Casey's Night

        "That's right, Casey dear," said the old woman as she moved a gloved hand over the child's hair. It had gotten wet in the rain and she didn't want her daughter to catch a cold. Casey didn't say anything, merely stared blankly at the woman. A car cruised through a puddle, splashing the oman's left pant leg with oily mud.

        "Oh drat," said the woman. She pulled Casey closer to her chest and quickened her pace. "Spring showers, oh." It was getting dark and she didn't know what types of praying misfits would be out. "Your father will be upset when he sees us like this. I knew we should have taken the bus."

        A thunderhead rolled through the muggy air and lightning crackled in the distance. Ahead, a shadowed figure walked under the protection of a wavering umbrella. The wind blew wildly and the old woman held the Casey even closer. The figure approached then stopped only feet away. It was a man, mid thirties, with a clean shaven face and short hair in a wet tangle. He wore a long khaki jacket, the kind private investigators do on television, and he had a confused look as if he'd lost something.

        "What are you looking at!?" screeched the old woman.

        He shrugged.

        "Well?" It was more a demand than anything else. Casey didn't move.

        The man walked on, looking over his shoulder only once, shaking his head. He would forget about the woman by the time he got home.

        "You never know," the old woman told the child. "You can't trust someone just because he's got a friendly face." They were by a brightly lit convenience store. The woman touched Casey on the cheek and pulled her under the protective oning. Inside, a young acne faced clerk looked up from a Hustler for a moment, lost interest, and looked back down.

        The woman patted Casey's head again, as was her constant habit. Her wedding ring snagged the cotton fiber of her gloves, pinching her skin under it for a moment. She winced and pulled it free. "Drat," she cursed.

        "Hey, lady!"

        The woman instinctively pulled Casey close and turned her head. Standing just inside the door the skinny clerk pointed at the window.

        "Can't you read the sign?" he asked. "No loitering."

        She couldn't believe her ears. It was cold, windy, and the rain hadn't been this bad since Noah. "Please," she asked. "We just need to stop for a moment. I don't want my girl to get a cold."

        The boy's left lip lifted in a sneer and his eyes rolled. "Look, I don't have time for this. Either take your toy and leave or I'm calling the police." He sounded sure, but his fingers held tight onto the door.

        The old woman, careful to keep Casey protected, waved a finger at the boy. "Don't you go calling her that!" she screamed. Casey's face was hid against the woman's coat. It's better she doesn't see, the woman thought.

        "Get that fucking doll's head and your crazy ass out of here!"

        The woman held a hand tight over Casey's ear. It might be cold and unbelievably wet, but she didn't want that kind of language going into such a young child's mind. With that they paced quickly away through deep puddles of anger and misery. "We'll get there soon," the old woman told Casey. "Promise."

        She smiled. A tear rolled down her face, invisible among the million raindrops. Miles away, a thunderhead rumbled.