The air always feels good after a rain; the pollution is washed away, the air is crisp, cool, and refreshing. From Sacramento one can see for a hundred miles, East to the Sierras, and West to the mountain ridge that separates the Central Valley from the San Francisco bay area.

Jan always liked to go running after the rain; she could breathe easier, run longer and faster. On Saturday morning, as the Sun came up over the mountains, she sprinted out of her apartment building, dressed in a gray flannel sport suit and white tennis shoes. She styled her hair in a pony-tail, and fixed her bra tight against her breasts to prevent excessive ‘flapping’ during her run.

For a good half an hour she jogged along the Capital Mall, around to K Street, over to 14th, and down J street, until she came to Starbuck’s. She stopped outside, caught her breath, and then went in, where two women were waiting for her.

Angela Sinclair, a sweet, pudgy, dark-haired, forty-something single mom who met Jan in a post-divorce group-therapy workshop, glanced at her watch and looked up from the table.

“You’re forty five seconds late…what happened?”

“Too many red lights…is this mine?” Jan pointed to a cup of latte topped with whipped cream.

“It’s mine, but you can have it.” Liz Neaman, a slim, attractive thirty year old blond married to a wealthy stock broker, had known Jan since they were teenagers. Through high school they competed for boys, grades, and friends. They had a healthy respect for each other, though Jan had long suspected that Liz slept with her x-husband, long before he became her ‘x’.

“Thanks,” replied Jan, sipping the latte as she sat down.

A young female employee brought another latte and put it on the table in front of Liz.

“So what’s going on?” asked Angela. “You sounded depressed on the phone this morning. And you missed a session this week.”

“Angie, I don’t think post-divorce group-therapy is helping.”

“How can you tell?”

“I threw a plate of food in my x-husband’s face last night during our office party.”

“Uh oh….”

“Did your boss see that?” asked Liz.

“Harry saw it. I’ll be reprimanded on Monday.”

“How can you and your x-husband co-exist in that situation?” asked Angie.

“We can’t. I wanted his contract voided but Harry thinks he’s a good writer.”

“He’s had some success,” commented Liz. “I read his first two novels. Good mysteries are always a good read. And it isn’t like he hangs around your office every day. He’s at home writing most of the time.”

“What about you, Jan? Have you written before?” asked Angie.

“I dabbled, but then I met Peter. I started editing his stuff and he started selling books. After a while I gave up on writing. I’m not sure I have the drive, or the talent.”

“Don’t be too sure about that,” replied Angie.

“Let me tell you something,” said Jan, “half the people in the publishing business are failed, frustrated writers. If they can’t write, they read and they edit.”

“Do you think your x-husband is a really good writer?” Angie asked.

“He sold books,” commented Liz.

“With my invaluable assistance,” said Jan.

“He couldn’t have made it on his own?” asked Liz.

Jan raised her voice. “You’ve known Peter as long as I have; you introduced us. You knew he was a user. He used me, and God knows how many other people.”

“You aren’t blaming me, are you?” replied Liz.

Jan ignored the question. She turned to Angie. “I’ll probably cancel the therapy. I went out and celebrated my divorce the other night. It was very therapeutic.”

“Oh yeah? What did you do?” asked Angie.

“I watched the governor light the Christmas tree, then I went to the Blue Angel, got drunk, and was almost raped in the alley behind the club.”

“Oh my God!” exclaimed Angie.

“Raped by who,” asked Liz.

“I didn’t say raped, Liz. I said almost raped.”

“How did you escape?” said Angie.

“I didn’t. Some man came from nowhere and knocked the creep unconscious. Then he vanished.”

“Wow…that’s bizarre,” commented Angie.

“Did you call the police,” asked Liz.

“No…it wouldn’t matter. There’s no real evidence. He didn’t actually rape me. And the only witness is some guy who looked like he hadn’t had a shower for six months.”

“Homeless?” asked Angie.

“I’m not sure. I saw him again, over near eighth and L. He’s a street musician.”

“Oh yeah? What instrument?” asked Angie.

“Clarinet. He’s damn good at it. He’s also an x-convict.”

“Let me get this straight,” said Liz. “A criminal hanging out in an alley prevented you from being raped, and then disappeared in the night.”

“Did you expect him to walk me home?”

“Maybe he was innocent,” said Angie. “Innocent people do go to jail.”

“What did he do, what’s his crime?” asked Liz.

“I have no idea. He didn’t exactly look pleased to see me again.”

“Maybe he thought you wanted him to testify,” said Angie, “in the event they capture this creep. If he’s been in jail that might have spooked him a little.”

“Could be,” replied Jan.

“What did he look like, the one who attacked you?” asked Liz.

“He was young, maybe twenty five. He looked like your average all-American boy. Most of his brains were below his belt.”

“Sounds like Peter,” commented Liz.

Jan shot her a sharp glance. Liz back-pedaled. “I mean…not that I would know…but from what you’ve been telling me the man’s a walking hormone factory.”

Jan took a break and drank her latte. Angie checked her watch. “I have to be going. Beth is having her first sleep-over this evening. I have extra shopping to do.” Angie drank the last of her latte and stood up. “If you ever want to talk, Jan, you have my cell number.” She reached out and pressed Jan’s hand.

“Thanks Angie.”

Angie waved to them and walked to the exit.

“I have to be going too,” said Liz. “Donald’s taking me to the Nutcracker over at the Community center. He’ll probably be asleep before the intermission, but he takes me every year because he knows I wanted to be a ballerina. It brings back memories.”

Jan put on her happy face. “It must be true love, Liz. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks. Hey, how’s your Dad?”

Jan’s face darkened. “Not too good; he’s losing his memory. I only wish I could lose mine.”

“Why?”

“To wipe away the last five years…and a little more. I’d have a clean slate. I could start over.”

“You’re still young Jan. There’s plenty of time.” Liz leaned over and embraced her. “Call me whenever.”

Jan drank the last of her latte and looked out the window as Liz walked away in her five inch heels.

Near eighth and L two police cars were parked at the curb, their red lights flashing. A small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk, and the backs of two uniformed policemen could be seen from across the street, as Jan came jogging along on her way back home. She slowed down when she saw the policemen, and then she stopped.

The man who rescued her in the alley was being handcuffed and led away to one of the police cars. His clarinet case was tossed on the front seat as he was forced into the back of the car. The officer who pushed him in the car had a policeman’s cap on his head. Jan couldn’t see his face at first, but as he came around the other side of the car to drive away, Jan stared at him in disbelief.

“Oh my God,” she uttered to herself. There could be no mistake…the athletic build, the sandy colored hair, the cherubic good looks. The cop was the young man who tried to rape her.

Instinctively, Jan stepped back into the shadows and watched from across the street as the cop drove away. The crowd that gathered on the sidewalk moved along, but Jan stood still, uncertain as to what to do, or where to go.