It's Only the Rain

The funny thing about the cold, it can burn you just as terribly as an open flame. The wind on a winters day sweeping off Lake Michigan was like that, capable of turning skin red like it had been held too close to a hot stove. Mindy Dawson was all too aware of that little fact of life. She walked to work each day from her apartment, braving the conditions in a coat that was barely adequate for what was being asked of it. The chilly air would knife through the fabric, making her body shake and her breath form clouds of vapor.

"I swear...next paycheck...I'm buying a fucking parka," groaned Mindy.

Her eyes, half-closed by the stinging effects of the nasty weather, flashed with relief when she spotted her destination through the shifting snow that hung in the air.

The sliding doors opened automatically with her approach granting her entrance to the antiseptic white halls of Parker Memorial Hospital. Once inside, she sighed as the far warmer interior of the building gave her respite from the deep cold that had settled into her bones.

For the past eight years, Mindy had been a nurse at Parker Memorial assigned primarily to the Intensive Care Ward. It was the kind of job that suited her shy, withdrawn personality. One where her patients were often unconscious or too oblivious as to what was happening to them to offer much in the way of conversation. Any relatives equally too distracted to worry about a nurse that hovered in the shadows.

The door to the room where she stored her meager belongings while at work opened on smooth, well-oiled hinges. At this hour, the room was empty, her only companion's rows of gray steel lockers. Mindy halted near one that had her name in black ink on a piece of tape. She shucked out of her coat, placing it on a hook inside, laying her purse on a shelf. A magnetic mirror about the size of a paperback novel was attached to the inside of the locker door, and she stopped to check her face smirking at the woman who looked back at her.

"You look like shit, Mindy. Thank God your patients can't see you."

It was an unflattering appraisal and not entirely fair, but Mindy often found it hard to be impartial where her looks were concerned. If she had been privy to the hallway conversations of her coworkers, she would have known that quite a few folks around the hospital envied her pretty green eyes, nearly flawless creamy white skin, and dark-brunette hair. It would probably have embarrassed her, even more, to know that her curvy, well-endowed body had often been the subject of discussion among the single men and woman who prowled those same halls.

Shutting the door with a metallic clang, Mindy stopped to adjust her scrubs that had twisted under her coat as she walked before venturing out.

The elevator rose quietly, depositing her on the eighth floor where the Intensive Care wing was located. As usual, it was almost eerily silent with just the hum of medical machinery, and the occasional sound of low voices locked in an exchange of medical jargon as one nurse stopped to consult another.

"Look what the cat dragged in," said Barbara Nusom, one of Mindy's colleagues, who smiled at her approach.

"Hi, Barbara. Everything okay?"

"Same as usual. We got one new patient, gunshot wound in room 6A, but Kelly and Simone are on that one."

Mindy nodded, picking up a chart from the cart by the desk.

"I'm going to do the rounds..."

"You might want to double-check the I.V. in 2B. I think he needs a new one," offered Barbara.

Mindy tried not to show a reaction, but she wondered if Barbara had noticed how much extra time she tended to spend in 2B.

"Thanks...I'll have a look."

Barbara returned to filling out paperwork while Mindy tucked the clipboard under her arm and headed down the corridor.

The rooms were mostly ubiquitous in both layout and décor. Only 2B differed in that regard. After checking on the rest of the patients on that side of the building, which included two with cancer and a burn victim from a car fire, Mindy arrived outside the closed door that separated 2B from the rest of the ward. In intensive care, the doors were usually kept open to facilitate entry in case of an emergency.

What need of privacy did a patient so close to death have anyway?

This door was shut though at the insistence of the patient's mother, and Cecilia Harcourt generally got whatever she wanted.

Mindy stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind her. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the low lights. The room appeared on the surface to be like all the others, but one quickly started to notice the differences. The usual hospital furnishings had been replaced with fancier, much more expensive ones, and the few shelves in the room contained both medical equipment and an assortment of family photos in elegant looking gold frames. She stopped to examine one, though by now, she had seen them enough times to have memorized their contents.

In the picture, a young man with long, shoulder-length blond hair stood on a beach in swim trunks and a light jacket grinning at whoever was taking the shot. The sun was setting behind him, and he had the carefree look of someone who rarely worried about anything, or at least never let the world think he did. Mindy lifted the frame bringing it closer. The young man had the most piercing blue eyes she had ever seen, like chips of ice floating in a calm ocean. He was athletic looking, toned but not overly muscular with the kind of body that looked like it could run for miles and never tire.

She wondered for a moment whether that smile would have faltered if he had known that six-months later, he would be struck by a drunk driver and put into a coma.

The patient that occupied 2B no longer completely resembled the young man in the photo though they were the same. His hair was cut short now, shaved off during the surgery to save his life, and grown back since but kept tidy at his mothers request. He was losing some mass, but it was hard to exercise when you're unconscious. Still, for a man in a coma for almost a year, he looked remarkably healthy, and that handsome face hadn't changed. Only the eyes were hidden from the world.

Trevor Harcourt had come to them clinging to life, and the best doctors in the city had moved Heaven and Earth to save him. They had managed the feat, well, sort of, if by living one meant a life hooked up to machines that kept you breathing, your blood pumping, your waste being carried away. According to medical science, Trevor Harcourt was alive, his brain still functioning if only at a minimal level, but for how much longer no one could say.

Ordinarily, a patient like Trevor would have been taken off life support long ago and allowed to expire if his brain function couldn't keep things rolling on its own. Still, he was no ordinary patient, or at least he had no average mother.

Cecilia Harcourt was one of the richest women in the country, her cheating husband having the good grace to die from a heart attack during a particularly strenuous round of sex with a pair of Las Vegas hookers dropping the whole of Harcourt Industries right into her lap. She had carried the company into an even more prosperous period building on the legacy he had left behind. A legacy she had intended to pass on to her children, Trevor, her oldest, and Mitchell, his younger brother by four years. Then had come the accident and that grand plan had gone up in smoke.

Mindy had been there the day they brought Trevor in and had been assigned as his nurse. She had watched over him in the intervening months as the hopes for his recovery faded, and one by one experts recommended letting him go. There remained only one dissenting vote left, but it carried a great deal of weight, and that was Cecilia Harcourt's.

The I.V. did need changing, and she handled it quickly and efficiently while copying down his vitals on the chart under her arm. She stopped to adjust his blankets and noticed that his bangs had fallen over one eye, making him look vaguely like some blond-haired pirate. She brushed them back, briefly resting her hand against his cheek. It was such a shame, a man with so much to live for now stuck in a dying shell he had no way of escaping.

The door swung open again, startling Mindy, who jumped back.

"This whole thing is absurd, Mother. I'm telling you this guy is playing you for a fool."

"It's my money, Mitchell, and I will spend it as I please."

Mindy took a step away from the bed, trying to appear busy checking the settings on a piece of equipment.

The woman who entered the room bore a strong resemblance to her unconscious offspring, with blond hair streaked with gray and blue eyes that flashed with intelligence. Cecilia Harcourt had a stare that could melt lead, but that steely-eyed look faded upon seeing her son. She walked straight over to him, taking his lifeless hand in her own.

"I'm just saying that we've consulted with all the best experts in their field, and the conclusion is always the same. I love Trevor too, but we need to face reality. It's time to let him go."

The man who spoke these words hovered behind his mother like an obedient puppy. A full head shorter than his brother with darker hair and the pale skin of a man who spent little time outside, Mitchell Harcourt had always seemed a little off to Mindy. He indeed pretended sincere concern for his brother's welfare, but she had overheard more than one conversation between him and the family layer, Howard Voss, that gave her the distinct impression that he would just as soon see his sibling cut loose from this world.

"How is he today?"

Cecilia didn't look at her when she spoke, but Mindy had grown used to being addressed this way. Whenever she visited, Cecilia rarely took her eyes off Trevor.

"Fine. His vitals are good. I just changed his I.V., and you can page me if you need anything."

The older woman didn't answer, then again, Mindy was used to that as well.

She started to slip out of the room, passing Mitchell, who eyed her suspiciously. He had always been like that, a duplicitous man who was used to assuming that everyone around him had their ulterior motives for everything they did.

"I've never liked that nurse," he said after Mindy had gone, "I think she eavesdrops on us."

"You think everyone is out to bring this family down, Mitchell."

"Aren't they?" he replied, trying to make it sound like a joke. Cecilia picked up on the underlying seriousness of his tone, shook her head in disapproval.

"Dr. Avery will be here tomorrow. I want this area cleared for his equipment," she said, nodding at the spot next to the bed.

"Mother...I still think."

Cecilia shot him a look that stopped him cold, and whatever he had been about to say died on his lips.

"I'll see to it," he said finally while reaching for his phone that vibrated inside his jacket.

"I need to take this. Be right back."

His mother acknowledged him with a nod. It was more than he expected. When they came to visit Trevor, she sometimes seemed to be almost in a trance, not able to look away, barely paying attention to those around her.

He stepped into the hallway, glancing both ways to make sure he was alone before taking the call.

"Howard. Tell me you have good news."

"I've been working the phones, but it's an uphill battle. You need to understand that your mother is very well regarded as C.E.O. trying to get her voted out is going to be a tall order."

"Tell those spineless pricks on the board to check where our stock is at these days. My mother may have had her moment in the sun, but since Trevor's accident, she's let the company fall apart. It's high time someone stepped in and stopped the bleeding."

"Got anyone in mind?"

Mitchell chuckled, a sound that came out more dark and angry than humorous.

"This is my legacy now, and I'll be damned if I'm going to see it get flushed down the tubes."

"I'll do my best. How is your brother, by the way?"

Mitchell clinched his phone tighter, ignoring the question.

"Get back to me when you know something definitive about the vote. What's the story with that judge?"

"If you think voting your mom out is going to be a tough nut that has nothing on trying to get a judge to pull the plug on your brother."

"What's the point of having a judge in your pocket if they won't come through when you need them! Up the bribe, I don't give a shit, just make it happen."

He cut the connection without bothering with the pleasantries of a "goodbye" turning to face the door back into his brother's room.

"Pull the plug...I wish I could have done that long before this accident," he whispered bitterly under his breath.

Trevor Harcourt, Mr. Perfect, the Boy Fucking Wonder...

Mitchell had spent his whole life in that shadow, and now fate had dealt him the hand he had prayed desperately for all these years.

He did his best to set a smile back on his face before walking inside. It wasn't easy, but faking humanity had become second nature to Mitchell Harcourt.

Mindy returned to the nurse's station and logged her notes for that shift. The rest of the evening past quietly. Nobody coded, that was always a good thing, and for once, no one stole her yogurt out of the break room refrigerator. When the clock finally showed the right time, she got ready to leave, filling in her relief.

"I just gave 4C his meds, so you don't need to worry about him again for six hours," said Mindy.

"Okay. What about 2B? Should I pop in and check on Mr. Sexy...Don't you wish you could wake him with a kiss?" said Gina Godfrey, a nurse that Mindy frankly had very little use for and wished would transfer to a different ward.

"He's fine, just leave him," she said in a clipped, irritated voice.

"Gee, no need to be so touchy. It was just a joke."

"A sick joke..." she said quietly.

"What?" asked Gina.

"Nothing...I'll see you tomorrow."

If anything, it was even colder outside, and Mindy toiled through the snow to get home trying to keep her mind off the numbing temperature by singing old eighties pop songs in her head. She was half-way through the annoyingly catchy lyrics to Bobby McFerrin's "Don't Worry, Be Happy," when the doorway to her apartment building appeared out of the haze.

The lobby was decidedly less warm and inviting than Parker Memorial, but it was far better than being outside. She waited for the elevator, trying to ignore the peeling paint on the walls and the generally shabby appearance of the building. It wasn't much, but thanks to her mother setting up shop here many years ago, it was rent-controlled and affordable in a city rapidly pricing out lower-income folks like herself. One of her neighbors got on just as the doors closed, and the pair of them made a great deal of effort to pretend they weren't sharing the ride. No one in her building talked to anyone else unless it was an emergency and maybe not even then.

As soon as her key hit the lock, Mindy sensed the tension in the air, and she steeled herself for what was going to come next. The sounds of a ball game on T.V. came from the living room, and she threw off her coat onto the back of a chair in the short hallway before stepping around the corner.

Her boyfriend of four years, Greg, sat on the couch still wearing the same sweat pants and t-shirt he had been in when she last saw him many hours earlier.

"Hey...How were things today?"

"I didn't get the job," he said without turning his eyes away from the T.V.

"Oh...Well...I'm sure you'll get the next one," she said, wondering if given his attire he had even gone to the interview. Greg had been out of work for seven months now with no end in sight. He had been an editor on the local paper, but declining sales and the move of more people to getting their news from the Internet had brought on layoffs.

"Did you call your brother? I thought Kevin had a line on something?"

"Shit...Selling plumbing supplies? What don't I just go out and start nosing through the garbage for tin cans to sell."

"It would be a job," she said quietly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he snarled, making her flinch back as he looked at her for the first time.

"Nothing. I'm just saying...It wouldn't hurt to swallow your pride a little and..."

"Swallow my pride? What the fuck, Mindy! I'm not going to grovel to my brother and let that arrogant prick rub it in my face that his brother with the liberal arts degree can't find a fucking job...again."

Mindy couldn't meet his gaze, instead taking her turn staring at the T.V.

"White Sox are losing."

"So, what else is new."

"Did you check on mom?"

"Yeah...That's the thing. I don't know how, but she got another bottle into the apartment. I found her half-crocked sitting in the tub earlier."

"Dammit! Greg! I've told you that you have to be mindful of her..."

He cut her off before she could finish, "I can't help it if that alcoholic bitch has the skills of a high-class thief. Maybe you should just let her drink herself to death. It would be quieter around here that's for sure."

"Screw you..." mumbled Mindy quietly as she started to stand up.

Greg's hand shot across the table, grabbing her arm hard enough to make the flesh go red beneath his grip.

"What did you say to me?"

Mindy swallowed, wincing at the pain, "I'm sorry...it's just been a long day, and I'm tired. Please...You're hurting my arm."

He looked down as if startled to find himself holding her. Mindy pulled her arm free as he relaxed his grip, but the angry look on his face didn't entirely abate.

"I'm hungry. It's your turn to cook."

"You didn't make anything? I've been at work..."

She stopped herself again, seeing the look in his eyes. The last time they had gotten into the debate over whose turn it was to cook, it had taken more makeup than she cared to admit to cover the bruise on her cheek. Greg had been sorry afterward, of course, he was always sorry, and she wanted to believe that was true. It was just all the pressure he was under, not being able to find work and having to deal with her mother when she wasn't around. It made a man edgy, and she had a bad habit of pushing his buttons. Her dad had said the same thing about her mother. Women always had a way of pushing the wrong button.

Mindy had grown up learning to keep quiet, not let herself be noticed, not make the mistake of pushing that button.

"I'll make something in a minute."

He nodded, returning to the game.

Carefully she got up, making sure she was out of his line of sight before rubbing her arm. It looked like it might bruise, but at least it was wintertime, she could wear long sleeves to cover it.

Her mother's room was at the end of the hall. There was a photo of her and Greg on the wall halfway down. The two of them were smiling together on vacation in Yosemite. Happier times, they seemed so long ago she could scarcely recall what it had felt like to smile that way.

The main lights in the room were off the only illumination coming from a single bulb lamp in the corner. Mindy could just make out the shape of her mother sitting in her favorite rocking chair, barely making it sway back and forth.

"Mom? Are you alright?"

No answer. She came closer, reaching back to flip the light switch on.

"Turn that thing off! Are you out of your mind!" slurred her mother loudly.

"Sorry..."

It was a night for apologies, but then "sorry," had become Mindy's watchword lately she seemed to find herself saying it an awful lot.

"Where's your father? He off fucking that slut Amy Williams again! That two-faced bitch! Best friend, my ass..."

Mindy didn't bother to correct her mother, remind her that the man who had helped give her life had died almost ten years ago to the day. She would remember all on her own, once she sobered up.