He plopped down on the porch steps, slowly stripping off his dripping socks, trying hard to think. He didn’t look Ram in the eye-they always revealed too much. “You look terrible, your face is even more pasty than its usual Scottish shade.” Truman hurried toward the porch, sliding in the newly forming mud. “Everything alright?” Ram’s eyes shot behind him, looking for intruders. The droplets made an odd ticking sound on the corn leaves. Thunder growled and the skies opened, erupting in a deluge of sheeting rain. Lightning flashed again, illuminating his pudgy, upturned face. He stared up in awe at the dark skies, awaiting another thunderclap. Three-year-old Anthony was cocked on his hip and Ram’s foot was tapping.Īnthony wasn’t crying.
Ram’s dark expression zeroed in as he exited the corn. They stood on the porch waiting for him, despite the hour.
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