Page 129 of Intermission

The sun still gives the evening light, but it’s set well below the tree line. I look up and west, expecting the oranges, purples, and pinks of sunset... but there is only streaked gloom and dark gray. Farther up, the high clouds are puffy and full. And they’re moving, fast.

Another flash. I groan. The light was not from a human invention, but a more celestial source.

“Ouch!” I slap at a tiny pinch on my arm that leaves a mushy fly in its wake. As a distant rumble resonates through the sky, I flick off the nasty remains and wipe my arm with the corner of my shirt. What was it Grandma Maddie used to say? “Flies only bite when it’s going to rain.”

The air is thick with humidity. Too thick. I know how fast a hotAugust day can turn on you around here. I’ve known the temperature to drop twenty degrees in a quarter of an hour, just before the sky rips apart. If that’s the sort of change moving through the darkening sky, if a cold front meets this heat, it’ll result in one wallop of a storm.

“God, please. Not tonight. I know it’s dry. I know people around here are probably praying for rain. But if you could please, please hold off that storm. Just until eight-seventeen. No, nine. Nine would be better. That way we’ll have a little time to get out of here.”

We,I pray, believing.

I pace.

I sit. I stand.

I pace some more.

I check the time on my phone.

7:47.

Half an hour to go.

Noah is always early.

Drawing my legs to my chest, I hug them, resting my head on my knees. After a moment, I need to lift my head to catch my breath, but my inhalation lacks the control of normal respiration.

The air is too thick, too wet, for a place this dry.

A twig snaps from the direction of the trail. Janey perks up, and a low growl rumbles from her throat.

“Easy, girl.”

It’s a simple command to give, a more difficult one to obey myself. As I stand, I tighten my ponytail and smooth my hair. Butterflies fiesta through my midsection.

Backing away from the ledge and toward a better vantage point, I dab the hem of my t-shirt across my damp forehead and then rub my sweaty palms against the fabric of my shorts. I wait for Noah to appear.

A hesitant step or three later, only a young doe stands at the turn in the creek. My shoulders drop. I click my tongue, and the doe scampers up the bank.

Thick quiet descends once again.

I pull the phone from my pocket. In the upper right corner of the screen, a small shape blinks.

Low Battery.Wonderful.

“It’s almost eight, Janey. But I guess he could be running late.” I snort a laugh. “Or on time.”

Janey tilts her head, her unspoken question reinforcing what I already know.

Turning away from where the doe fooled me into hope, I resume my post at the ledge of the waterfall, cracking open a bottle of water for me and one for Janey as well.

The breeze is stronger now. Cooler. The flashes and rumbles are steady, though. Not too close yet. Maybe the storm will go around us.That would be awesome, God.

Far above the absent cascade, the breeze’s attentions are fickle. Like a homecoming queen candidate the week before the vote, it moodily flirts with the treetops. High, sun-scorched leaves whisper like oracles of hope and doom.

My heart vacillates between the two.

He’ll be here.