Noon 2. The rain caught her on the steps. Fumbling with her unbrella, she wasted precious time, and he saw her. He shadowed her across the plaza, caught up with her under the overhang of steel and concrete. She turned to face him, holding the open pink unbrella. His face a presence, ordering the space. The drops of rain seemed to her to be falling one at a time.

"What brings you here?" He said.

"Estate work. I'm the executor. My Mother." She said.

"I'm sorry." He said.

"How goes your work?" She asked.

"Fine. Do you still have Dog?" He said.

"No."

"Could you have lunch in a couple of hours?" He said.

"With you?" She asked.

Rain Frames