Page 3 of The Promise Of Rain
My mother didn’t want me to be better.
She wasn’t praying for rain.
I promise, as soon as it rains, I’ll come.
Standing, I gathered my purse under my arm and took one last look around.
I’d make my own damn rain.
1
If Fucking Only
Jenny
I arrived early, my heart beating double time from walking down the poorly lit street leading to The Loose Moose by myself.
I walked in with my chin up and my eyes down and chose a table as far from the door as I could get.The dimmer lighting at the back of the bar offered the illusion of shelter.
And I was clinging hard to my illusions.
I’d never done that, not once in the entire time I’d lived in Moose Lake had I ever walked into The Loose Moose and taken a table by myself.
Especially not at this time of night.
After stuffing my mittens into the deep pockets of my long, puffy, winter coat, I hung it over the back of my seat and sat down.With my back to the wall, I could see the whole restaurant and bar.
And they could see me.
There would be no escaping the gossip, but I could cut down the size of the audience by taking myself off centre stage.
I should have offered to meet in Peppergrove.By the time I realized my mistake, he was gone.
And I wasn’t about to call his mother to track him down.
At least The Loose Moose felt familiar if not entirely welcoming without Miller, who I’d known forever, and his wife Maxine here with me.
The Loose Moose’s claim to fame were their burgers and the massive set of moose antlers mounted over the massive fireplace that confirmed its early status as a hunting lodge.
The sight of a bra or two hanging off the antler’s base was common.Though no one ever confessed to doing it, I had my suspicions.
A few plush chairs and a large, comfortable, perpetually occupied couch sprawled next to the hearth.
At some point The Loose Moose expanded from a simple hunting lodge to a full-size diner.Two demolished walls accommodated the addition of a full kitchen and dining room.By the time the long, sleek, mahogany bar joined the mix, the slap-dash was too far gone to reel it into any kind of style.
With the hodgepodge of additions reflecting each period of its storied history, The Loose Moose was an atmosphere rather than a distinct aesthetic.
I knew every single person in there and felt the weight of more than one person’s curious, albeit fleeting, gaze.
My hands shook the way they did when I made my first oral presentation in grade four.My indoor running shoes had given up the ghost, boots weren’t allowed in the classroom, and my sock had a ragged hole in the toe.
I tucked my hands into the sleeves of my over-sized knit sweater now, much like I had once tucked that shamefully exposed toe under my other foot.Then I went to town, mentally berating myself for agreeing to meet the man who still haunted my dreams after all these years.
Deacon Raine.
I met him at the farmer’s market.I had taken over my mother’s shift at the last minute.She’d worked for his family’s farm for years, along with two others.It wasn’t uncommon for her schedules to overlap.
At twenty-six to his twenty-one, I shouldn’t have looked at him twice.
