July Thunder. Rachel Lee

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      Moving swiftly, he donned his flannel shirt, thinking that he’d wasted the effort of washing himself. Once again he was enveloped in soot and stench.

      When he returned to the kitchen, taking care not to peer off to the side at her living room—it was probably dripping with cute feminine things—he found her pouring two mugs of hot coffee. The microwave was humming, its digital display on a countdown. She, too, had scrubbed up a little, washing the ashen color from her face and neck, restoring her rosy color. But as she moved closer to hand him the coffee, he could smell the smoke on her, too.

      “I’m afraid I killed your washcloth,” he said as he accepted the mug. The cream and sugar were already on the table, in blue willow containers. His mother had done that, too, he remembered with an unwelcome pang. She’d never been content to put the milk on the table in a store container.

      “Don’t worry about it,” she said pleasantly. “It’s just a washcloth. Two-ninety-nine at the discount store. I’ve got bigger worries.” Then she laughed.

      God, her laugh was incredible. Warm and throaty, seeming to rise from deep within her. Its touch was almost physical.

      “Sorry,” she said. “I seem to be punchy from lack of sleep.”

      A helpless smile came to his own mouth, like the harmonic response of a tuning fork. Irresistible. “Me, too. Tell you what. Nothing either of us says is to be taken into evidence.”

      She laughed again. The microwave pinged, and she pulled out a clear plastic pouch containing bacon. “This stuff is actually pretty good.”

      “I know. I depend on the microwave. Without it, I’d either starve to death or go broke from eating out all the time.”

      She lifted an eyebrow at him, still smiling. “One of those, huh?”

      “One of whats?”

      “Testosterone-based life-form.”

      He had an urge to laugh, but instead he played along. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      “Oh, you know. Those poor unfortunate creatures who are incapable from birth of cooking or cleaning.”

      “Ah. You mean I suffer what some folks call testosterone poisoning.”

      She shrugged, still looking impish. “Same thing, I guess.”

      “Hmm. Well, I’ll have you know my house is pretty clean.”

      “No underwear on the bathroom floor? No giant dust bunnies under the bed?”

      “Well, I can’t say for sure what’s under the bed….” He trailed off and enjoyed watching her laugh again. Damn, it had been so long since he’d shared anything approaching humor. Who cared if they were punchy from lack of sleep? It felt good.

      Using only the microwave and coffeepot, she put quite a meal in front of him: bacon, sausage biscuits, orange juice and coffee, and plenty of it. And once he started eating, he realized he was famished.

      She spoke as he bit into his second biscuit. “It must have been hard work, building the firebreak.”

      He shrugged. “It wouldn’t have been quite so hard if I hadn’t been spending too much time on my can in a patrol car recently.”

      One of those enticing smiles flickered across her face. “I could say the same. It’s funny, when I moved up here I had all these ideas about cross-country skiing, hiking in the summertime. Instead I always seem to be too busy.”

      “That’s life. There’s always something that needs doing.” But then he remembered Beth. “My late wife had a different philosophy.”

      “What was that?”

      “That the responsibilities won’t go away if you ignore them for a few days. They’ll always be there. In fact, she used to say that if you let them, responsibilities will expand to take all your time.”

      “How did that work out?”

      “Not too bad, usually. Yeah, the bills had to be paid on time whether you felt like it or not, but other things… Well, she used to get up on her day off, and the house would be a mess because we’d been too busy, and the yard would need mowing, or whatever, and she’d say, ‘Let’s go fishing, Sam. It’s a beautiful day.’” He almost smiled, remembering.

      “And I’d say, ‘But, Beth, I’m supposed to work on the yard,’ or whatever it was. Once it was patching the roof because we had a small leak.” Mary’s green eyes were smiling gently at him, he noticed.

      “What did she say?” she asked.

      “She’d say, ‘Sam, that yard will still need mowing tomorrow.’ Or ‘Sam, that roof will still be fixable this afternoon.’ And off we’d go.”

      “Sounds like a great philosophy.”

      “It was.” To a point. Sometimes it drove him batty. Things needed doing when they needed doing. Like the roof. They went fishing, had a big early-afternoon thunderstorm, and he’d wound up having to patch the bedroom ceiling as well as the roof. But it would have felt disloyal to say that to Mary, so he kept it to himself.

      “Still,” Mary said, almost as if she were reading his mind, “I guess you’d need to watch your balance.”

      “Sure. And I’ll be the first to admit that procrastination drives me crazy.” He shrugged. “I’m one of those people who just wants to get it done. So I guess I’ve lost my sense of balance the other way lately.”

      She nodded. “Maybe I have, too. It gets easy to let work and responsibilities substitute for life.”

      He’d never heard it put that way before, and he turned it over in his mind. “Yeah. Less painful.”

      “Exactly.” She sighed quietly and nibbled on her strip of bacon. Sam was making huge inroads into the mound of food she’d put in front of him. “It makes it easier not to think.”

      “It sure does.” He was tempted to ask her what she didn’t want to think about but decided he didn’t know her well enough. If she wanted to, she could volunteer. “Used to be I loved to sit out on dark nights and just look up at the stars. I used to feel this, um, connection to something bigger.” He was almost embarrassed to say that. It was a part of himself he hadn’t exposed to anyone in a long time.

      But to his surprise, Mary simply nodded. “I know what you mean. I feel that way sometimes, when I’m walking alone in the woods and the breeze is whispering in the treetops. It’s like being in a cathedral.” Then her expression turned haunted. “It also gives me too much time to think.”

      He could identify with that. He gathered they were both running from a bit of depression. Well, hell, most of the world was, one way or the other. He didn’t pretend his problems were any worse than anyone else’s. He just didn’t plan to set himself up for another round.

      But as he left Mary’s house and headed home, he realized he’d found a kindred spirit in her. And that really disturbed him.

      7

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