John Lutz - Lightning

“I don’t know. I can’t decide.” The pain in her voice was more burning than the sun.

“You came here for advice,” Beth said. “We can’t give you any.” Carver was surprised by the hardness in her tone, almost a cruelty. “It’s your decision. Yours alone. People like Martin Freel don’t know it yet, but that’s the way it has to be. It’s that way for every woman.”

Adelle backed up a step, her bare toes digging into the hot sand. She didn’t seem to mind the heat, as if the burning of her feet might be some sort of benediction.

“What are you going to do?” Carver asked in a tone kinder than Beth’s.

Adelle waited a moment before answering, staring out beyond him at whatever held her eye on the sea. “I’m not sure,” she said at last, “but I have to make up my mind soon. I have to get this settled.”

She turned and walked away. Carver lay watching her still-slim figure as she climbed the wooden steps from the beach. She bent gracefully to slip her shoes back on, then passed from sight. Beyond her he could see distant storm clouds stacking up for miles in the western sky, blowing in from the Gulf.

He dropped his head and rested it again on his arms. His wristwatch was a hard lump at his temple. Through his ear, through the bones around his ear, he could hear it ticking away time.