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Rain-Smell by Leigh Coates When Toby finally came home, the silence was devastating. He wanted there to be some kind of applause, even if it was on a small scale as it was with the lingering crowds of beer-gutted men, sipping their Budweisers and nodding in his direction. He almost considered doing a split right in the middle of the kitchen just to lighten the mood that had thickened the air like milk left to sour in the sun. The older man eating toast at the table made no note of recognition when Toby first arrived with a dirty duffel bag tossed over his shoulder; in fact, it was as if he hadn't seen Toby walk in at all. “Could you get me a beer while you're up?” A gruff inquiry between bites of dry toast scattered crumbs throughout the longer patches of stubble growing along his broad jawline. “What, Pete, don't I get a ‘hey’ or something?” “Hey, little bro.” A swallow later, “Mind gettin' me a beer while you're up?” “Unbelievable.” Toby exclaimed as he dropped his bag onto the table and half expected all of his worries to tumble out in plain view. “I haven't seen you in five years, and you're still bossing me around!” “Is that really a surprise?” Pete was a man with broad shoulders, and when he leaned back from hunching over his plate, his sheer width spanned half of the table while Toby could barely outweigh the back of a kitchen chair. “It really isn't.” A silence passed between them, something Toby disliked. He expected long bouts of meaningless conversation about how he'd been or what he'd been up to to tide him over and make him feel at home, like nothing had changed since the day he packed up his duffel bag (splotch-free then), took his bass guitar—the black one with the bolt of purple lightning down the middle—and let the screen door slam behind him. That was all he needed to cut ties with the lonely house at the end of the cul-de-sac where the only mistake he could have fathomed making at the time was looking back and seeing a small face pressed against the window where the beginnings of angled rain exploded into silver droplets against the glass. “So, where's Quinny?” Pete reached for the salt. “Just missed her.” “That's right; it's a school day, isn't it?” How could he have forgotten that? Toby