Before the Rain

Before the Rain

David A Fairbanks

Copyright 2021

           

            In a white tee shirt and blue panties, Veronica came back to the kitchen, drank water from a green glass, sat at the table with a yellow cloth and white plates for her and Mike. She imagined a plate for Daddy, but he was already deep into heaven. She missed him, his daily talk of things not seen or heard in forty years. Daddy lived in the 1980’s these last few years because as he once explained over ice cream desert, that “Reagan was a fatherly figure, while Trump was a loud noise.” 

            There was a bit of rain coming after a day of threats, evening was cool enough to encourage it.

            Mike came home, put his blue suit away, led Veronica into their bedroom for their Wednesday fifteen minutes of fun. She enjoyed the way he moved and was interested in allowing her something worth the moment. 

            After a quick shower, Veronica returned to the kitchen, in a blue robe, Mike gave her last Christmas. made some fresh country salad with a bit of crushed nutmeg to add a bit of unexpected flavor. Her liking for red pepper, yellow squash and a dash of spinach that had been soaked in melted butter gave the salad a delightful taste. She toasted four slices of thick country white and then added a dash of fresh butter.

            Mike, in his green robe, with phone in hand came from his shower, kissed her neck, and sat down, He resumed reading a new story by Lucian Truscott, about a recently discharged soldier sitting in a North Country diner in late August 1977. Mike read three pages and then set his phone aside.

            “Chicken or ham?”

            “Chicken will be fine.” Mike read a text from a friend, sent a reply.

            Veronica went to work, putting two chicken breasts on the George Foreman Grill.

            Mike read a few entries on Google News and then stopped, leaned back. “I wonder if the park will be open Saturday?” He was a walker and often went not just to the park but along the river path as far as McCarren Boulevard. 

            A loud thump brought both Veronica and Mike alert. At the kitchen window they watched in disbelief as a young neighbor slammed his truck into the rear gate of the apartment building. The neighbor got out and grabbed hold the metal gate and pressed it forward and then jerked it back five times until everyone heard a loud crack and the gate now off the track toppled over. Red faced the neighbor shoved the gate backward and leaned it against the fence. 

            Back into his truck the neighbor drove into the parking area and shortly went up to his apartment. 

            Several neighbors went out and looked at the shattered metal gate, twisted track and saw smoke coming from the control box. 

            Mike took several pictures, listened as others talked about violence and that the property management company was going to be upset, not to mention the owners. 

            Rain came, the drops a bit cooler than expected. Mike returned to the apartment. Veronica was at the kitchen table, reading an article in the newspaper about a soldier in Virginia being tormented by bored police.

            At his seat, Mike spoke with distress, “I never expected such violence here.”

            Veronica turned off her phone, “I miss Daddy.”

            Mike got up, checked the George Foreman grill, the chicken was ready. He set a breast before his wife, “The rain has started.”

            Veronica looked out the window, trees beyond the fence were swaying.

            Mike glanced out the window. There was no gate, anyone could come into the parking area. With a warm chicken breast on his plate, he wondered if he should put a chain across the open space.

            Veronica fetched Mike a cold beer. “Relax sweetheart.”

            “I guess so.” Mike drank some beer, started on his dinner.

 

‘Before the Rain’ David A Fairbanks 4/12/2021 Reno Nevada. Copyright 2021