on a golf course in the middle of a storm, but I like to walk around in the rain, feel it on my skin. I like to let it wash over me. I like to jump in the puddles it leaves behind, just like when I was a kid.
So I walk out into the yard and start toward the dock. The even firmness of the boards under my feet is a comfort. I walk all the way to the end of the dock, and then I stretch my arms out to the sides as the skies open and the heavens empty right on top of me. The rain is harsh, blowing sideways in the beginning, and then falling more softly, a steady downpour. I close my eyes, lift my face toward the sky, and let the rain drench me.
“Have you lost your damn mind?” a voice suddenly bellows, and I hear heavy footsteps striking the dock boards behind me. I turn to face a furious man, the same one I saw in the lake earlier, as he runs toward me. “Abigail Marshall,” the man says, “I never took you for a dumbass.”
I stare at him hard now that he’s closer to me. His eyes are dark brown with little flecks of gold and green. I can see them in the flash of lightning that lights up the sky. “What?” My hair is plastered to my face, so I brush it back with an impatient swipe. “Who are you?” Then I freeze, because I know those eyes. “Ethan?”
He stands there being absolutely pelted by the rain, his clothes soaked. “What the hell are you doing?” he asks.
I point up. “It’s raining.”
He blows rainwater from his lips. “I see that.” Then he suddenly cracks a smile.
A grin tugs at my own lips and I don’t even try to bite it back.
“Both of you deserve to get electrocuted!” a voice yells from the end of the dock. I look around Ethan to see Mr. Jacobson sitting on his little red golf cart where the dock meets the grass, somewhat protected from the rain by the plastic canopy on top.
I look at Ethan and grin. He grins back. The water runs down his face in rivulets.
“Why are we standing in the rain?” he yells over the downpour.
I shrug. “I just felt like it.”
“Had enough yet?” He swipes his face with his palm, like a windshield wiper arm.
“Not yet.” I stand there and I let the rain wash over me. My clothes are stuck to me and my hair is one big damp mess, I’m sure. But I don’t care.
“When do you think you’ll be done?”
I shrug again and stare at him. “What are you even doing here?”
“I’m saving your life,” he says, and then he grabs my hand and starts to tug me toward Mr. Jacobson’s cart. I try to brace my feet to stop him, but he doesn’t let me go. Instead, he marches all the way to Mr. Jacobson’s cart, shoves me in the seat with a jolt, and motions for him to take me home. He hangs on the back of the cart like a bag of golf clubs as we dash through the rain.
Mr. Jacobson parks right in front of my steps and Ethan and I climb out. “I was fine, you know,” I say. I smooth my wet hair back from my forehead.
“You certainly looked fine,” Mr. Jacobson says. Then he shakes his head, gives Ethan a pointed glare that I don’t understand, and then he takes off in his little cart.
“I’m not ready to be done,” I say to Ethan. I stand there in the rain, since it’s still coming down steadily. He motions toward the front door and I shake my head.
“What’s wrong with you?” He stares at me hard, his gaze so penetrating that I’m afraid he can see into my soul.
“Nothing’s wrong with me. What’s wrong with you?”
Water cascades from the tip of his slightly crooked nose. “Do you need me to take you to the hospital?” he asks, his voice a little gentler. “Is this a nervous breakdown?”
I shake my head, genuinely amused. “No, I’m fine, but thank you for offering.” I sit down on the top step level with the porch and rest my elbows on my knees. The rain continues its steady fall. He sits down next to me but says nothing. He just mirrors my pose and stares out over the compound.
A quack breaks the rustling sound of falling rain.