Michael Loyd Gray
Heat Lightning
Lois swung her legs to the floor and pulled her panties on. She sighed before pushing away from the bed. Hank woke up, his hair a tangled mess. He rubbed his eyes. Lois went to the window and looked out: low-lying dark clouds. The town was socked in.
“A hard rain’s coming,” she said as she slid the window open. “I can smell it working up.”
Hank sniffed and rubbed his eyes again, focusing.
“You should be on the weather channel, Lois.”
“That’s funny, Hank. You could be a comedian.”
“It probably pays better than running a diner.”
“But only if you’re actually funny.”
“And good morning to you, too,” he said, sitting up.
She looked back out the window.
“Can’t you smell the rain, Hank?”
Hank got out of bed and pulled on his Levi’s.
“What does it smell like?”
“It smells fresh,” she said. “Clean.”
He went to the window and draped an arm around her. She sagged into him.
“How long before it rains, weather lady?”
“Any moment now.”
“I see.”
“Or not at all.”
“Well, that’s clear as mud.”
“Maybe the front just moves along after a while,” she said. “Maybe it’s just not ready to rain yet.”
Hank stuck his head out the window and looked up.
“I don’t know, Lois. It looks pretty serious up there.”
“Maybe it’s just teasing us,” she said. “But maybe it’s a sign of something.”
“Of what?”
“Maybe it’s a sign of something bad.”
He squeezed her shoulder.
“Maybe it’s a sign of something good, Lois.”
“Maybe.”
“Can we just look at it that way?”
“Maybe.”
“Have you heard thunder yet?” he said.
“No.”
“How about lightning—seen any?”
“Not yet.”
“Are you wishing for some, Lois?”
“I don’t know. What’s the difference between them?”
“Lightning is the flash and thunder is the sound.”
“Then they’re bound together,” Lois said, smiling. “That’s good to know.”
“One doesn’t happen without the other,” he said. “They’re one and the same.”
Hank looked up at charcoal clouds. They were thick. Heavy. Dense. Even menacing. But he’d seen dark clouds come and go without a drop of rain, without a sound. Just a dark, meaningless mass drifting along until out of sight over the horizon. Just nature being mysterious.
“I’ll make us some coffee,” he said.
“That’s fine, Hank. I’m ready for it.”
When he brought her a cup, she’d slipped on one of his dress shirts, a blue one.
“A breeze came up and I felt a chill,” she said after a sip.
“But now you’re fine?”
“I’m perfect. I just need a shower.”
“The shirt suits you.”
“Maybe I’ll wear it, when we go down to open the diner,” Lois said.
“What if I wear one just like it?”
“Maybe people will talk.”
“Let them.”
She went into the bathroom. Hank heard the shower come on. The steady flow of water was a soothing sound. He sipped his coffee and sat beside the window, watching the clouds. He saw a flash but did not hear the bark of thunder. It was only heat lightning, the sign of a storm moving away.