“That would have been way too civilized.”
“How long are you going to stay at the lake?”
“I figure a couple of weeks. Maybe more. Who knows.” I shrug even though I know she can’t see me. “As I said, there’s nothing to go back to. Except maybe finding another job.”
“You’ll have to start your paperwork soon.”
“What paperwork?” I ask. “Updating my resume?”
“Divorce paperwork, Abigail. You get half the equity in that house even if he did kick you out of it,” she reminds me. “Please tell me you took your grandpa’s keepsake box with you.” She sounds like she’s holding her breath all of a sudden.
I smile. “It’s the only thing I grabbed on the way out the door.” It was really the only thing that mattered.
“What I want to know is why you don’t sound like you’re broken up over the way things have gone.” She waits. Silent.
“I feel relieved, honestly,” I say after a moment. “I don’t know why I feel this way. But I’m not sad. I’m mad as hell about the cheating and the baby and everything, but I’m not sad.”
“Good,” she says firmly.
A roll of thunder shakes the sky just as we finish our talk. “How do you do that?” I whisper more to myself than to her.
“My old bones never lie,” she replies.
A flash of lightning streaks across the sky and it’s almost immediately followed by another clap of thunder that’s loud enough to shake the porch rail. “I’d better go,” I say.
“Love you, Abigail,” she says softly. And I know she’s not lying. “You’re going to get through this. You’re going to come out the other side and be happier for it.”
Tears sting my eyes and I blink hard to push them back. “Thanks, Gran. Love you too.”
She hangs up and I sit on the porch and watch as fat raindrops plunk around me.
I love the rain. I always have. I’ve never been bothered by thunder or lightning. I wouldn’t go stand 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.
“What’s that?” I ask.
He grins. “That’s Wilbur.” He turns to look at me, a stupid grin on his face. “My duck.”
My jaw literally drops. I point to the little black and green waterfowl that has just waddled up near his feet. “That’s yours?”
He nods. “I left him in the tent, but he must have gotten out. He doesn’t like to be left all alone.”
“He thinks you’re his family? Really?” I look from him to the duck and back. Ethan looks at the duck so fondly that I can tell there’s a real relationship there.
“Apparently,” he says and shrugs. Then he falls silent. He just sits quietly in the rain with me as we both get soaked some more. The duck occasionally makes a noise, but he eventually goes and huddles under one of the boxwood bushes next to the steps.
When the rain finally slows, I stand up. “I’m going inside,” I say. “Unless you want to explain to me why you’re here.” With a duck.
He stands up too, and he shakes his head. “No desire to explain anything.”
That kind of takes me aback a little. “Well, it was good to see you,” I say. He doesn’t look the same, and yet he looks exactly the same as he did when we were thirteen. There’s just something so familiar about the way he holds his body, the way he looks at me, and the way he is just…Ethan. I honestly can’t believe I didn’t know who he was when I waved to him earlier from the dock. Must be the beard.