Shouting at the Rain: Chapters 13–27

“Why, just look at him—he’s dressed like a hooligan,” she says.

Looking up at the Massachusetts license plates on the mantel—ones from 1928 and 1929—I’m reminded of how superstitious the local fishermen are.

Looking up at the Massachusetts license plates on the mantel—ones from 1928 and 1929—I’m reminded of how superstitious the local fishermen are.

A lot of people think fishing is about luck. It isn’t. It’s about instincts, and your mom sure had good ones.

“You always call your tea ‘that nourishing tea,’ but it’s nothing but water and a bunch of dried leaves. That doesn’t seem nourishing to me.”

Things that I’d rather not think about remind me of the rain. The thoughts seep into everything. They rise and overflow. They may recede for a while, but they always return.

Things that I’d rather not think about remind me of the rain. The thoughts seep into everything. They rise and overflow. They may recede for a while, but they always return.

“Barely? I don’t think so. I wiped the board with you.” He smirks. “Yeah, whatever. You want to play or not?”

Having no curfew sounds good.

Then he looks the bubbling crab in the eyes and says, “I dub you with the name Darwin. And now you owe me one, Darwin.”

I catch Brandy stifling a laugh.

“I envision myself accepting the trophy. I will be...”
And he goes on, but I don’t hear a thing.

All I can see is a woman with two kids who are much younger than me. Her hair is frizzy and looks like the kind of hair that gets reddish in the summer—just like mine. And she has a cleft chin and blue eyes, just like me.

Out in those fields, he used to talk about finding the mother lode, though: a mason jar of old money.

The English muffin box says they have nooks and crannies, but “crooks and nannies” is one of our favorite jokes.

The English muffin box says they have nooks and crannies, but “crooks and nannies” is one of our favorite jokes.

And I know that it’s wrong, but the need to hold on to the little pieces I have left of the people I love is overwhelming.

There is a scrimshaw knife with an etching of a great white and a message in a bottle in its stomach on it.

He used to say, “This was the beginning of my acquisition of great wealth.”

I find a patch with as few dandelions as I can and skim the grass with the shovel, carefully removing a sheet of dirt and sand and grass.

We pull into the parking lot of a yellow house called the Optimist Café.

“So they have a bunch of fruit teas that you’ll like. And the crepes are delicious.”

Henry and Esme are always calling themselves optimists and telling Olive to not be such a pessimist. That life is too short.

“Well, I don’t know that I would cuddle a bear. But, yes, I do love elephants because they are very intelligent and empathetic. And”—she falls against the back of her chair—“I’ve heard that, in the wild, they react to humans like humans react to puppies. Like, they think we’re cute.”

I sit up straighter, realizing that I don’t know the answer. Where is his mom?
He looks at Esme and seems sort of flustered.

The meteorologists on TV sound happy and excited this morning. Which means that we are in for some pretty fierce weather today.

The meteorologists are still delivering bad news like a party invitation. Severe winds. Torrential rain. Coastal flooding.

She whips her head around. “I’d sooner paddle out to that storm in a metal skiff with a flagpole strapped to my back than leave you here to watch such a thing.”

I immediately turn the radio to AM and set it for no station at all. There is static with no station but pops as well.

Soon, it’s hailing and it sounds like we are being pummeled with pebbles.

He straightens and looks at me like I just coughed up a quahog.

“Aye, matey.” Henry sounds like a pirate as he talks to the Captain. “Have you run our boat aground in search of yer favorite fish?”

“Well, Ronan, that’s the right idea, but we’ll need a bunch of help. If we try to move it ourselves and get an unexpected surge, someone could end up a permanent part of my boat,” Henry says, chuckling.

“Yep,” Henry says. “We’ll just wait for nature. She put us in this predicament and will help get us out. No use shouting at the rain. No one was hurt.”

“This kid is a goof,” Michael says. “He kind of grows on you, though.”
“Like mold that grows on old food,” Tressa chimes in.