Betsy Wickwire's Dirty Secret
“I started walking. “No, this way,” he said.
“Oh. Ha. What do I know?” I was trying really, really hard to find the right tone —something jokey and relaxed and natural—but I missed it by so much it almost made me cry.
We walked through the remnants of the festival. There were still boats in the harbour and booths with those cheap T-shirts and some teenage couple having a screaming fight and lots of other things that normally I’d be able to talk to Murdoch about, but I couldn’t now.
“Long day?” I said.
“Not too bad,” he said. “How about you?”
“Pretty good.” I held my hand out. “It’s starting to rain.”
He looked up at the sky. “Yup. Guess we need it.”
I nodded, although I didn’t really know why we’d need rain and I doubted Murdoch did either.
All of a sudden, the sky turned dark. We both went, “Oooh,” which was enough for a small laugh. Then there was a flash of lightning. Murdoch counted. “One … two … three … four …” Thunder boomed.
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