Red Rain: A Novel Read Online Free PDF

his book would spark controversy. But he never dreamed that parents would react with such alarm, as if he were threatening parenthood itself.
    Which maybe he was.
    Because of all the controversy, Kids Will Be Kids was at the top of the nonfiction bestseller list. Exactly what he had strived for. He wanted to reach as many parents as possible.
    He wasn’t trying to become famous by stirring things up. He believed his studies of his young patients validated his parenting theories.
    He glanced at the clock, then watched more rain-soaked stragglers push into the bookstore. Someone tapped his shoulder. The red-haired store clerk— Adam, it said on his ID badge. “Mr. Sutter, can I get you some water?”
    “No thanks. I’m good.”
    “You sure?”
    He turned to the steep wooden staircase. He could hear the crowd up there shifting, folding chairs squeaking, the mumble of voices. Someone laughed loudly.
    Showtime.

7
    N ot quite ready. He made his way toward the bathroom behind the office in back. A large man in a gray hoodie and faded jeans blocked the aisle. He was scanning a shelf of fiction, but turned as Mark approached.
    “Hi. Are you here for my book talk?”
    The man shook his head. “No. I’m not much of a reader. I’m here for my wife.”
    “Your wife?”
    “Yeah. She heard there’s a new James Patterson.” He swung back to the bookshelf. “You’re not him, are you?”
    “No. No, I’m not. Sorry.”
    Sorry? Why did I say sorry?
    Mark edged past him into the phone-booth-size bathroom and checked the mirror. Brought his face close and grinned. He rubbed his front teeth with one finger. No hamburger or lettuce there. Nothing hanging from his nose.
    He smoothed a hand over the stubble on his cheeks and brushed back his short hair, his hazel eyes dark in the dim light from the ceiling. He wasn’t admiring himself. He was preparing himself.
    Lea called him Gyllenhaal. She said he was a dead ringer for theactor. Flattering? Yes. A two-day stubble, short, dark hair and big eyes, and he was Jake Gyllenhaal to her.
    I love you, Lea.
    Only thirty-nine but even in this bad light, he could see patches of gray spreading over the sides of his hair. No problem. A psychologist doesn’t want to be too good-looking. He needs some maturity. Some authority.
    He wore a trim black suit jacket over dark, straight-legged denim jeans. His white shirt was open at the collar. Not too formal. He wanted to appear open and friendly. They would see he wasn’t a stuffed shirt. He was a young father. A child psychologist with a serious point of view. But casual. Even likable?
    He grinned. He should wear a suit of armor. The lions were waiting upstairs to rip him to shreds and devour the remains.
    His stomach churned again. Maybe it wasn’t the cheeseburger. Maybe it was the two Heinekens.
    Up the stairs, Mark. Go get ’em.
    He used the wooden banister to pull himself. The steps creaked beneath him. He practiced a smile. It didn’t feel right. Tried a smaller one. Above the mumbling of the crowd, he could hear rain pattering against the sloped skylight window in the ceiling.
    The stage area came into view as he reached the top. A good crowd. The folding chairs were all filled. And a row of people stood behind them. Some leaned against the bookshelf walls. Two young women had made cushions of their coats and sat cross-legged on the floor to the side of the podium.
    At least a hundred people. No. More like one fifty.
    So far, a success. Jo-Ann flashed him a smile from beside the podium. Good. The store manager was pleased.
    He surveyed the crowd. Mostly couples. Parents. Some gripped his book in their laps. To have it signed or to throw at him? They watched him warily as he moved toward the podium.
    “He’s young,” someone whispered, just loudly enough to be heard.
    “Does he have kids?”
    “If he does, can you imagine what they’re like?”
    A cell phone erupted and was quickly cut off. He saw three very old people, frail,