It was like God pulled the zipper open wide to drain the sky still in mourning attire.

The rain attacked the Ford pickup just about three miles from the John Frederick Mason’s farmhouse driveway. Curtis pulled Dad’s truck to one side of the dirt road because he could no longer decipher the edge of the road from the ditch that left no safe shoulder. Curtis could only see the rain run riverlets of water down the front windshield faster than the wipers could wipe the rain away. Inside the cab, air misted into a fog that blurred the inside of the windows. Curtis wiped the inside of the windshield with his hand. Instantly, the windshield blurred again. Nothing made it easier to see his way home, and his Dad would be upset if Curtis took a chance and ended up in the ditch.

So Curtis turned on his blinker lights and sat in his truck and waited for a break in the weather. He leaned his head back on the cushion and closed his eyes. He was tired after hauling hay from the field to the flatbed to the barn all afternoon with his father. Then the meeting at the church and dinner with Christian had spent the last of the evening hours. Now he’s caught waiting for the storm to clear. Curtis’ Dad had signed a permission slip to the high school Principal, asking for permission for his son to stay at home from school today to help his father. 

It was not unusual for farmers to keep their children home periodically when farming required two or more people to work safely on various tasks. Hunting season was another ‘get out of school free’ part of the school year where the school expected that a large minority of the students would be pulled out of class to hunt game.

Curtis thought about his Mom whom he missed so much. Then he laughed, remembering Christian’s soliloquy about mothers. Christian felt that only mothers should rule the world. “Mothers would not choose to send their children to war–Mothers would negotiate, first a truce, then a collaboration to make peace, not war. I’m sure of it. Only mothers should rule the World.”

It was after 1:30 a.m. before the rain subsided enough for Curtis to feel safe to drive home. He started the engine and finally parked the pickup in front of the porch entrance of the house. Dad had left the outdoor light on, waiting for Curtis to come home.The rain didn’t stop, but it was kinder to those below than it had been during the first gusts of the storm. The temperatures dropped to autumn night lows. Curtis instinctively pulled his jacket closed and turned the collar up enough to shield his face. He could see his breath as he climbed the front steps and opened the door. It was rarely locked and it was open tonight. 

On the steps, Curtis stopped to take his boots off and carry them to the shoe rack next to the front door. Through the coat room where chore clothes hung on one side of the room, Curtis came in and locked the front door behind him. On the other side of the room, the good clothes hung. If his Mom had been home, she would have followed him with a hanger and hung Curtis’ new Varsity jacket on a substantial wood one like at Steffie’s Department Store. Curtis reached for a coat hanger. “See, Mom, I remember.” Curtis whispered to the air.

The small kitchen television was still on. Curtis walked into the kitchen to turn the TV off and found his father sleeping at the table in his chair next to Mom’s chair, where no one had sat since she had died.

This wasn’t the first time that Curtis had found his father sleeping somewhere other than in the bedroom that he once had shared with his wife. Some nights Curtis would find his Dad sleeping in his recliner or on the sofa. At first Curtis would wake his Dad, thinking he had fallen asleep because he was too tired and had simply dozed off. Curtis soon realized, though, that some nights must have been too painful for his Dad to sleep in his bed alone. He realized that his father missed her too.

Curtis went into the living room and looked for an afghan that his mother had crocheted one October. It usually was folded in a triangle over the back of the sofa. Curtis picked it up and draped it over his father’s shoulders and down the length of his body to pile over his stocking feet. His Dad was still asleep in his chair. Curtis bent down and kissed his father’s forehead. “Good night, Dad,” Curtis whispered. Then he crept up the stairs to his room.