Page 3 of She's My Kind Of Rain

“Can we have a bonfire this weekend?” I ask, wiping the sweat from my brow, knowing all too well that the answer will be yes before he even speaks a word.

Smile lines shape around his ocean blue eyes, his happy-go-lucky smirk reaches his lips, and a soft laugh seeps out of him while he says, “You don’t have to threaten me with a good time, Dais. Of course we can. I’ll let Mom know once I get to the shop so she can call everyone and set a time. She’s a planner, that one.” He winks and we both giggle at his joke.

My dad absolutely loves spending time with friends around a campfire and pulling out his Gibson to serenade us all with every country and rock tune that he knows. Unlike most people here in Tansy Bay, he actually has the talent to back up every note he sings, and with that, I use any excuse I can to make sure everyone gets to hear it.

He hops down from the bed of his rusty Chevy pickup truck, slamming the tailgate shut, and turns back towards me.

“Let’s grill out too. We can have all the fixins’ and we will even get s’mores stuff since I know that’s the reason y’all show up anyways.” He grins, excitement ringing in his tone, almost as if he’s more excited to plan this event than me.

I laugh. If there’s one thing I’m known for, it’s my sweet tooth and always making sure there’s s’mores at our bonfires. But the real reason I love our little parties most is because I love to hear my dad sing.

“It will be a good ol’ time like always. I love you, Dais. I’ll see you later ton—” He stops mid-sentence, a stunned look now in his eyes as he grabs his chest, one side of his face looking frozen in time while the other shows a slight droop.

“Dad?” I say, concern washing over me.

He goes to speak but nothing comes out, fear written over his face as he looks at me. He falls to his knees, still grasping his chest, and I scream.What’s happening?Something is wrong, very wrong. I go to reach for him, but he’s motioning toward the door and I think I need to get him some help.

“I’ll call 911, Dad. I’ll be right back. I promise.” I choke out the words, trying my best to remain calm.

I rush up the stairs from the back door into my kitchen and straight to the phone. I dial 9-1-1, panic rushing through every inch of my body. The cord to the phone is too short to reach the window so I can’t check on my dad as the lady on the other line asks me a series of questions. Frustration and terror build until I finally scream, “Please just send someone. Something is wrong, my dad is on the ground and I don’t—He—” I break down. I don’t know what to do, or what is wrong, and my mom isn’t home so there is no one to check on my dad, and all I can think about is the last look I saw in his eyes before the moment I left him. I screech my address into the phone, drop it, and run out the door.

I reach my dad and his body lays there lifeless. I drop to my knees not sure what to do or how to help. I grab at him, yelling for him to wake up, but he doesn’t move or make a sound. I don’t know how much time passes before I hear the wail of the ambulance sirens and the chatter of paramedics as they rush to his aid. Someone begins to peel me off of him and I grasp my dad’s limp wrist, holding on for dear life. Tears stream down my face and panic radiates throughout my body. Everything becomes a blur.

And just like that, he’s gone.

1

SAWYER - MAY 3, 2004

“If I’m draggin’ass, let me know so Richy doesn’t chew me out again,” Rhett grumbles, pouring his fourth cup of coffee today before handing the pot to Judd—another one of our crew members. “The morning drive from Brunswick is gettin’ to me, especially by the end of the shift. Wakin’ up at the asscrack of dawn to help with the horses, and then tryin’ to get here on time in all the goddamn traffic is killer, man.” He slams the remaining contents of his cup, combs his fingers through his blond hair, and places his hard hat back on his head.

Rhett joined the crew at Richard Boyd Construction a few months ago. He’s been a wise-ass from the moment we met, but there’s no denying it, the guy is funny as hell. He reminds me of Pops in some ways, blunt and always making jokes, but he’s also the type who’ll give you the shirt right off his back if you need. He’s a good guy through and through.

Something’s been a bit off with him lately though. He always seemed to have thislive life in the fast lane, spontaneous lifestyle, but lately he looks run down and exhausted. When anyone asks, he pops off some smart-ass comment about one of the guy’s sisters keeping him up all night, but the jokes seemmore and more hollow lately. I can tell something is off but I don’t want to make it worse by constantly bringing it up.

I consider all the space I have at my place now that I live alone. My parents were the last visitors I had nine months ago for Pops’ funeral, and the idea of having someone else around sounds nice. Before thinking too deeply about it, I blurt out, “I have an empty bunkhouse on my property if you wanna stay there to cut back on the travel.” Rhett’s expression is filled with confusion, and though there is only a moment of stilted silence that passes, I find myself wondering if the offer is a bit weird. With an uncomfortable half laugh, I add, “Judd’s sister isn’t welcome though. I don’t need him showing up to beat anyone’s ass.”

Judd rolls his eyes in the most exaggerated way he can muster. “That’s real nice of you, Sawyer, but my sister wouldn’t be caught dead with either of you dipshits. She’s got standards,” he replies sarcastically.

Rhett jumps right in to lay on an extra layer of harassment for Judd—guy can’t let any opportunity for a joke slip past, can he? “Honestly, that sounds great, man. I mean minus the part about Judd’s hot-ass sister.” The devious look in his eyes tells me that he’s aiming for a big finish. “Maybe his mom will be interested, she clearly doesn’t have any standards if Poppa Judd is anythin’ like his boy.” Before he can even get a reaction from Judd, he and I both fall into a fit of laughter.

“Ha, Ha,” Judd laughs sarcastically, raising his middle fingers in the air as his final farewell before we all end our break to finish out the day.

Looping his arm around Judd’s shoulder, Rhett gives him a squeeze. “Just kiddin’ Juddy. Any girl would be lucky to have ya.”

We head our separate directions, Rhett and I returning to lay a concrete stoop slab. “I just realized you moving here may help with one issue, but then creates a new issue for your dad.”

He grunts at the weight of the concrete bag, water sloshing onto my boot as he pours it into the drum.

“Oh, I ain’t worried about my dad. How much is it gonna run me?” he says as he tests the consistency of the mixture, before tipping the drum forward and pouring out its contents.

“Nothing besides whatever you want to eat and probably a tub of coffee, or ten, since I know you go through that by the gallon.” I chuckle, noting that I am probably not far off. “You can stay today if you want since Richy mentioned showing up early tomorrow for a safety meeting. That will at the very least help you get some rest for tomorrow.”

The truth is, he’d really be doing me a favor by staying at the ranch. I’ve got more than enough space, and Rhett would do the same in a heartbeat if the roles were reversed. Besides, it would be nice to have someone else there other than my horse, Wrangler, and the farm hand I hired to take care of him while I figure out what I want to do with my life.

“At the very least, I will take ya up on the offer for a break from the bullshit for tonight. Luckily, I always got a go bag for when I go out just in case I get lucky with any of the ladies,” he jests, wriggling his brow. “Mind if I ride with ya too? No sense in wastin’ the gas.” He lets out another laugh, but this time it sounds forced. He’s probably just exhausted. I decide it’s best not to question if he’s alright because if he wanted to share, I think he would.

“No problem,” I respond, continuing our work in silence.

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