Lullaby for the Rain Girl Read Online Free Page B

falling from the sky was a kind of freezing drizzle. Kids were congregated around the doors and I had to push past them to get to the sidewalk. Making my way along N Street I considered stopping for something hot to drink but decided against it; better to keep moving through the cold slush. The sooner I was back at the apartment, the sooner I could…but I refused to allow myself to think of getting into bed and pulling the covers over me, as sorely pleasurable as that vision was. I had to stop it, I knew. It wasn’t healthy.
    I thought of my cigarette again, still in the pocket of my coat where I’d dropped it yesterday. I realized suddenly that I never had smoked it. That gave me a slight sense of accomplishment, at least for a second or two.
    I’d stopped at the curb at 22nd Street to let the traffic sizzle past when I realized that the girl from yesterday was standing next to me. She was dressed just as she’d been the day before; her face, which I saw in profile, was pensive. As the traffic cleared we both started across the street.
    “Aren’t you cold?” I offered, finally.
    “I’m okay.”
    “That coat looks pretty thin. And you should wear a hat.”
    “I don’t get cold that much.”
    “I didn’t see you as I was leaving school.”
    “I saw you.”
    “Do you live over this way?”
    “Do you?”
    “Sure I do,” I said. “I’m going home now.”
    “A house?”
    “No, just an apartment. Top floor. Off Dupont Circle.”
    “Oh.” She seemed to think about it. “Do you have any kids?”
    “No—well, I have a stepson. Only he’s not really a child anymore. He’s an adult now.”
    “Your wife’s son?”
    “Yes, my—well, she’s my ex-wife. Or will be. We’re divorcing.”
    “Why?”
    I frowned and felt the headache behind my eyes. This girl was certainly direct. Yet, honestly, I couldn’t find it in myself to think that she was being offensive. The way she looked at me was utterly flat, without any affect whatsoever. Guileless. She desired information, that’s all. She saw nothing wrong in asking for it.
    We were passing by the Blockbuster video store I frequented. I’d thought of stopping in to rent a couple of movies, but somehow I didn’t want to break up my conversation with this girl. I didn’t know why. Anyway, we passed the store.
    “Um—that’s hard to say. Really. We were married for eight years—well, we’re still married—I told you that—and, well, people who are married for a while…it gets complicated. I don’t think I can say it better than that.”
    “I think marriages should be simple.”
    I smiled. “I couldn’t agree more. But it never seems to work out that way.”
    “Were you married before?”
    “Before…? Oh. No. No, I wasn’t married before. She was my first wife. There were a couple of serious relationships back there, but no marriages before this one.”
    “Why didn’t you marry the other ones?”
    Good grief, I thought. But I wanted to answer the question.
    “Well, one left me,” I said. “And one—died.”
    “How did she die?”
    I was surprised that it came out very naturally, with no hesitation at all. “She committed suicide.”
    “Why?”
    That, finally, made me stop. I stood there in the middle of the sidewalk, people passing us by on either side, looking down at her. Her eyes were very big. “You ask an awful lot of questions,” I said, more harshly than I’d intended. To soften it I added, “I don’t know why. It was many years ago. And far away from here.”
    “Where?”
    “Santa Barbara. In California. That’s where I’m from originally.”
    “Oh.” She seemed to consider it. “How did you end up here?”
    “My dad moved here. And my sister. Many years ago, around the time I went off to college. He worked in aerospace and his job transferred him to Washington. Eventually I came to visit them and just—I don’t know, decided I liked the area, I guess.” I tried to smile. “Is that enough of an