Feels like Rain (Lake Fisher 3)

“Yes, I have.”

“And he declined to answer?”

“He said when he tells me, he’s afraid I won’t like him anymore.”

“I have a feeling it’ll be just the opposite,” she says softly. “But it’s his story to tell, not mine.”

“That’s never stopped you before.” Gran runs the local grapevine at home. Once she learns of something, everybody has to know it.

“Do you want me to tell you?” Gran asks, a question in her voice.

“I’d rather let him tell me when he’s ready. But thank you for asking.”

“Well, the Jacobsons say he’s a good boy.”

“Gran,” I object, “he’s thirty-six. I think he’s past the good boy stage. And he has a son. I met him tonight.”

“He let you meet his kid?” Gran laughs. “Actions are worth a thousand words.”

I’m afraid to ask the next question, but I ask it anyway. “Do you think he’s damaged, Gran? By whatever happened to him?”

“I reckon he’s not any more damaged than the rest of us, Abigail.” She lets out a heavy breath. “I’m going to let you go, because I don’t want you to miss the rain. Love you, kid,” she says, and she hangs up on me before I can reply.

I get up and slide on my flip-flops, and I walk out the front door. A slow and steady sprinkle has started, and I listen to the sound of fat drops of water as they ting and ping against the metal roof. I walk out into the yard and look up at the cloud-filled sky. A drop of water hits my forehead, and I stand there, staring up, waiting for more.

I love the rain. I always have.

Suddenly a voice calls out, “I remember the night we met.” I spin around and see Ethan walking toward me. He’s still wearing the shirt I gave him, but his feet are bare. He picks his way across the path, avoiding the big rocks. “The night we met, it rained.”

I smile at him. “I remember.”

He smiles back. “Tell me what you remember.”

12

Abigail

The summer I turned twelve was the summer my parents gave me a little more freedom. I’d walked down to the lakeshore with a group of my friends, and after about an hour, they’d all gone off in different directions, mainly because the weather forecast was calling for rain. But I loved the rain. So instead of heading for the cabin, I walked onto the dock and sat down on the edge, letting my feet swing over the darkening water as I stared up at the deep-gray sky.

Suddenly, two sets of feet raced past me and two boys jumped right off the end of the dock and into the lake. Their splashes were full of joy, and I laughed along with them as they took turns dunking one another.

Then Little Robbie Gentry’s mother stormed up. “Have you lost your marbles, son?” she yelled. “Get out of that water! There’s a storm about to kick up!” She glared at the boys from above, so they both climbed out of the lake, dripping wet, but happy-looking as they stood in front of her. “Get on home, now, Ethan,” she said to one of the boys. He had dark hair that fell just past his collar, and in the front it fell into his eyes. “Your mama’s going to be worried about you.”

She took Robbie by the shoulder and steered him toward their cabin. Everybody called Robbie “Little Robbie” since his dad was named Robbie too. He didn’t appreciate it too much when people did that. He grumbled as he walked away.

“You’re going to get wet,” the other boy said to me as he walked closer. He dripped water steadily onto the dock, and he shook his head like a dog to get the water out of his hair. I squealed as water flew in every direction. He grinned. “Sorry.”

I wiped my face with the tail of my shirt. “You look sorry.” But I laughed at the same time.

He pointed toward the sky. “It’s about to rain.”

“I know.” I sat there and swung my feet.

“Are you just going to sit there?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Want some company?”