Me and My Daddy Listen to Bob Marley by Ann Pancake Page B

Kentworth Drive and were passing the Coin Castle when the storm finally broke, instant and violent. Just like a movie, Janie thought. Just like one of these old movies . That too explained why everything felt at such a distance from her. Around them, cars pulled off to the sides of the streets to wait out the first blinding force of the rain, but Nathan forged head-on into it, and Janie had no room in her to be afraid. They were driving up the Ohio River on the West Virginia side this time, the rain exploding on the windshield like comic book firecrackers, and Nathan had not spoken a word. Soon the thunder and lightning started to divide so she couldn’t tell which clap went with which flash, and the rain fell with less ferocity, and Nathan was pulling them into a field across the river from an Ohio country club. They’d been in the field before. They had rapid sex in the backseat while the rain continued to slack on the roof. Then Nathan passed out.
    Janie disentangled herself. She pulled up her shorts, snapped them. She pushed her hair away from her face. She crawled into the front seat. She could see even in the dark how clumps of weeds in the field had been beaten into swaths laid low across the ground, and from a side window, she watched the lightning recede across the rest of West Virginia. The lightning cutting the sky to the east. Uncle Bobby would not turn on the TV until the thunder died completely away. He was terrified of the set blowing up, not to mention “ghosts” appearingon the screen, which he claimed he’d seen before during a storm, but Janie’d never understood if he meant actual spirits or some technical term he’d turned into a malaprop. In the morning, he would not mention the dinner. She also knew that no matter what else he felt about the evening, he’d still have some regret about missing dessert.
    Suddenly, all the lights went out on their side of the river. The Ohio golf course continued to burn.
    THOSE VERY LAST days before she left, she and Uncle Bobby made a final ritual sweep of their places, Uncle Bobby toasting the two of them in each one. To skip the Alexander Henry was unthinkable, but the only movie they hadn’t seen was Reds , two years old and just reaching Remington. Predicting small crowds, Gus assigned it to the shoebox-shaped confines of the converted shoe store.
    Despite there being only twelve rows, Uncle Bobby made them sit in the back, the EXIT sign’s red glow almost near enough to touch. Janie used to think it was the color that made him think fire, but now she understood the fire fear was yet another suspicion he’d contracted from “one of these old movies.” As soon as the lights lowered and the previews began, Janie eased the Southern Comfort into the Sprite, nudged Uncle Bobby with her elbow, passed him the drink, and toasted the waxed cup with her knuckles. Uncle Bobby hailed their naughtiness with a constricted cackle.
    Almost immediately Janie regretted that they’d come, her unable to focus on the movie, and into the vacuum that inattention created surged the Nathan situation like a vomit. She glanced at her uncle to see how closely he was watching. She doubted Reds would have any scenes he found scary so at least she wouldn’t have to suffer the laugh-shrieking when everyone else was silent. Again, the Nathan situation lifted into her throat. Janie swallowed on it hard. Then she remembered the timeback in July when Uncle Bobby had stopped laughing halfway through a movie. She recalled it now even though she hadn’t given it a thought after they walked out of the Alexander Henry that afternoon. That was Mask , the Eric Stoltz and Cher picture about the kid with the horrible degenerative disease they said made him look like a lion but that actually made him look like a lion with a horrible degenerative disease, and Janie hadn’t even noticed when Uncle Bobby’s laughing stopped. She realized it only