Tuesday. The sweet sound of the rain on the tin roof was muffled by the wind in the cedars, the white noise whooshes rising and falling, coming out of the west and loaded with thunderballs. All night off and on she had slept, waking to unholy nightmares and the whipcrack of southern thunder, and finally she opened her eyes to a gray light in the room and knew that it was morning, and arose.
Suddenly all grew quiet and still, the rain slowed and stopped, and the thunder was no longer overhead but way down in the valley rolling away. And then a shaft of sun buzzed up under the blinds and illuminated a picture of herself, smiling at the beach on President’s Day. She saw it as an omen, a sign of something.
She took her coffee cup out to the porch and surveyed the muddy drive that led off the main road to the cabin. It was a mess. Nothing was coming in or going out for a day or two, nothing with wheels anyway. Ah well, she thought, so much for omens…
Early last week her brother said he saw a UFO, right out there across those fields. He was a pretty normal guy, and whatever he said he saw, he saw. She had missed it. She was at a movie with Heather, his wife, and Arthur was out here killing time waiting for them to get back, and that was when he saw it. She thought about it now.
Shit, she whispered, beam me up.