Soaked through within less than a minute, Claire said with exasperation, “Is this your idea of fun, son? What do we do now?”
Worse than the rain was the wind and drop in temperature. The previous pleasant warmth was pushed out and the air was probably under 50, on top of all the wind and rain.
“Look – you know that abandoned storage shed where old man Meisler had his hoard of newspapers going back 50 years? It’s right down the hill there. Let’s go and get out of the rain.”
Harry and Claire made a quick dash down the hill, running through a clear-cut and wading through some swampy muck along the way to get there, adding insult to injury. The shed itself was in a sorry state, not only dilapidated on the exterior, but trashed on the inside. During hunting season, it was generally treated respectfully by the sportsmen who took a break there, but not such much during the summer months when everyone from drunken and stoned teenagers to vagrants used it as a stopover. The two lawn chairs were about the only places anyone of sound mind would be willing to sit, the mattress in the corner looked like it needed someone with a hazmat suit to take it out for burning.
Claire looked around and started by shaking and squeezing the water out of her thick red wavy hair. She was already shivering. Harry took off his backpack and pulled out a long beach towel. He was about to apply it to his own face and hair but thought it right to offer it to his mother first.
“Thanks. I’m glad one of us came prepared…” she laughed, shaking and pale.
“Mom, your face is turning blue…let me see if I can get a fire going under the roof or something…,” Harry was fumbling with matches and looking for scraps of newspaper and kindling to use inside a rusty cast-iron skillet that was left on the floor.
“Are you nuts? You’ll burn the place down or suffocate us. I’ll be fine,” said Claire, her teeth chattering.
Harry pulled a couple of rags out of his backpack as well, saying “I guess I thought to bring everything but ponchos..”
Noticing that his mother was shivering harder from the cold and dampness, he said, “Come here…” and put his arms around her, to little effect since his clothes were as soaked and cold as Claire’s.
“Just a minute…” said Harry, taking off his shirt and t-shirt underneath and wiping down to dry off with his rags, and adding “here, use the towel.”
Claire wasn’t shy around her son, she had no problem taking off her sweater to wring it out, then taking the towel and wiping the rest dry around her white lace bra. Harry turned away out of politeness and respect, meanwhile getting into a corner to take off his jeans and wring them, along with flannel shirt and his socks. Now the cold was getting to him as well, the hair on his arms and legs was standing on end over gooseflesh.
His mother took his cue to do the same, kicking off her wet sneakers and stripping down to her panties, getting as much as she could out of the towel. “You want this…it’s already wet”
“So are these rags…hell mom, you’re almost turning blue…”