“Why this obsession with water?” she said, sipping Buffalo Trace on the rocks.
Declan lowered his phone. “So
many posts about Yosemite! Nevada’s
plunging crazy like this year! And Pika’s on fire.”
Pulling a handkerchief from
her purse she wiped the glow away from her cheeks. Marguerite swirled her
glass. “Your mom loved telling us that story! How she and her girlfriends
partied it up while Firefall fell.” Lightly she laughed. “She swore no alcohol
was involved!”
A temporary respite this. Both
knew time was hunting them down. Rain continued to fall outside the umbrella covered table. Summer heat aside, cobblestones shone brick-red while rivulets ran
between. Conversation ebbed and flowed, circling and flowing forward.
Unhurried conversation! Daily
life is filled with imperatives. “Don’t forget the meds. Take the dog out. Water
bill’s due on Thursday.” Since the Ark set down on Ararat we’ve been paddling
upstream.
“As kids we'd hike this
local park. We’d walk trails and scramble up sandstone.” Pausing, Declan took a
sip. The ice had all melted. “Don’t know why I remember this. Up top after all
our scrambling there were pools of water. Rain-fed. As a kid it was this
calming, mini-miracle kind of thing. Speaking of tiny-miracles,” raising his
glass as for a toast, “here’s to the two we helped escape.”
“Poor Bruce,” she said with a
sigh. “The edema almost killed him. That’s done. Now it’s back home where the
watchers watch and the keepers keep.”
“Catch you there. Stow the ropes to dry. Leave the light on. I’ll pick dinner up on the way. Damn, this rain keeps falling.”
Photo by Guilherme Stecanella on Unsplash
