Lullaby for the Rain Girl by Christopher Conlon Page A

it with you? What’s wrong? Why are you acting like this?”
    “Like what?”
    “You ignore everything about this proceeding. You ignore me. You don’t return calls. Now you act like I’m threatening you.”
    “Aren’t you, Vincent?”
    “I’m offering you a chance to get a better deal than you’re going to get if Mom has her lawyer really kick into high gear on this.”
    “Fifty percent of my literary earnings? Twenty percent of my teaching salary? That’s what you call a better deal?”
    “It’s what I call fair. You could do far worse. Have you studied the papers I gave you?”
    I gritted my teeth for a moment, overcoming my sudden desire to punch something. Not Vincent. Just something. I let it all out in a sigh. “No, Vincent, I haven’t studied them. They’re sitting on the table in my apartment where I left them on Friday afternoon. I haven’t even glanced at them. I don’t want to. The whole subject makes me sick.”
    “You’ll be a lot sicker if you don’t settle with Mom now.”
    “And you claim to not be threatening me?”
    “I claim to be telling you the truth.” His face softened a bit. “Ben, come on. Let’s go get some coffee. I brought copies of everything. Let’s just sit down and do this. I don’t mean you any harm. I think you know that. Mom doesn’t, either.”
    I felt my eyelids narrowing. “Your mother doesn’t mean me any harm? Vincent, are you serious? Do you really believe that? Sitting there in her lovely suburban home with the car and all the money and investments and plenty of income and still trying to bleed me dry? Do you actually think your mom doesn’t want to hurt me?”
    “Why would she want to hurt you? She was married to you, wasn’t she?”
    “That’s why she wants to hurt me.”
    He shook his head. A teacher’s aide jostled my shoulder as she left the building, calling out, “Oops, sorry, Ben! See you!” I waved to her.
    “Ben, this isn’t the place to be discussing this.”
    “You came here. I didn’t come to you.”
    Vincent sighed. “Ben, if you don’t enter into negotiations with Mom, I’m telling you, there’s going to be trouble. It’s in your own best interest.”
    We moved a few feet from the building’s steps. I wanted a cigarette. “Vincent,” I said quietly, “this is wrong. It’s all wrong. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be involved in this at all. It doesn’t concern you. Have Mom’s lawyer get in touch with me. That’s the way to do it. My stepson shouldn’t be harassing me at my workplace. Or anyplace else.”
    “Mom wanted to keep it in the family. As much as possible.”
    “Don’t you see how wrong that is? To involve you?”
    “I’m trying to be fair to both parties.”
    “I’m not a party, Vincent, and neither is your mother.”
    Vincent scowled and looked away. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”
    “No. You’re right. It isn’t.”
    He sighed. “I’ll tell Mom I tried one last time.”
    “You do that.”
    He looked at me for a long moment, then shook his head and walked away.
    I stared after him, feeling nothing but emptiness, loss. I’d lived with that young man at one point in our lives. I’d gone to his basketball games. I’d given him advice about schools. I’d tried to be—not a father, which he already had, but some kind of support system for him. I had tried.
    Looking up I half-expected the girl to be gone, but she was still standing there. I walked over to her, tiredness settling into my bones, my spirit.
    “Who was that?” she asked.
    “Him?” I looked after the retreating form. “Just somebody I used to know.”
    “You’re getting a divorce, right?”
    I nodded.
    “That was your wife’s son, wasn’t it?”
    I glanced at her. “You’re quite a detective, Sherlock.”
    She smiled. “I’m observant.”
    “Okay,” I said, sighing, trying to shake off my encounter with Vincent. “I’ll tell you what. How about we go over to Dugan’s there and have some hot