Underneath the Police Station’s porch, Patrice Hathaway and Dorian Minks watched the raindrops patter upon the sidewalk of Easttown.
“Dorian, I’ve always found it to be soothing—the sound of rain falling.”
“Yes, like when one is camping.”
They smiled at each other.
Dorian noticed a glint of silver around Patrice’s neck, and, on impulse, lifted up the chain–a locket slid out of Patrice’s blouse. The metal was warm to the touch, and Dorian’s hand began to tremble as he read aloud its inscription: “ ‘Amor Vincit Omnia’—love beats everything.”
“Oh, well done, sir! You’re Latin master would be proud. I prefer: ‘Love conquers all,’ but either is true.” Patrice took back the locket, dropping it inside her blouse again.
Dorian blushed and stammered: “I— I’m sorry, Ms. Hathaway. Please forgive my impertinence.”
“Really, it’s of no account.”
“I like your translation the best.”
“The only thing, don’t you think, Dorian?”
“Love, I mean.”
“Yes, love is all.”
Patrice murmured: “When thou be amongst people make love: the beginning and end of all things.”
Patrice stretched upwards to chastely peck Dorian on the cheek; he turned his head so that their lips touched. She beamed at the brass buttons on Dorian’s uniform.
“Delphines: eight o’clock?” she prompted.
Dorian bowed. “Yes, I would like that.”
Patrice covered her head with the Arkham Advertiser, running out from the porch and into the rain. The rain had become a real downpour, of monsoon proportions, with the slate grey clouds rolling and tumbling in the heavens. She stopped beneath a lintel just as a roar of thunder sounded from above, and then the rain became hail, the hail bounced up several feet in height where it struck the sidewalk. Sunbeams broke through the cloud wrack, filtering from above and shining upon Easttown. Warmth melted the hail and the liquid wrath disappeared into the gutter, where it belonged. Arkham had been scoured and now was clean.
Patrice hummed: “My Blue Heaven.”