Wrapped in Rain(102)

I walked down the aisle and turned, placing my finger in the air. "Oh, and one more thing ... please tell Miss Ella I love her. Tell her I miss her. And ... tell her I cut away my coffin."

I walked outside, and Mose climbed out of his hole. The spade of his shovel was shiny and bent, and his handle black with ten years of wear and rhythmic digging. He handed it to me. "Here."



"What's this for?"

He pointed at the hole. "Fill it in."

"But ... there's nothing in there."

He nodded and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. "There will be when you finish."

Mose threw his pick over his shoulder and looked down at Miss Ella's grave. "Now, sister, I did what you asked, but the next time, he digs it. I'm getting too old to be digging other people's graves."

Mose walked toward the barn, whistling "Here Comes the Bride," and I stepped in the hole. I pulled the dirt down over my shoes, slow and steady. I was in no hurry, and it was easy work. The hard part had been done. Thirty minutes later, I patted the top, rounding the mound, and leaned on my shovel like I'd seen Mose do a dozen times.

The gravedigger's high.

With Miss Ella's grave to my left and mine to the right, a wet breeze ushered in pregnant, low-lying clouds. For several moments, they hung at the treetops, dark and heavy, then as if sprung from a trap door, they opened up and a sweet, springtime deluge gushed forth. A warm rain, with big, heavy drops, typical of March. Maybe God was crying on Alabama. But not all tears speak sorrow. Some scream joy.

My childhood had taught me to know that clouds like that-that opened up so quickly and so heavily-had a staying power of about fifteen minutes. Then, after they had shot their cannon and dumped their guts, the sun would break through, burn off the rain, and turn the air humid and sticky. I looked up, closed my eyes, and let the rain wash my face, shoulders, and soul and felt the crack in my heart begin to close.



"Miss Ella, I've got something I need to do." I nodded. "You of all people should understand."

I dropped my shovel, climbed the fence, and sprinted to Waverly like I was late for the first pitch of the season. Jase sat on the floor of the den, rescuing another damsel in distress from the tower of his Lego castle-now much bigger since he and Mutt had added three boxes of Legos to it. I grabbed our gloves, hats, and a single baseball-the one with the single piece of clay ground into the laces. Katie sat at the piano, softly playing "Canon in D" and smiling at the thought of the afternoon's activities. I opened the front door, tossed Jase his glove, and said, "Hurry, before it lets up."

Jase scrambled off the floor and pulled his hat down tight, pushing his ears out. He dug his hand into his glove and jumped off the front porch into the grass. He stood pounding his glove and shifting his weight to and from each leg. Katie raised her hand in objection and said, "Tucker, he just got cleaned up. He doesn't need another bath. I would like him clean when he walks down the aisle carrying my ring."

I patted the ring hanging around my neck. "Don't worry, it's safe. Besides, a little mud never hurt anybody."

She stood and perched her hand on her hip. "Tucker Rain."

"Katie, there's more going on here than a father and son playing catch."

She smiled, stepped to the door, and rested her hand on my chest. "Like what?"

I threw the ball to Jase, watching it spin and glide through the downpour. "T-I-M-E."

Tucker?

Yes ma am.

Don't you forget about Mama Ella.



You going somewhere?

Think it's time I leave you be.

Katie's not going to like that very much. She was hoping you'd be here today.

Just Katie?

You know better than that.

Good, already bought my hat.

Figures. Good thing were not getting on an elevator.

Don't you sass me.

Mama Ella, you are a piece of work.

How's your tummy feeling?

Kind of hurts.

What kind?

The growing kind. Like I'm making room and addingpeople.

I told you.

You told me a lot of things.

You sassing me?

No ma am, just letting you know that I was listening.

Tucker?

I didn't answer. I knew what she wanted.

'T'ucker Rain ?

That got my attention, and for a moment I could smell the hint of Cornhuskers.

Yes ma'am?

Child, in the end ... love wins. Always does. Always will.

Yes ma am.

I stood in the front yard and held up my glove. Jase reached way back, pointed his glove hand at me, took a big step, and threw as hard as he could. The ball arced upward and spun sideways through rain that fell harder now, wrapping itself around us.





EVERY TIME I WALK INTO A BOOKSTORE AND SEE ONE OF my books sitting on a shelf, I just shake my head. I'm amazed. Many of my family and friends are too. Often, they say, "You made it!" Whenever I hear that, I start looking over my shoulder and feel the urge to duck. I know better. My grip on this business is tenuous at best, and if I've made it anywhere, it's merely to the starting line.

In truth, I feel much like a runner led by the official from my seat in the stands, through the crowds, and out onto the track. He has given me a lane and pointed toward the man holding the starting gun. "This is your lane. Good luck. Gun goes off in a minute."