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What Lightning Needs
Jim strolled out of his closet still pulling up his old shorts, never caring about the trail of water he left behind. The bed was neatly laid with clean sheets, even though the housekeeper hadn’t arrived yet. He headed downstairs, almost enjoying his foul mood and ready to feed it on anything he found at hand.
He stopped short before walking into the kitchen, where Silvia was sitting at the isle, typing on her phone while she waited for him, a cold lunch for two served before her. He saw the home-sweet-home scene and spun on his heels.
She looked up, hearing his footsteps clatter up the stairs, and sighed. She could only hope Jim wouldn’t go off on her before she had any kind of answer for him.
Jim didn’t stop until he reached the studio on the third floor. His eyes moved between the rack of guitars and the wall piano.
He snorted. Enough of nice melodies already.
He lit a joint and rummaged one of the side tables for pen and paper, to write down th
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Sean waited outside his building, still thinking about what Jo had told him. She couldn’t be more right, calling what had happened to Fay a lucky misfortune. And they also agreed that Silvia’s plan was wise and down to earth. Knowing Jim, three months would be more than enough for them to move past the fireworks of every reunion and see if they wanted to go any further.He smirked to himself. It was going to be fun.Jim drove down the street to pull over right in front of his brother, and Silvia jumped off of the car to leave the passenger’s seat for him. Sean hardly had a glimpse of her as she dived into the backseat.Jim cursed Deborah over the phone as Sean got in the car by his side. He hung up on her and handed his phone over his shoulder to Silvia, still cursing and grunting. Deborah called again within seconds. Silvia picked up this time.Sean smirked again, hearing her talk in a nice, innocent way. Deborah didn’t call again
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That was just great. The flash flood had reached the Interstate, forcing the incoming buses to turn around, so the service had been cancelled until further notice.She felt a sudden urge to smoke. Considering it was pouring, the bus station staff overlooked those nicotine addicts with a little survival instinct left, and allowed them to smoke at the entrance hall, indoors and safe from the wind and the rain. She gave her luggage a concerned glance: rucksack, duffel bag, guitar. Why the hell had she kept the guitar? Only a few people remained at the bus station, but hard statistics dictated that a single person was enough to snatch all of her things away. She realized that was a third-world thought. Was she not in “The Shiny City Upon The Hill”? Just in case there was another third-worlder around, she asked the man at the nearest ticket booth if he could look after her stuff for a while. “I’m leaving in fifteen minutes, ma’am,” he warned. More than enough. She lit a cigarette as s
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