As the sky turned green and hail pelted the windows of his office building, Harold Fenslow looked down from the third floor at the street below and the girl huddled under the awning across the street.
She looked terrified.
She stood on top of a low stone wall that led to the entrance of an apartment building. Only her heels were on the wall, and yet she was just barely inside the protection of the awning. This appeared to bother her tremendously because every few seconds she looked up again, over her right shoulder, and tried to scooch her feet another infinitesimal amount off the edge.
Harold wondered why she did not stand in the middle of the awning.
In addition, when she was standing still, he could see that she was shivering, though it was a hot summer storm. Prior to the cloud break, it had been ninety-eight degrees and unbearably humid. His shirt still clung to his back from the perspiration that formed when he ran to get lunch from the corner hot dog cart fifteen minutes ago.
Harold ate the last bite of his lunch and fished his phone out of his pants pocket. Tapping on the weather app, he glanced up at the green sky again as he waited for it to load. Then he looked down at the girl, who was now crouched down in a squat while trying to balance on her tiptoes.
When the forecast finally appeared, Harold could see that the storm was going to last for several more hours. The worst part would pass in the next three minutes, but a steady rain would continue all afternoon and through the evening rush hour.
Harold glanced down at the girl again just as she shivered. Turning away from the window, he opened the bottom drawer of his desk and removed an umbrella. Then he walked through the cubicles outside his office to get to the elevator.
“Don’t tell me you’re going out in this mess,” Dickey Carmichael called, standing up to lean on the short wall of his cube. “No hot dog is worth it, man.”
Harold shook his head and entered the elevator without responding. Dickey watched the elevators like a hawk to note everyone’s coming and goings. It gave him an excuse not to do any work. Harold, on the other hand, was rarely one to take a break. Usually, he ate his daily dog while reviewing reports or answering e-mail. He hated to waste one second of office time. He appeared at eight a.m. and left promptly at six p.m. Every minute in between was billed to a client, including the thirteen minutes he spent waiting in line for his hot dog. His smartphone was his most precious possession. It kept him connected and productive every minute of the day.
As Harold waited for the elevator to descend, he tapped his leather shoe on the tile and drummed the fingers of his free hand on the metal railing attached along the side of the wall. He banged the umbrella against his thigh and spent the time running through his afternoon schedule in his mind. Three meetings, two in person and one a zoom call with a colleague in San Francisco. He glanced at his apple watch and noted the time: 12:51. He had nine minutes until his meeting with Kellogg. They needed to choose an interest rate for their annual valuation. He had forgotten to check with Charlotte to make sure his recommendation presentation was ready. He was about to extract his cellphone from his pocket again when the elevator dinged, and the doors opened.
He was greeted by a collection of very wet people, none of whom waited for him to exit before entering the enclosed space. As a result, when he entered the lobby, he had several damp spots on his pants and his arms, which he tried to wipe dry. Stopping in front of the glass entrance to the building, he looked across the street to see the girl was still crouched down and rocking back and forth on her toes.
Harold glanced at his watch again: 12:53.
Taking a deep breath and letting out a sigh, he pushed open the glass door and popped his navy umbrella open underneath the overhang of his office building. Then he stepped to the corner, hearing the rain pound hard on the top of the plastic over his head and feeling the warm water, puddled on the sidewalk, seep through his leather shoes and into his socks. He glanced to the left and seeing a break in the one-way traffic, rushed across the street, and ducked under the apartment awning, lowering his umbrella, and shaking it out behind him.
The girl looked up in surprise. Her long black bangs covered her eyebrows and part of her eyes, which were wide open. She wore a subtle pink lipstick that made her lips shimmer as she opened them to speak.
“What are you doing?” the girl asked, her brow crinkling and her left eyebrow lifting.
“I came to offer you my umbrella,” Harold said, popping it closed and extending it to her. A few drops of rain flicked off the end and landed on her arm, which she quickly brushed off.
The girl looked up at him silently and slowly rose from her crouch, though he noticed she still stood on her tiptoes. She wore black shorts and a dark purple tank top with tiny straps that left her bra showing. The bra straps were white, so they stood out against her tan skin. The shirt had a V-neck, and Harold tried not to look at how low it was cut and instead focused on the gentle curve of her collarbone before looking back at her face. The girl glanced behind her and up at the awning quickly, before bringing her eyes directly back to him.
“Don’t be silly,” she said, her voice soft. “You’ll get drenched without it.”
“I just work across the street,” Harold said, pointing behind him at his office building with the umbrella.
The girl looked over his shoulder and then back to his face. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“The rain isn’t going to stop, you know,” Harold said.
“Oh?” the girl asked, craning her head to look up at the sky without moving outside the awning. “I suppose that’s right.”
Harold’s forehead creased as she squinted up at the sky and shuddered a little. “Just look at your weather app,” he said, reaching for his phone deep inside his pocket.
“It wasn’t right before,” the girl said, looking back at him.
“When?” he asked, looking down at the phone in his hand and trying to get the weather forecast back up.
“It said I had sixteen more minutes to get home,” she said with a shrug, glancing back at the sky. “It was wrong, so it could be wrong about when it will stop or if there will be a break.”
“I doubt it,” Harold replied. “Just look.” He turned his phone so that she could see the radar, which was covered in blue, orange, yellow and even a few small spots of red. The entire image was covered in color, which to Harold told a clear story of what the afternoon would bring.
“Oh,” she said sadly. “I guess you’re right.” She shivered again and wrapped her arms around her torso, which Harold found odd since the air was still hot and the humidity was positively stifling even with the rain. He rolled his neck and shoved his phone back inside his pocket.
“So, take my umbrella,” Harold offered again, extending it towards the girl. “I’ll be working until six. Hopefully, it will end by then. If not, I don’t mind getting wet.”
The girl looked at the umbrella sadly. “Thank you, but no.”
“No?” Harold repeated, completely confused. He looked down at the umbrella to see if it was dirty or looked broken. It appeared in pristine condition. He looked back up at the girl and grimaced. “I can see that you are cold and not thrilled to be in this storm. Why won’t you take my offer of help?”
“I’m not cold,” the girl replied, stifling another shiver.
“You’re shivering,” Harold said, pointing the umbrella at her again. He glanced at his watch. 1:00. He was late for his meeting.
He hated to be late.
“I’m fine,” the girl softly. “I can see that I am keeping you from something. You may leave. The umbrella won’t help me but thank you for the kind offer.”
Harold studied the girl. He really needed to leave, and she was giving him an out. Yet, he was too curious to walk away.
“Why won’t the umbrella help you?” he asked.
The girl looked at the water running down the street underneath his feet. Harold glanced down and squished his toes inside his drenched socks.
“I don’t like to get my feet wet,” she replied, her eyes not leaving the river making its way to the storm drain.
“That is a problem,” Harold said, also continuing to stare at the flowing water. He listened to the hard rain pounding on the awning overhead, and he watched two cigarette butts, a leaf, and a twist tie float past his shoes. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, and he reached up to wipe it away with his rolled-up sleeve by his elbow.
He really should leave this girl to her problem and get to his meeting, he thought. Instead, he yanked out his phone and typed a quick text to his partner Mitch O’Connell asking him to take over the meeting with Kellogg. He hesitated before hitting send and glanced up at the girl to see she was studying him again. She had crouched back down, and her dark black eyes looked up solely into his without wavering.
He hit send with his thumb and then shoved the phone back in his pocket.
“Are you prone to getting pneumonia?” he asked her. “Or do you just not want to ruin your shoes?” He pointed the umbrella at her feet, where he now noticed she wore small black ballet flats. He recognized the style since his last girlfriend had been obsessed with footwear. The woman had owned more shoes than he could count, though he did count the sixteen pairs she snuck into his closet without asking.
“No,” she replied with a quiet laugh, running her fingers over the toe of her shoe. “I don’t like getting wet at all.”
“Then how do you shower?”
She laughed quietly again. He could just barely hear the sound over the pounding rain. “It’s not the same,” she said, flexing up and down on her toes.
Harold moved closer to her and leaned against the wall. She tiptoed a little further away and glanced up at the awning again.
“How is it not the same?” he asked, drawing her focus back. She looked at him and tilted her head. Now that he was beside her, he noticed a miniature backpack, which was white with blue flowers painted across the small pocket. He realized that this bag was the source of the white straps and casually looked at her chest again now that he realized she probably wasn’t wearing a bra.
The girl laughed, and he whipped his eyes back to her face. He smiled sheepishly and felt his face enflame. She adjusted the bag and hooked her thumbs through the straps.
“Rainwater is polluted in the city,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Don’t your feet feel disgusting right now?” She pointed at his shoes with a delicate finger, painted with turquoise polish.
As he flexed his toes again, Harold had to admit that he could not wait to get back to his office and take of his wet socks and shoes, but still…
“No, you’re wrong,” he said, hopping up to sit on the stone wall, which was cold and damp beneath him. “Rainwater is the purest form of water. It’s only runoff that gets polluted.”
“Fine,” she said, her eyes growing wide and her finger now pointing accusingly at the concrete at his feet. “But that puddle it completely runoff and contaminated with everything from car oil to dog poop. It’s nauseating to think about.” The girl shivered again, and Harold chuckled. She said the words without and anger or frustration, barely raising her voice, though he could tell this was a subject that really got her motor running. He was fascinated.
Suddenly Harold was filled with a ridiculous impulse.
“I’ll carry you,” he said, standing up to face her.
“What?” she said, leaning back away from him, until she glanced quickly up at the awning again and leaned back forward. She held her hands up between them and stood again, so that she was now towering over him. “You can’t carry me.”
“Why not?” he asked with a laugh, though he checked her out from head to toe. In fact, he was not sure if he could carry her. Her frame was small and petit, but he did not regularly exercise, let alone lift weights. He was an actuary. The only thing he lifted was paper.
And yet, he was dying to try.
“I don’t even know you,” the girl said, putting her hands on her hips.
“I’m Harold,” he said, extending his hand.
She looked down and scowled so intently at his fingers that Harold looked too. He could see that from sitting on the wall his hand was slightly damp and covered with little flecks of black dirt, most likely ashes from cigarettes. He quickly wiped it on his pants leg, but since his pants were also damp, it did little to help.
“Harold,” she said, drawing his attention back to her face. She was smiling, but she was also shaking her head clearly no. “I appreciate the offer, but this is madness. I could not possibly…”
“Are you going to just sit here, on your tiptoes like that, all afternoon?” he asked.
The girl looked over his head at the rain pounding the street behind him, and then she glanced back at the waterfall cascading down the side of the awning. She drew more into herself and wiped at her arms again.
“You can’t carry me and the umbrella,” she said, grimacing.
“I’ll carry you. You carry the umbrella,” he said, holding it out to her again. This time she leaned forward and rather than take the wet end he offered her, she reached down by his hand and took the handle. He felt her soft skin against his wrist and the touch of her fingers on his fingers, and he almost shivered.
Looking at the umbrella with that wrinkle above her nose again, she tried to flick it away from her again, causing water to jump out and smack the glass door of the apartment building.
“You don’t even know where I live,” she said, flicking the umbrella again.
“So tell me,” he said.
Popping the umbrella back open, she raised it above her head part way, but was careful to keep it out of the waterfall behind her. She tried to inch forward on the wall again, but then she lost her balance and reaching out, grabbing Harold’s shoulder for support. Instinctively, he reached out and put both hands around her waist to steady her. She looked down as Harold looked up.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
Harold swallowed hard and helped her regain her balance on the wall with the umbrella now behind her. He reluctantly let go of her waist and stepped back.
“You must not have lived in Chicago long if you haven’t learned that the weather changes every fifteen minutes, so you need to be prepared,” he joked trying to break the tension.
“And yet, it is going to rain all afternoon without changing?” she teased him back.
“Touché,” he replied.
“Actually, I have lived here all my life,” she said with a shrug and a half smile.
“Then what have you done the other hundred million times it rained?”
“Stay inside,” she said wincing.
“Every time?”
“Sometimes I have to wait it out,” she said, pushing her bangs out of her eyes.
“And no one has offered you help before?” he asked. Mirroring her, he also pushed his hair off his forehead, until he realized what he was doing and rubbed the back of his neck instead.
“No,” she said, chuckling so loud that her shoulders danced. “In this city, no one gives a stranger a second glance.”
“I did,” he said, raising his eyebrow.
“Then you must be the one not from around here,” she said, putting one hand on her hip while still holding the umbrella with the other.
“Wrong,” he said, a big smile on his face. “I’ve lived here all my life.”
She turned serious. “Then why did you offer to help today?”
“Truth?” he asked her, also trying to be serious.
“Of course,” she replied, her hand slipping off her hip to hold on to the umbrella.
Harold took a deep breath, hoping he wasn’t about to scare her off.
“I don’t usually look out my window at lunch time,” he admitted. “It was the hail, caught me by surprise. Then I looked down and saw you. You looked so scared and beautiful at the same time. I just felt a deep need to help you.”
Harold had looked directly into her eyes the whole time he spoke, and she had looked right back unflinchingly.
“Scared and beautiful?” she asked.
“Well, I guess I saw the beautiful after I crossed the street,” he said, smiling sheepishly again.
“You think I’m beautiful?” the girl said, blushing.
“Mesmerizing,” Harold said, rubbing the back of his neck again. “I wish you’d tell me your name.”
“You’ll laugh,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“I promise,” Harold pledged, holding up one hand and covering his heart with the other.
The girl put her hand back on her hip again. “Just remember, a person doesn’t name themselves.”
“I’m intrigued,” Harold said.
“And, I’m Rain,” the girl said, blushing deeper and looking down at her feet.
Harold stifled a laugh, and then wiping his hand across the dry front of his shirt, held it out to her again.
“I would love to help you get home Rain,” Harold said. “And then, maybe, even take you out to dinner sometime.”
Rain laughed and looked up at the sky, which was finally starting to lighten, though the rain still loudly pattered all around them.
“Let’s start by just getting home first, Harold,” she said.
“Your chariot awaits,” Harold said, holding his arms out to her.
Carefully, Rain put one arm around his shoulder and allowed him to lift her off the wall. Although, she was heavier than he had hoped, he realized that he could carry her at least a little distance.
“On second thought,” Harold said, breathing heavily. “How about I take you up to my office for now. We can have some tea and wait out the storm.”
Rain laughed and squeezed him tighter around the neck.
“Sounds like a plan,” she said.
Then as quickly as Harold could carry her, he rushed through an opening in the traffic and into the lobby of his building. He gently set her down and took the wet umbrella from her hands. After she furiously wiped off any water on her arms, she walked quietly across the tiled floor to the elevator, while his shoes squished the whole way.
He looked at his watch. 1:07. He may have missed his meeting, but it had most assuredly been the most productive sixteen minutes of his day.