Beat
A beat passes.
“Mom, here’s Dad’s meal” Emma hands the sandwich to Mom in the front seat.
“Did anyone grab napkins?” Mom asks, then encounters them in her bag. “Does anyone need a napkin?”
A beat passes, then another.
Only the sound of rain and occasional clap of thunder are audible.
Then a streak of lightening tears apart the sky, “Oh my god!”
“Did you know the car is the safest place to be?” Emma says through a mouthful of turkey.
“Because of the tires” Dad explains to no one in particular.
A beat.
“Everyone warm enough?” Mom asks.
Chips are crunched.
Windshield wipers flurry across the windshield. It’s dark outside even though it’s nearly quarter of two in the afternoon.
The clouds obscure the sun.
“It looks like hail” Emma says.
“They are heavy drops” Dad says.
Beat.
“I can’t finish my sandwich” Jackson says.
“Oh come on, I know you can” Mom says encouragingly while accepting the sandwich from Jackson.
Beat.
The road hums underneath the car.
“There’s a meter out there to tell how deep the snow gets” Emma offers. Mom and Dad mumble in agreement. Sandwiches are almost gone.
Beat.
Beat.
“We should write a bucket list.” My mom says.
“I already have one; it has three items” Jackson says.
“Shoot” Mom says.
“Be a multimillionaire, buy a house in Florence, and own a five star restaurant.”
“Bucket lists are supposed to be things that you can check off in a year.” Conversation thrive and then dies off.
Just like the rain.
Beat.