Falling for Rain (11 page)

It was still early, but Emily wanted to be fully awake when Jonathon arrived. After pulling on jeans, sweatshirt, and wool socks, she went to the bedroom window just in time to see Rain’s truck pulling into the driveway. Concluding that he must have been at his girlfriend’s all night, she again felt the stab of jealousy. Forcing herself away from the window, she went into the bathroom to comb her hair and brush her teeth. So what if Rain spent all night at his girlfriend’s? This time tomorrow she’d be on her way back to Toronto, never to return. She dragged the comb through her unruly hair and tried to convince herself this was a good thing.

In the kitchen, she put on coffee and turned on the radio just in time to hear the weather report. “Hurricane Norman has made its way up the Eastern Seaboard of the United States overnight, striking Canada’s Atlantic
provinces
this morning,” the male forecaster said in one of those voices reserved for serious events. “Winds upwards of 180 kilometres an hour have been reported, with gusts of over 200 kilometres. These speeds are much higher than earlier forecast.

“Evacuation efforts have been underway since early yesterday in many areas along the coastline. High winds and heavy rains are being blamed for flooding and power outages in many areas. A Halifax man is reported to be in critical condition after a tree fell on his car. Several other minor injuries have been reported.” There was a pause, during which the murmuring of voices and the rustling of paper could be heard.

“This just in,” the forecaster continued at last. “In a double whammy, the National Hurricane Centre reports that a second equally strong storm is moving across the Atlantic and is expected to hit Newfoundland by early evening. One ship is reported to be caught in the path of the incoming storm. The effects of the current storm in the form of heavy winds and rains are being felt right into central Ontario. 
A weather
advisory is in effect until tomorrow morning at

6 a.m. Strong caution is urged.”

Emily piled paper, kindling, and a couple of small logs in the wood stove and lit it with a match. She went to the electric stove and poured herself a cup of coffee. It was strong and good. Dragging a chair closer to the wood stove, she pulled down the oven door and used it as a footrest. She found herself oddly content to be sitting in this dreary but warm kitchen with the radio playing bad pop tunes and the rain drumming on the roof and streaming down the windows. The news of the storm didn’t frighten her. This was Canada after all – extremes in weather were nothing new.

The kitchen was a single story wing that had been added to the house as a summer kitchen. In her mind, Emily tore out the cracked plastered ceiling and pictured its new ceiling as the underside of the peaked roof.  Finished in pine and painted white, the room would appear much bigger and brighter.
And more windows
, Emily thought. Take out the little ones and put a row of French doors facing the hillside, which could be turned into a lovely garden in the summer. She looked at the cracked linoleum floors and replaced them with broad planks of gleaming golden wood, modernized the appliances and cupboards with a glance, and in place of the old cook stove installed a bright enamel wood stove with glass doors.
What a difference
, Emily thought, admiring her work in her mind's eye. It would be light and airy in the hot summer months and, with its bright fire, cozy in the winter.

Her mother would have liked the changes she proposed. She had always wanted to modernize the kitchen, but the demands of the farm and the chronic lack of funds meant she’d had to content herself with a fresh paint job come spring.

 As a child, Emily had spent a lot of time in this kitchen. She remembered cold, dark winter mornings eating piping hot bowls of porridge laced with fragrant cinnamon, listening to the weather reports on the radio, and cheering with Rain when a snowstorm meant the school bus wasn’t running. Long after Rain had graduated from high school, he had still cheered, because it meant they had the whole day to spend together. On those mornings, she and Rain would go to the barn and help her father with the chores, their breath white clouds of steam in the cold morning air. After chores, the day would be theirs to do with what they pleased. They often tobogganed down the hill behind the house, coming in caked with snow and anticipating cups of hot chocolate topped with marshmallows. It didn’t matter that first Rain and then she became “too old” for such fun – it seemed then they could never grow out of such simple pleasures. On these snowy afternoons, she and Rain would pop a bowl of popcorn and play Monopoly or Scrabble.  Somehow always ending in a tie, these were lively games that were more cooperative than competitive.  They would help with the afternoon chores as well, taking time out to have a hay fight in the loft.  And then dinner, all of them seated around the kitchen table, her father, mother, Rain, herself – wonderful, homey affairs full of the day’s news.

Those were happy times, she sighed. She hadn’t let herself think of them for a long time, because when her mother died, it all changed. Her father and Rain tried to keep a sense of normalcy, but she refused, moving through the days in an angry fog of resentment, any pleasure a betrayal of her mother.

* * *

Jonathon's black Jaguar pulled into the drive as Emily was having her third cup of coffee.  He parked it next to Emily's car and ran as fast as he could to the house.  Emily held the door open for him, thinking how in just a few days he seemed like someone from another world, a world that was rapidly becoming a foggy memory.

"Christ!" he swore. He pulled off his stylish raincoat and regarded it ruefully. "All-weather clearly doesn't mean hurricane proof.”  He handed her the soaked coat. "Here, hang this up.”  He attempted to kiss her on the lips, but she averted her head and the kiss glanced off her cheek. He eyed her critically. "My god, you look like something the cat dragged home.”       

"Thanks," she said sarcastically, hanging his coat from one of the hooks next to the door.

"Really, Emily, you've been here for what?  Three days?  And already you look like a farmer's wife.  Where did you get those clothes?"

"They're mine.  I found them in my old dresser."

"Well, so long as you burn them before you leave.” His face contorted into a grimace as he looked around the room. "Actually, this whole place should be set on fire."

"It's not that bad." Emily was beginning to feel defensive.       

"No, it's worse."

"Would you like a cup of coffee?" Emily asked, moving toward the stove. He had just arrived and already she wished he were gone.

"They have coffee this far from civilization?"

"Yes,” she said using the same sarcastic tone as Jonathon’s. “They deliver it by pony express."

"I bet it's stale.  But what the hell, I'll risk it."

"How very gracious of you.
Have a seat."  Emily indicated the chairs at the kitchen table.

Jonathon looked around and, taking the tea towel from the kitchen counter, wiped off the seat before sitting down. An elegant dresser, Jonathon was tall and thin with piercing black eyes and long dark hair that he kept pulled back into a ponytail. While generally regarded as good-looking, his aristocratic aquiline features were a little too thin, giving him a somewhat predatory look. On one occasion, Emily's secretary observed he looked like a bird-of-prey on the hunt for his next meal. In public, he was meticulously well spoken; in private, he tended to become querulous, his speech well peppered with obscenities. Emily had grown used to both the public and the private Jonathon.

"So what's the deal, Emily?" he said, not wasting any time before getting down to business.    

She placed two steaming cups of coffee on the table and took a chair opposite him.  "It's like I told you last night. The lawyer says Rain has a case.  He also thinks Rain could get more than half if he chose to pursue it."

"Well, we'll find a new lawyer,” Jonathon said, confident as always that he would get what he wanted. “At the very least, we can force him to accept a cash settlement for his half."

Emily cleared her throat and stared into the coffee in front of her. She didn’t want to tell Jonathon the real reasons for her decision. She forced herself to make eye contact. It suddenly occurred to her that she was a bit afraid of this man.

 “Jonathon, I’ve given this a lot of thought. I want to be rid of this place. No court is going to take Rain’s share of the farm, and Rain wouldn’t sell it for any sum. And without the lake, our plans are history. The best we could hope to do is sell it as farm land, which frankly isn’t worth our time. Family farms – farms like this one – are a thing of the past.”

Jonathon said nothing for so long that Emily felt obligated to spell it out more clearly. She made her tone sound decisive and final. "Look. It’s over. I haven’t told him yet, but I’m giving the farm to Rain.
The whole damn thing.
The lawyer is drawing up the papers today.”

He didn’t answer for a moment, and Emily turned her attention back to her cup of coffee. Suddenly, he reached towards her and clamped his hand around her arm.  "And so his name’s
Rain
now? How cute. Are you by any chance sleeping with this Rain character?" he asked in a harsh whisper.

Emily was jolted upright in her chair, shocked by both the question and the pressure he was putting on her arm.  She attempted to pull her arm out of his grasp, but he held on even tighter. "Stop it, Jonathon,” she pleaded. “You're hurting me."

"No, I'm not,” he said through clenched teeth. “But it's tempting. So, are you or are you not sleeping with this guy?" Maintaining his grip, he leaned across the table until their faces were only inches apart.

"I'm not.” Realizing then that she was more angry than afraid, she looked him square in the eye. "Not that it's any of your business."

"Oh, I think it is,” he said indignantly.
“Especially if it's costing me money."

"It's not costing you money. It's my farm. I'm the only one who stands to lose anything.  The only thing you've lost is an easy way to make a profit. If I pull out now, the only thing you've lost is the cost of a few long distance phone calls." She was at her sarcastic best now. "And if that has caused you any undue financial hardship, I would be quite happy to reimburse you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It's my reputation that's at stake.  I've promised them a deal, and you've screwed up. Thanks to you,
baby
, I've probably lost them as clients."

"Don’t call me
baby
, Jonathon. And it's your own fault for making promises when you didn't know whether you could deliver the goods."

"How was I to know you'd suddenly get sentimental about this dump? A few days ago you were thrilled at the idea of making a few bucks off this place."

"I'm not becoming sentimental!" yelled Emily, finally yanking her arm out of Jonathon's grasp. She pushed her chair back and jumped up. "It's my property and I'll do as I please."

Jonathon laughed scornfully. “My god, Emily, don't be such a child."

"Don't you dare patronize
me.
I've made a lot of money for you in the past, so losing this one deal is hardly grounds for treating me like this."

Jonathon drank the last of his coffee and rose to his feet. When he spoke, his voice was low and dangerous. "I think you know me well enough to realize that I don't give up easily. Go ahead, Emily, sign the entire place over to your new boyfriend, but don't expect to live happily ever after."

"Is that a threat, Jonathon?"

"No, it's business."

They stood across the table from each other, two opponents planning their next move, when the door opened and Rain stepped in. Emily felt her heart leap into her throat at the sight of him. Jonathon wheeled around to face him. He looked at Emily, then back to Rain. "Don't people knock in the country?"

If Rain caught the hostility in Jonathon's voice, he chose to ignore it. "Funny, I asked
Em
the same question not long ago." He turned to Emily. "Sorry to interrupt. I blew a fuse in the barn.  Can I check the basement for spares?"

"Sure," said Emily, her voice tense. She looked from one to the other. She wasn’t going to introduce them to each other. All she needed was some kind of showdown between these two men. Both had wills of iron, and both would fight to the death, at least in the figurative sense.

"Thanks," he said congenially. He wiped his rubber boots with maddening slowness on the mat before walking past Emily to the basement door and disappearing down the steps.  Emily watched him go before turning back to Jonathon.

He was watching her with his small dark eyes.  “I take it that's the infamous Rain Storm,” he said in a harsh whisper. 
“Quite the manly specimen.
He's got you wrapped around his little finger, doesn’t he – or is it some other part of his anatomy?" Jonathon went to the coat rack and took down his still-wet coat. “I thought you were smarter than that.”