Before she knows it, the sun is high in the sky. That’s why the clouds racing in catch Allison’s attention: there is a sudden darkening and a rush of wind.
“Here it comes,” Emil says. “Better get indoors.”
Large raindrops pelt them both as they race for the door to Jeeves’ house. They are soaked by the time they get there, so they stand under the porch overhang, loathe to shed water inside her home.
Thunder rumbles. Allison finds herself laughing at it, grabbing Emil’s arm as he laughs, too, gently shielding her from the rain blowing in.
A flash of lightning and a huge boom silences their laughter.
“That was close,” Allison says.
Emil nods. “Transformer, maybe.”
They continue to watch the rain pour down, drops bouncing off any hard surface. The air smells of electricity. The sky is corrugated steel, the trees whip and bow in the wind, as the last few petals of spring blossoms fly through the suddenly cold air. Allison never tires of how storms blow up here, so different than at home, when they announce themselves slowly, arrive gradually, and leave the same way. An interesting but moderate change in the background to business as usual.
Here, they are sudden, intense, dark, delicious. A little dangerous. They wake you up, wake up the landscape, make you stop what you are doing, take shelter. Pay attention.
More thunder rolls over them. Flashes of lightning are farther away now. The northwestern horizon shows a band of blue sky.
“Almost done,” Emil says.
“Almost,” Allison agrees.
She realizes she has not let go of his arm, and as the band of blue sky grows, she slips her hand down into his, and hangs on.