren’t they? My mom gets disappointed in me too.”

  “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

  “A lot.”

  The two stared companionably at a small, distant school of silver porpoises swimming north, their fins piercing the water as they arced and played. One leaped high, and they both laughed.

  “Flipper,” Bill said.

  “Undoubtedly.” Clay was afraid to move as he became aware of Bill leaning softly against him, the boy’s bony shoulder pushing against his bicep. Or, interesting thought, maybe it was him leaning into Bill.

  “Is Ted mad at you too?” Bill asked.

  “Ted’s always mad at me. He just has a real reason now.”

  “And Mom?”

  Clay could feel Bill’s eyes on him and turned to meet his gaze. “I have no idea what your mother feels. I really don’t. But I doubt it’s very kindly toward me at the moment.”

  Bill nodded, turning back to the view. “She’ll come around. You just have to give her time. Look how she came around with Mama. Of course she didn’t come around with the kittens.”

  Clay wanted to lean over and kiss the top of Bill’s head. He’d never kissed his son, he suddenly realized with a jerk of his heart, and the kid was already ten years old. He settled for pulling off Bill’s cap and rumpling the boy’s already rumpled hair.

  “Just in point of interest,” Clay asked. “Did you comb your hair this morning?”

  Bill looked at him as if he were crazy. “Of course not. It’s vacation. I want to see how long I can go before Mom sees me and makes me comb it.”

  A shaft of memory stabbed Clay. “You know, your Uncle Ted and I used to have competitions to see which one of us could get by our mom longer without combing his hair.”

  “Who won?”

  “Me. I’d put on a baseball cap just like you, and she couldn’t see the mess. Ted said I was cheating, but I knew I was just smart.”

  “I’ve tried the baseball cap thing with Grandma Jule, but she always makes me take it off. Then Mom makes me go comb.”

  “Now who do you think Grandma Jule learned the baseball cap trick from in the first place?”

  Bill kept his eyes toward the sea, but Clay saw the satisfaction there. And a small smile. The baseball cap story pleased him. Concern flicked. Why? It could only be because he liked sharing the trick with him and Ted. Or was it just with him? His heart kicked up a fast, erratic rhythm, making his post-jogging heart rate seem low. How much did the boy know?

  Oh, dear God, how will we—I—ever tell him so he won’t hate me?

  Bill leaned more solidly against Clay even as he continued to look toward the horizon and the endless miles of ocean out there. His words, when they finally came, were so soft that Clay almost didn’t hear them against the splash and gurgle of the water as it breathed against the jetty.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  Clay blinked. “At you? Never! Oh, Bill, never!”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure!”

  Clay felt a tension leave the boy’s body as Bill leaned even more heavily against him. “I was afraid you would be, you know. I can be a real problem sometimes. I don’t mean to be. I just am.” The last was a puzzled whisper.

  “Bill.” Clay’s voice was husky, and he had to clear his throat before he could speak again. “Bill, look at me.”

  Slowly, Bill turned his head until their eyes met.

  “You, son, are the one fine thing in this whole mess.”

  Bill blinked and looked away, but Clay had seen the tears. He’d also seen things more important than tears. He’d seen desperation and fear and knowledge and yearning.

  Bill knew.

  Clay’s stomach pitched when he thought of the pure courage it had taken for Bill to approach him this morning. What if Clay still hadn’t wanted him? The boy’s desire for relationship was so strong that he had been willing to take the risk of rejection for the prize of belonging.

  Oh, Lord, I love this kid. I really do.

  In truth there was nothing Clay wanted more than to be this boy’s father, to be worthy of his love, to share his name, to hear himself called Dad. Clay wrapped his arm about Bill’s shoulders and pulled him close. He allowed himself the luxury of removing the baseball cap and kissing the boy’s head. He allowed Bill the privacy of not noticing his sobs.

  Ten years without a dad when Bill didn’t know who he was, when he’d never spent time with him,
when he never really expected to meet him except maybe some imaginary day in the nebulous future, made the rejection have an academic feel to it. Not that it hurt less than having a flesh and blood person say, “I don’t want you.” It just hurt differently. While intensely personal, it was also strangely impersonal, and for that reason he could build an image of a wonderful man—rich, intelligent, powerful—just waiting to hear from him, longing to meet him.

  Now, poor kid, all he has is me.

  “I never meant to hurt you,” Clay said, his head resting on Bill’s hair. “I never meant to hurt anyone.”

  Bill didn’t say anything, but he didn’t pull away.

  “If I’d known, I swear to you on a stack of Bibles, I’d have been there.” He thought about that statement as he heard it leave his mouth, and knew that from his perspective as a man, it was true. He also knew that he’d be there in the future. Just what form being there would take, he didn’t know yet, but be there he would.

  But as a boy, the seemingly good Christian young man with the selfish streak a mile wide, would he have been there in any way that counted? Who knew? What he had become was a pharisee of the pharisees just like St. Paul, only he’d killed a young woman’s dreams instead of New Testament believers.

  And Leigh, as kind and tenderhearted and intelligent as they come, recognized him for what he was. No wonder she pulled away from him. No wonder she couldn’t trust him.

  “It’s okay,” Bill said as he wrapped his arms around Clay’s waist. “I know you didn’t know.”

  “Bill, you are a wonderful kid.”

  “Yeah. Mom says I have my good times.”

  “I’m proud to be your father.”

  “I’m proud to have you.”

  They sat quietly for a few minutes, shoulder to shoulder, watching the restless waves. Then Clay asked, “How’d you know?”

  “Everyone thinks I’m dumb, but I’m not.”

  Clay laughed. “Dumb is the last thing you are.”

  Bill nodded agreement. “Grandma Jule saw a picture, dropped it, and ran. Dr. Traynor saw the same picture, dropped it, and ran after her. Then Uncle Ted picked it up and stuffed it into his pocket when he thought no one was looking. You think I don’t want to see that picture? You think I won’t see it?”

  “Sneaky little guy, aren’t you?”

  “If I have to be.” He frowned. “I really look like Grandpa Will, don’t I?”

  “You really do.”

  “So he was a wimpy guy at ten too.”

  “But he grew out of it,” Clay said. “You remember how big and handsome he was, don’t you?”

  “So are you,” he said shyly. “Maybe I’ll grow up to be like you.”

  Clay thought his heart would melt. He couldn’t resist hugging his son. “I should be so lucky.”

  “Hey, Billy!” Mike’s voice called from the dunes.

  Bill pulled away from Clay and looked back at his friend and waved. “Mike! Guess what?” He jumped to his feet. “Wait until you hear!” He began running. “He’s my dad!”

  Just like that, Clay thought in amazement. Just like that he tells the whole world.

  “What? Who?” Mike yelled, running toward them. Terror raced by his side.

  “Him!” Bill pointed back to Clay who watched in bemusement.

  “Him?” Mike was clearly surprised as he skidded to a stop. He frowned, staring from Bill to Clay and back. “How come? Is he going to marry your mom or something?”

  “Nope. He’s just my dad. Like your dad is yours.”

  Mike squinted at Clay. “Huh.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Bill. He turned back to Clay. “Tell Mom I went to Mike’s, okay?” The two boys started back through the dunes, Terror trailing along.

  “Bill!” Clay called, climbing to his feet. “Wait.”

  The two skidded to a halt and waited for Clay, muttering to each other and giggling as they watched him. Clay decided he was glad he didn’t know what they were saying. His ego had taken enough shots from the adults around this place. He didn’t want to know what the kids were saying.

  The three walked into the backyard as Clay said, “I don’t think you should go to Mike’s today.”

  Bill spun around and put his fists on his bony hips. “What’s with this not letting me out of the yard? First Mom and now you. I’m not some little kid!”

  Mama, who’d been washing herself in a puddle of sun by the hydrangea bush, froze with a leg in the air. Terror, standing a good three feet from Mama for his health’s sake, frowned.

  “Your mom’d just rather you stay around here,” Clay said mildly, hoping he sounded parental but not overbearing. How did fathers do it? Of course most fathers started when the kid was too little to complain and grew into it. Starting with a half-grown genius of determination and imagination was going to be a great challenge.

  Bill looked disgusted. “It’s got to do with the break-in and Terror on the jetty, doesn’t it?”

  The kid was definitely not dumb.

  “What’s Mom think will happen?” His voice dripped sarcasm. “The guy’s going to rush Mike’s house and grab me or something?”

  Clay didn’t answer. He didn’t know how.

  Bill’s mouth dropped open. “That is what you think.” He looked at Mike. “They think the guy’s going to kidnap me.”

  “What guy? And who’d want to kidnap you?” Mike asked as the Seaside police rolled quietly down the drive. This time Mike’s mouth dropped open. “Cheez, it’s the cops.”

  “Get your mother, Bill,” Clay said quietly.

  Bill took one look at the police car and raced up the stairs yelling, “Mom, the cops are here! The cops are here!”

  He reappeared almost instantly, a slightly unkempt Leigh in tow. She might have been out of bed at this early hour of—he checked his watch—eight o’clock on a vacation morning, but she clearly wasn’t ready to face the world. Clay swallowed a smile as he thought that she needed a baseball cap to hide her tousled hair. Curls haloed about her lovely face in wild disarray, making her eyes seem bigger than usual. Or maybe that was an illusion caused by the dark circles under them, dark circles to which he’d undoubtedly contributed much.

  He smiled at her, and she nodded politely but coolly. She seemed relieved to focus her attention on Greg Barnes as he climbed out of the police car.

  “What’s up, Greg?” she asked. “Have you learned something about the man, the—” She stopped and looked at the boys.

  “We know all about him, Mom. He wants to kidnap me.”

  Leigh frowned and looked at Clay.

  He held up his hands in a not-guilty manner. “Not me.”

  “And you call him the perp, Mom,” Bill supplied. “I keep telling you that you need to watch more TV.”

  Greg smiled at Bill and turned to Leigh. He looked tired after a night on duty, a turn that should have ended an hour ago if Clay computed his schedule right.

  “We think the man who has been giving you trouble might be an ex-con named Ernie ‘the Worm’ Molino.”

  “The Worm?” Bill laughed, Mike joining him.

  “The Worm,” Greg confirmed. “He was a friend of your grandfather in jail, and he was paroled three weeks ago. No one has seen him since.”

  It made sense that he was an ex-con, a friend of Johnny Spenser, Clay thought. He had, after all, called her Leigh-Leigh, Johnny’s pet name.

  Greg slouched wearily against the side of his car. “He’s a little guy who’s sly and has got some street smarts, but he’s not got much brainpower.”

  “Is he a little guy like in short or a little guy like in not very important?” Bill asked.

  Greg blinked at the astute question but answered easily. “Little like in not important, though come to think of it, I don’t think he’s too big physically either. Skinny guy about forty-five with a bald spot he combs his hair over by growing it long on one side and spraying it into place. Know what I mean? He’s been a bookie, a bagman, a dealer, you name it, but he’
s always been small-time because he’s not got the intelligence to be anything else. He’s also been in and out of prison several times because he’s always getting caught.”

  “And somehow he got the idea from my father that I have something valuable.” Leigh shook her head. “He actually believed whatever story Johnny was telling.”

  “Like I said, not too swift.”

  “What’s he want with me?” Bill asked. “I don’t know anything about a treasure.”

  “Leverage,” Greg said.

  Bill nodded. “That’s what I thought. If he’s got me, he thinks Mom’ll trade the treasure to get me back.”

  Greg nodded. “Or she’ll give him the treasure immediately to prevent him from grabbing you in the first place.”

  Bill grinned at Leigh, impudence oozing from every pore. “I think I’d better stay on your good side for the next little bit, Mom.” He looked at Clay. “Yours too. After all, you might be the one to find whatever it is.”

  “It isn’t anything, Bill,” Leigh said, clearly not overjoyed that her son had included Clay in the program.

  Greg looked at Leigh. “The word from the pen is that Johnny talked about his treasure with enthusiasm for the past few months. Before that, no one heard anything from him but gripes.”

  Leigh blew a gust of air. “Now the gripes sound like Johnny.”

  Clay suddenly wished he had known Leigh’s mother. Perhaps she was the secret behind her daughter escaping Johnny’s influence. And the Holy Spirit, of course, making her more and more each day into the image of Christ.

  “Have you thought about the idea that there might actually be something valuable, that your father might have been telling the truth?” Greg asked.

  “An actual treasure?” Leigh laughed at the idea. She indicated Clay and Bill. “We went out to the house the other day and searched, just to keep him—Molino—happy with the idea that we were looking. We found nothing but dirt, spiders, and mildew.”

  Greg nodded. “Has Molino called again?”

  “No, though I’ve got to admit I jump every time the phone rings. I keep expecting something to happen.”

  Before he realized what he was doing, Clay reached out and ran a soothing hand down Leigh’s back. When she didn’t flinch, he let his hand rest at her waist.