Rain
by Rae
seventh in the Savior series
After breakfast, Starsky took the paper back to the cabin. The Brattleboro Reformer wasn't even a tenth the size of the Bay City Times. There was no sign of Hutch so he settled into a blue-painted wicker chair, put his feet up on a handy footstool, put his third coffee on a side table, and read about all the things there were to do.
They could attend a casting call at the Neighborhood Theatre, and try out for either Prospero or Ernest.
They could go to Gallery Walk on Friday night and see all the artists' studios and have cookies and wine.
They could visit the petting farm at the Brattleboro Retreat. What was the Retreat? Some kind of health spa? He read on and found an article on page four about a psychiatric patient who'd escaped from the Retreat and had tried to jump off a bridge into the Connecticut River. No petting farm, then. He wouldn't even mention it to Hutch. They were living on a petting farm anyway.
Here was something, though, a riverboat cruise on the river. Hopefully not under any bridges. Snacks served. That sounded promising.
Tours of the county courthouse in Newfane. Nope. No courthouses. Not a chance.
And that seemed to be about it unless Hutch wanted to go buy some antiques or see a glassblowing factory or a very deep gorge or a food co-op.
He looked at the classifieds. They could retire from Metro and instead get jobs as pickers, whatever pickers were, at some big food distributor warehouse, and make twice their current salaries. They could buy AKC registered dalmation puppies, or an ice fishing hut, or a dining room set with one missing chair. Alyssa Sand was to marry Anthony Beach next June. That made him grin.
He set that page aside to show Hutch.
It began to rain.
He set the paper aside and put his head back on the wicker. The cabin had a metal roof, and the rain on it seemed magnified and more intense. He caught a sudden whiff of something flowery and sweet, and took a deep breath. Here there were no sounds of gunshots, no squealing tires. The only children's voices he could hear way down on the next lane sounded happy and safe. Hutch had really pulled off a good one this time. If he would wake up, Starsky could show him how grateful he was . . .
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