Hope In Every Raindrop (2 page)

He closed his eyes and let the western winds blow against his face. Seconds later, the world changed around him. The still pines in the distance began to bend slightly in the wind, shaking loose several pine cones and littering them across the ground. The darkness that had seemed miles away suddenly surrounded him. A flash of lightning struck. The sky opened up and heavy drops of rain fell, as if someone had turned over a thousand buckets all at once.

From several feet behind him two of the dogs began to howl at the storm, and several others let out guttural growls. But for the most part they sat silently and watched, looking in the same direction that Kyle did.

Kyle looked intently at the empty distance, his eyes darting from the tree line to the open fields. 

One thousand objects per second. Myelinated nerves can fire up to one thousand times per second in the human body and transmit information at two hundred miles per hour, making the human eye one of the body’s most complex organs. Or so he had once read.

As King came into sight, none of that mattered. Science could measure speed, reaction time, or how many neurons fired when a human being processed an image. But as he watched King run, shifting slightly left or right, it seemed as if the rain wasn’t even fast enough to touch him. And there was no science to explain that.

King disappeared behind a thick line of brush, but as Kyle’s eyes moved to the other side where the dog should have reappeared, he was nowhere to be found.

Another minute went by before Kyle looked down, smiling at King sitting silently next to him.

Chapter 3

Two thousand, four hundred, and seven miles. Through Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia. That was the route from San Diego, California to Bishopville, South Carolina. It took Katie just over four days.

The entire trip, she couldn’t concentrate on anything but her father.

Is this how he found inspiration? Did he plan his trips? Was Mom always with him?

Hundreds of questions continued to race through her head. She had resolved to do no prior research about Bishopville for fear she might convince herself not to go; once the dart had left her hand, she’d known her fate was sealed. This is what her father would have done. She was scared. She was nervous. She was determined. But most of all, she was…hungry. Her stomach growled.

It was Monday morning—11:03 a.m. Pacific Standard Time, to be exact. Which meant it was 2:03 p.m. where she currently was on the East Coast, and she hadn’t eaten anything since the night before. 

As she drove through the small town, she wasn't quite sure which direction to go. She looked up at the Garmin GPS that hung just below her rearview mirror.
Recalculating.
She flicked the screen a couple times, but the map didn’t update. It had stopped working about ten minutes ago, when she’d passed the
Bishopville Town Limits
sign. She’d left California with no plans of what to do upon arriving in South Carolina.

She passed a Texaco station on her left, where two black men sat outside the store in lawn chairs. After that, she didn't see anything but farmland and forest for several miles. Katie was about to pull over and attempt to get some type of signal with her phone to locate a nearby restaurant when she saw a small wooden structure a few hundred feet ahead.

It looked like a convenience store from the 1950s. There was a porch out front, similar to the kind she’d seen on Cracker Barrel storefronts, and a sign above the overhang that read "Pearl's Place." Two cars were parked out front in the dirt lot, and it looked like as good a place as any to stop. If they didn't have any food, at least she could ask for directions.

The inside of the store was absolutely storybook, and Katie couldn't help but smile after a few steps through the front door. She paused and let the writer in her take over, going through everything in as much detail as possible.

To her left was a glass counter with wood trim that extended all the way to the back of the store. She didn't see anyone behind the counter or near the cash register, which appeared to be an antique. As she stepped closer, she couldn’t help but think it looked similar to the old-fashioned typewriter that her father had used—though instead of a metal body with plastic keys, the cash register was made of fine wood with different inlay patterns. The numbers and symbols were inset in brass, bronze, copper, and other flat metals with fancy enamel designs.

On shelves behind the counter sat boxes, bags, and bottles of all the typical home goods: flour, salt, sugar, and a myriad of other indispensable products.

She took a few more steps into the store and discovered a refrigerated section in the back. It was small, but it had the essentials like bacon, eggs, cheese, and milk, along with a multitude of meats that looked freshly cut and wrapped.

The middle of the store was full of rows of breads, potato chips, granola bars, and smelled faintly of pure vanilla. One row was clearly marked “Local Goods,” and contained what appeared to be homemade jams or jellies, in particular several different variations of peach.

As she walked around the store, she used her phone to snap some photos of anything she thought she could use to write about later: brand names she had never heard of, how certain foods were packaged and stacked on the shelves, old pictures and signs that hung from the walls. She also took some quick notes with the pad she carried in her purse, but soon all that took a backseat to her growling stomach.

A door that led to the back opened and an older man in a white apron and black wire-rim glasses emerged. He was bald except for a short row of hair resting about an inch above each ear, and a bushy white mustache neatly cropped under his nose. Katie couldn’t help but think he looked just like the Monopoly man.

The man seemed a bit taken aback when he saw a young woman standing in front of him. He adjusted his glasses as if he might be seeing things and then said, "May, uh, I, uh, help you, Miss?"

Katie smiled and her stomach growled again. "Actually yes, I was just looking for a place to..."

"Eat," the old man said, finishing her sentence. "I may be old, but I'm not deaf," he added at the confusion on Katie's face.

"Is there a..."

The old man again finished her sentence, "restaurant in town? Well, yes and no. We've got food here, but I wouldn't say we're a restaurant. Though I could whip you up a pretty mean sandwich."

Before Katie could respond he took a few more steps forward, wiped his hand on his apron, and extended it towards her. "I'm Earl, and you are..."

"Katie," she said, finishing his sentence for a change.

He chuckled to himself and turned to walk further into the store.

There weren't many options on the menu at Pearl's Place, but the ham and cheese sandwich that Earl made was absolutely amazing. An inside-out ham and cheese sandwich—that’s what Earl had called it. His secret? Butter each slice of bread and sprinkle the outside with parmesan cheese. So simple, but so delicious. Either that or Katie was just so famished that anything would have been amazing.

"I hope Earl here isn't bothering you," a woman said from somewhere behind Katie.

Katie turned on her stool at the only high-top table in the store, to find a plump gray-haired woman holding a large push broom. Her cheeks puffed into little round cotton balls as she smiled, and her voice had that endearing quality of a wise grandmother.

Katie wiped a drop of mustard from her lip and swallowed the last bit of her sandwich. "Not at all.”

"Not at all," Earl quickly added. "Miss Price here is a famous writer!" Earl added, which he had learned through the endless conversation he’d engaged her in while making the sandwich.

The woman ignored Earl and instead introduced herself. "Excuse his manners, he’s all shy at first, but once you get him talking he just doesn't know when to stop. I'm Pearl."

"Katie."

"Well, Katie, it is a pleasure to meet you."

"I love your store," Katie blurted out.

"Thank you, dear, but I'm afraid it's not much these days," Pearl said, looking towards the worn wooden beams that framed the ceiling.

"Miss Price is looking for a story!" Earl interrupted again excitedly.

"Oh, Earl, would you hush up and stop bothering this poor woman." Pearl turned back and whispered to Katie, "I'm sorry, dear, he's always like this when we get somebody in the store."

"It's okay," Katie said. "I actually am looking for a story to tell."

Earl's smile was ear to ear as he looked at Pearl with smug satisfaction. “See?”

"Hmm. Well, I'm afraid Bishopville isn't exactly a big story town,” Pearl said, ignoring her husband. “Not a lot goes on around here. I s'pose that's why most people stick around."

Katie's smile faded a bit at the news, but she resolved herself as she recalled the words that started her on this journey in the first place.

There are stories all around you if you only take the time to look.

"Anyways, enjoy your lunch, dear. C'mon Earl, let's leave Miss Price to finish her meal in peace."

“But she already finished her sandwich,” Earl pleaded.

Pearl just glared at him, and Earl stepped from behind the counter and followed her towards the front of the store. She handed him the broom and he began to sweep the floors between each row of shelves.

Katie crumpled up the wax paper she had been using for a plate, quickly ate the dill pickle wedge that Earl had given her, and found Pearl tidying up behind the register.

"How much for the sandwich and drink?"

"That will be five dollars even," Pearl said with a great big smile.

Katie pulled out her pocketbook and was about to hand over a credit card when she thought better of it. Instead, she pulled out a ten dollar bill and slid it across the counter. "I don't need any change," she added politely.

Earl was still sweeping the floors and grumbling to himself. "You should tell her about the dogs," he kept mumbling. "I bet she'd like to know about the dogs. And Kyle,” he added.

"She don't want to hear about no silly dogs," Pearl shouted back.

Katie couldn’t help her curiosity. "What dogs?"

Pearl sighed and tapped her finger on the countertop as she looked at Katie, a reserved look on her face. “Miss Price, I just don’t think you ought to be chasin’ after rumors is all.”

“What rumors?”

Pearl carried on, talking more in thought than complete sentences. “Doc just hasn’t been the same since…I mean, he still practices an’ all, but…and…Kyle. He really has grown up to be a fine young man, but he’s just gotten so attached to them dogs.” She paused, taking in a deep breath as she fiddled with the white huck rag in her hands. “I just don’t think they’re the type of people that want strangers snoopin’ around their business. No offense, dear.”

“None taken. Sometimes us writers have to do a little bit of snoopin’, though. What were you saying about the dogs?”

Pearl hesitated again, but after a few seconds gave in. “Well, I haven’t seen it with my own eyes.”

“I have.” Earl added.

“Hush up. You haven’t either.”

“Seen what?”

“Supposedly certain people come to town just to see these dogs.”

“They do, I’ve seen ’em,” Earl added again.

Pearl just glared at him until he walked a few feet away and went back to sweeping the floors.

“Like I was saying: people from all over come to see these dogs.”

“Why? What’s so special about the dogs?”

“To be honest, dear, I’m not sure. I’m not much of an animal person myself. ’Cept the ones we keep around to butcher and sell.”

Earl couldn’t help it. He was like a cat waiting for just the right time to pounce. He walked briskly up to Katie. “They’re race dogs. But not just any ol’ race dogs. They’re the cream o’ the crop. The cat’s meow. The bee’s knees. The best thing since little apples. You can’t beat ‘em.” He looked up at Katie, who was listening intently, and went on. “Mainly ‘cause they’re part wolf. Got them long lean legs that can outrun anythin’. But ’specially ‘cause they’re Carolina dogs,” he said with a prideful grin.

“Earl, you don’t know that.”

“I do so. Seen it with my own eyes. Seen the boy out runnin’ with ‘em.

Pearl just shook her head. “It snows here ’bout twice a year. That doesn’t even make sense.”

"You don't happen to have an address, do you?" Katie asked excitedly, drawing a somewhat surprised look from Pearl.

"I don't. But..." Pearl paused, reaching under the counter for a pencil and a scrap piece of paper. She jotted down directions quickly, the loose skin between her elbow and shoulder jiggling as she wrote, and handed the paper to Katie.

"I hope you find whatever you're looking for, dear."

"Thanks. I hope I do, too,” Katie said.

“Oh you’ll find it if you look hard ’nough. There’s somethin’ magical ’bout them dogs,” Earl said, drawing a final stare from his wife that caused him to shuffle to the other end of the store as the front door closed behind Katie.

Chapter 4

Almost an hour later, Katie pulled to a stop in front of a dirt road that was split in half by a large banyan tree. The tree’s roots had taken over the driveway and protruded from the orange and brown dirt like natural speed bumps. She hadn’t driven more than a few miles since she left Pearl’s Place, but the roads were long and empty. Pole-mounted street signs were missing or supplanted by barely legible makeshift boards.

Katie looked back at the directions Pearl had jotted down.

Drive straight down Anderson until you see a slight bend in the road.

Take a left onto a dirt road. House will be on the left.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” Katie said to herself as she took a deep breath and made a left turn.

The sand and dirt crunched under the tires of Katie’s light blue convertible as it turned off the asphalt road. She was too busy looking ahead to see the small cloud of dust kick up from the tires as she eased to a stop several hundred yards later.