Sunshower

by William Hawkins

Grandad says it means the Devil is kissing his wife, Grandma says he’s beating her. “Either way,” Grandad says, “the Devil’s having a good time.” We sit at their kitchen table, watching light-filled rain fall outside the bay windows of their breakfast nook. Why does the Devil have a wife? “The Devil’s got to live in Hell, too,” Grandad says and raps his knuckles against the table. He does this instead of laughing. If Grandma knows the answer, she keeps it to herself. Most of Grandma, she keeps to herself. Though sometimes, when she’s dozing off on the couch, a dream passes over her face like the shadow of a cloud, and there comes a softness to her expression that belongs to a younger woman, in a time before hard choices. A quick and rare thing, like rain drops in the sun. We’re watching a sunshower. “The Devil’s got to live in Hell, too.” Grandpa raps his knuckles against the table instead of laughing. Grandma knows why and says nothing.