Spring Rain (15 page)

Mrs. Wharton leaned forward, looking very intent. “I’m going to ask you a few very personal questions, Leigh. Understand that I have a reason. I’m not trying to be nosey or to embarrass you. Truly I’m not.”

Leigh nodded. She just bet the woman had a reason. To protect her son. It had to be that. What other reason would there be for this lady to care about her one way or the other?

But somehow the idea of Clay telling his mother of all people what had happened between them was beyond credibility.

“Can you manage going to Rowan financially?”

Leigh stared at Mrs. Wharton, too stunned by the question to be shy.

“I know that’s a highly personal question,” Mrs. Wharton said, obviously recognizing Leigh’s astonishment. “But can you?”

Leigh looked at the pretty woman with her carefully tinted blond hair and her yellow cotton sweater and yellow floral slacks,
all saying very clearly, “Money!” and wondered again what was going on.

“I don’t know if I can make it or not. That’s why I’m working two jobs this summer.” She rubbed a hand across her forehead to soothe the pain she got there every time she thought about the expenses of her education, to say nothing of such simple things as eating and buying gas for her new-to-her rattletrap, an eight-year-old red Civic. “But I’m going to try. It might take a long time before I finish, but I’ll do it eventually.”

She said the last with a lot more assurance than she felt. Being on her own was such a scary thing that if she allowed herself to think of all that could go wrong, she’d go home, bury her head under her pillow, and hide for the rest of her life. Just buying the Red Menace had practically given her an ulcer. What did she know about cars? She had tried to look cool and assured, but she’d known she had patsy written all over her. The car salesman had probably ripped her off, but she didn’t want to know for sure. This way she could sniff at his probable lack of ethics and still keep her pride.

“Are you planning to live in the dorm or get an apartment?” Mrs. Wharton brought her paper napkin carefully to her lips, then put it back in her lap.

“I’ll have to commute.”

“All the way to Glassboro? That’s a lot of driving.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Is your car in good shape?”

She thought of the Red Menace parked beside the Acme and shrugged. “I don’t really know.”

“Do you have someone to look at the car for you? An uncle? A family friend? I know I wouldn’t know if a car was in decent condition or not until it suddenly stopped running. Then I could figure it out—broken! broken!—but I wouldn’t have the vaguest idea how to fix it. It’s not one of my interests. When we buy a car, my main job is to pick the color.” Mrs. Wharton smiled. “Dr. Wharton does all the rest.”

Leigh smiled slightly. Another automotive patsy.

“Well, would you let Dr. Wharton check the car over for you?”

Leigh couldn’t respond; she was so floored by the very idea. She sat there with her packet of Saltines half open and stared.

“I’m serious.”

Leigh dropped her Saltines onto the table. “I’ve got to go,” she said with a look at her watch. “Thank you for lunch, Mrs. Wharton.”

“But, Leigh, you’ve only eaten part of your soup. Didn’t you like it?”

“It was very good,” Leigh assured her, even as she pressed a hand to her abdomen and swallowed repeatedly. She shouldn’t have had that spoonful of noodles. “I just have to go.”
Before I throw up all over the table and upset Beach Princess Staci with the smell.

“Are you feeling ill again?” Mrs. Wharton was all concern.

“I’m fine. Thank you again.” And Leigh fled.

She continued to see Mrs. Wharton every day at the Acme. Sometimes she went through Leigh’s checkout line with nothing more than a head of lettuce or a quart of milk. Sometimes she had to wait behind women with overflowing carts when the manager kept saying, “Checkout One is for small orders. It’s open.”

“I’m fine,” Mrs. Wharton would insist, then wait her turn, smile at Leigh, and talk about the weather, Ted’s latest letter, or Clay’s lack of contact with home since he’d left for school.

One night less than a week after the lunch at Bitsi’s, Mrs. Wharton showed up at the ice cream stand with Dr. Wharton in tow.

“Hello, Mrs. Wharton, Dr. Wharton.” Leigh realized she now accepted that she would see Mrs. Wharton frequently, and Leigh couldn’t decide whether she was pleased or unnerved by this fact. She didn’t quite trust the woman’s niceness, but she made Clay seem real and not so far away. And Dr. Wharton was very pleasant, so unlike her father. He was a big man, like Clay. “What can I get for you? Vanilla and black raspberry?”

“You remember!” Mrs. Wharton was impressed, but then nice people usually were easy to impress.

“When I actually know the people I’m waiting on, I tend to remember.”

Dr. Wharton took his black raspberry cone. “When can you come over and let me look at your car? Julia’s been telling me you need it checked so you know if it’s good enough for the commute to school in the fall.” He lunged at his cone to catch a drip before
it fell onto his knit shirt with the little polo player over his heart.

Leigh stared at him in disbelief.

“I told you he’d help you.” Mrs. Wharton looked at him proudly.

He glanced at Leigh, eyebrows raised in question, and she felt compelled to answer. Before she knew what had happened, she was committed to drive over Thursday after work at the Acme. She didn’t have to be at the ice cream stand until seven. There ought to be just enough time between jobs to get the checkup and grab a hot dog at the stand next to hers—if she could keep it down. She thought she probably could. Food eaten in the evening tended to remain where she sent it. It was mornings and early afternoons when the rebellion took place.

She was very nervous when she drove into the Whartons’ drive on Thursday, but when Ted came running out and gave her a hug, she began to relax. In no time, Ted and Dr. Wharton were peering under the Red Menace’s hood and listening to all kinds of noises.

“Come on in,” Mrs. Wharton invited when the men began to speak mechanicese.

Feeling awkward and unsure but not knowing how to say no, Leigh entered the prettiest kitchen she’d ever been in. Everything matched, everything sparkled, and the blue and green and white colors blended with the ocean she could just see beyond the dunes. The smells emanating from the stove reminded Leigh of how long it had been since she’d had a real meal. Her mouth began to water, but she swallowed resolutely. A hot dog would be fine when the time came.

“Do you have time to eat with us?” Mrs. Wharton asked. “Ted would be so happy to have your company.”

Leigh glanced up to see if her hunger had been obvious and the invitation had been made out of pity. But no. Mrs. Wharton was busy at the counter with her back to Leigh. “Oh. Well—”

Mrs. Wharton turned around, a warm smile on her face. “Please say yes, especially if you like chocolate cake.” And she stepped aside, revealing the prettiest chocolate cake Leigh’d ever seen.

It was a delicious dinner, the best Leigh had had since Mom died. She tried not to feel too guilty when she decided maybe it was even better than one of Mom’s specials. Mrs. Wharton could
really cook. And Leigh’s stomach was barely complaining, thank goodness.

“Come on outside with me, Leigh,” Dr. Wharton said when everyone was finished. “I want to give you the report on your car.”

Leigh nodded and stood. Ted rose too.

“I want to talk to Leigh alone,” Dr. Wharton said, looking at Ted.

Ted looked surprised but nodded and sat down. “I’ll just have another piece of that great cake. It’s another winner, Mom.”

Leigh followed Dr. Wharton outside. Now she was going to get it, whatever it was. Now she’d find out what they wanted from her, or she’d get that lecture about corrupting Clay. Cloak it in kindness, and then it hurt even more. She squared her shoulders and looked at Dr. Wharton with hostility.

“I think your car’s in pretty good shape, Leigh.” He slid his hand along the front right fender. “I see from the sticker that you bought it from Wade Richter. He’s a fair and honest man. We go to the same church.”

Leigh nodded, too nervous at what was coming to be very relieved about the condition of the car.

“But,” he said, “that’s not my main concern.”

Here it comes
, she thought, rubbing her hand across the pain in her forehead.

“You know I’m a doctor, don’t you?”

She looked at him in surprise and nodded.

“Do you know what kind?”

“A baby doctor, right?”

He nodded and looked at her with concern. “Is there a possibility that you’re pregnant, do you think?”

“N-no,” Leigh said. “I’m not pregnant! I can’t be pregnant. Why would you think such a thing?”

“Mrs. Wharton has been concerned because of some things she’s observed when she’s been with you. Your frequently upset stomach, your fatigue, and the circles under your eyes, for example.”

Leigh thought of the take-at-home test that sat on her bureau—the test she’d been too scared to use because the possibility of a positive reading was too terrifying to deal with.

“I can’t be pregnant!” she repeated. “I can’t! I can’t!”

“Are you saying that you were never with a man?” Mrs. Wharton asked as she slid an arm around Leigh’s waist. Leigh hadn’t even heard her come outside.

Leigh looked at Clay’s mother and began to cry. She cried until she became afraid she’d never stop. The whole time she sobbed, Mrs. Wharton held her and rocked her and murmured sweet mother things in her ear.

When she finally calmed down a bit, they took her inside and sat her down. Then they washed her face with cool water, gave her a drink, and showered her with kindness.

“I’ve a hard question for you,” Dr. Wharton finally said. “If you are pregnant, can we expect any help from the father?”

Leigh shook her head. “I haven’t heard from him since—” She couldn’t say it.

The Whartons nodded their understanding. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of you.”

And to her amazement they had. They helped her find an apartment in Glassboro so she could go to Rowan without the terrible commute. The rent was very low, too low, and she always suspected they underwrote it. She knew they paid her tuition.

“We’ve saved for the boys’ college expenses for years,” Dr. Wharton said. “Now Clay’s going to a school where we don’t have to foot the bill. Let us use that money for you. We’d consider it a privilege, and you should look at it as another scholarship.”

They had paid for Billy’s prenatal care and delivery. They had bought her all the baby things she had known she could never afford—a frilly bassinet, a wonderful crib with beautiful sheets and blankets, a car seat, and a highchair. Every time they came to visit her in Glassboro, they brought a CARE package for her and Billy: small gifts, silly gifts, necessary items. Because Billy was their grandchild, she was able to still her conscience as she accepted gift after gift.

Most astounding of all, Will and Julia Wharton loved her. At first Leigh couldn’t believe it, distrusting them, looking for ulterior motives, waiting for their repayment demand. But she finally realized there was nothing here but Christian love freely given. And for some reason, God had chosen her to be the recipient.

Billy was three years old when it finally all came together in her mind, and she realized Jesus could come into her life and
make her like them. He’d died to be her sacrifice and to forgive her of all her wrongs—which were legion. The gift of new life was hers for the taking. And she believed.

Will and Julia rejoiced with her, helped her find a church where she would grow, and continued to love her.

It had taken her six years including summers, but she’d finally graduated
cum laude.
By working part time, she’d made enough to feed herself and Billy, pay a baby-sitter and the miniscule rent left after the Whartons’ contribution. Every year for her birthday, the Whartons gave her her car insurance, and Dr. Wharton made sure she and Billy were covered with health insurance.

When she graduated, they told her about the fourth grade teacher’s position that had just opened up in Seaside, asked her to come back and live in their apartment and let them continue as Billy’s surrogate grandparents. She’d agreed with trepidation because her memories of Seaside were not pleasant, but she could not abide the thought of losing them. They’d made her return as painless as possible, though not even they could protect her from the cruel people of the world.

When she finally fell asleep, she was smiling at all the proof of God’s goodness through the years and full of confidence that He would come through for her again.

C
LAY WANDERED INTO
the kitchen about eight-thirty Saturday morning, surprised that he had slept so well after all the chaos of the night before. He glanced out the window at the garage and wondered how Leigh had passed the night.

He shook his head. It bothered him that she always had to deal with the fallout of being Johnny Spenser’s daughter. She had done so much with her life: finishing college, teaching, and according to Greg Barnes—or Greg Barnes’s daughter—doing a fine job of it. She was responsible, efficient, and capable.

But then she always had been. When he recalled that young girl he thought so lovely, he remembered a whole person, not just a pretty one. He remembered her dedication to her schoolwork, her shy friendliness, her kindness, her determination to be more than Johnny Spenser’s daughter.

Of course he remembered her beauty too. What man wouldn’t? She had been enough to make his mouth go dry every time he looked at her. And she was lovelier now than she had been then. Maturity had given depth to her face, honed the girlish roundness from cheek and jaw. Granted, he missed that waterfall of chestnut hair that intrigued him so, but her brisk, chin-length curls were equally charming. She had a brightness to her eyes that made them spark with life
and emotion, especially when she was telling him where to get off or trying not to tell the young cop Pete to mind his own business.