"That's it," he said excitedly.

"Go on. Say hello to everyone for me."

He ran out and nearly collided with Lucas, who was coming up the walk to the door. With a hasty apology he backed up and continued on his way.

"If you come in, be prepared to stay," I said, turning to the comic books and straightening them slightly.

"Oh? Why's that?" Lucas asked, closing the door behind him.

"Didn't you hear that?" I asked. "The storm's about to break."

"Is it?" he said, turning to gaze out the glass door. "Should I have stayed home?"

"Well, lightning strikes the tallest thing around. If you walk home, you'll take your life in your hands."

"Funny expression, isn't it?" he observed, leaning against the counter. He was staring at the new-release shelves across the aisle. "Who wouldn't want their life in their hands? Why do we think that's something we ought to consider dangerous?"

I looked at him, surprised. Unusually talkative, and philosophical as well.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I drop things all the time," I managed, sitting down behind the counter and counting my receipts. "Did you want something?"

"No, I – just felt like a walk. Will it be a bad storm?"

Thunder rolled again. He looked startled.

"There's your answer."

He walked to the door and looked out again. A bolt of lightning broke the sky. "I always thought lightning came before thunder..."

"Wait," I said without looking up. The crack and boom came just after I said it. A second later, the rain started.

"Will it last long?" he asked.

"Don't know. Probably not many in town do."

"What about the weathermen? The hotel down the road has a television in its bar."

"It's all from Chicago, though. Does it really matter?" I asked. He hesitated.

"No, I guess not," he said. He looked at me curiously. "It's just I automatically thought that if it were raining I should know for how long."

"City thinking. You were raised there?"

He nodded. "Parents're still there. Dad teaches. Mom's retired, she used to sell...things."

"Things."

"I never paid much attention."

"Do you get to see them much?"

"No," he said briefly. "You know, if I knew the storm was going to let up soon, I'd eat my dinner now and then go home. If I knew it was going to last all night, I'd get a room down the road and save myself having to sit in a hard cafe chair for hours."

"Well, you could go down to the hotel and check the TV, like you said. I don't have one. Cafe might have the radio going."

"I wonder what they did before weathermen," he said, still staring out at the rain.

"Oh, there were ways. Red skies at morning, sailors take warning, that kind of thing. That reminds me, I found something I thought you'd like."

His eyebrows lifted. I held up a finger and ducked into the store-room, digging on the shelves to find the book I'd stashed there. It had come in the last mail delivery before the storm, and there probably wouldn't be another for a while if the rain washed out the bridge. They'd sent it free as a sample after I requested it, which was a bonus.

"It just came in," I said. "I remember that you liked the child's version – this is Ovid's Metamorphoses with concordance and notes by a translator. The Latin is on one side, see, with the translation on the other."

I offered it to him and he craned his neck, studying it. "Do you read Latin?" he asked.

"No, but I think it looks nice," I replied.

"You're right, it does."

"Take it home and read it, see what you think. You don't have to keep it if you don't like it."

He frowned. "No, I'm sure I will – thank you," he said, taking out his wallet without even looking at the price. I felt a little proud, and then a little foolish for feeling so proud. "And a copy of the golf magazine, please."

"Of course." I rang up the cost of the magazine. "Book's on the house, it was a sample. I didn't have you marked down as a golfer, Lucas."

"I like the drawings of the greens. May I have a bag? No, wait," he said, a sudden amused look in his eye. I'd never seen him so animated. "Wrap them in brown paper instead."

I raised an eyebrow, but he looked uncomfortable at that so I didn't pursue it any further. I had brown paper below the counter and it was a moment's work to wrap it, tie it with twine, and present it to him. With a little thought, I understand why he wanted it wrapped – then, when he finally did get home, he'd have the pleasure of unwrapping a package for himself.

"Will you come eat with me?" he asked as I presented it to him. I shook my head.