"Well, I don't know that you would have," Sarah said. "Sarah, if I felt we were in the slightest danger I'd have pulled over long ago." "It's crazy to ride a motorcycle on a day like today," Macon said. She had to raise her voice a steady, insistent roaring sound engulfed them. "Did you notice that boy with the motorcycle?" Sarah asked. Macon sped ahead, with his hands relaxed on the wheel. She turned and gazed back longingly at the underpass. Sarah gave a little gasp of relief, but even before it was uttered, the hammering on the roof resumed. The rain stopped completely for one blank, startling second. Earlier the air conditioner had been running and now some artificial chill remained, quickly turning dank, carrying with it the smell of mildew. She had a broad, smooth face that gave an impression of calm, but if you looked closely you'd notice the tension at the corners of her eyes. "You're focused on the windshield instead of the road." "Putting on my glasses would help you to see?" "I don't know how you can see to drive," she said. Sarah gripped the dashboard with one hand. There was a moment of watery blindness till the truck had dropped behind. They arrived behind a trailer truck whose rear wheels sent out arcs of spray.
It slanted across the boat lots, lumberyards, and discount furniture outlets, which already had a darkened look as if here it might have been raining for some time. Rain flattened the long, pale grass at the sides of the road. Every now and then a gust of wind blew up. Tick-swoosh, they went - a lulling sound and there was a gentle patter on the roof. The drops on the windshield grew closer together. They passed a pickup truck, then a van all covered with stickers from a hundred scenic attractions. Sarah sat back again, but she kept her eyes on the road. "I don't mind a little rain," Macon said. Just past the start of the divided highway, the sky grew almost black and several enormous drops spattered the windshield. He'd kept away from the sun during the middle part of every day. He was a tall, pale, gray-eyed man, with straight fair hair cut close to his head, and his skin was that thin kind that easily burns. They might have been returning from two entirely different trips. Sarah wore a strapless terry beach dress. Jeans had those stiff, hard seams and those rivets. Macon wore a formal summer suit, his traveling suit - much more logical for traveling than jeans, he always said. Chips of cloudy sky showed through her tangled brown curls. Sarah sat next to him, leaning her head against the side window.
They were supposed to stay at the beach a week, but neither of them had the heart for it and they decided to come back early. 'Booksellers' Picks for the Beach - or the Backyard'
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