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Callie taught me to dance in the rain.

Ma didn’t hold with dancing. It was sinful. And running around outside with no sense or reason was not encouraged either. You worked, ate or slept. Or prayed.

It was our first month alone. The house suddenly seemed big enough for sounds to get lost. Callie seemed content most of the time, sometimes crying a little in her sleep but she would stop if I kissed her. I never asked her if she dreamt of my Pa those times. She never talked about it either.

The rain started at noon, gentle at first but roaring like a beast when we got halfway into the afternoon. Callie had been getting more and more restless and when she suddenly flung the door open and ran outside I wasn’t really surprised.

She called me and I went to stand in the door.

She was dancing. Twirling, her cotton dress already soaked and clinging to her skin. She laughed at me and told me to come join her. I shook my head. I didn’t want to get soaked. And I liked looking at her.

She pulled her dress off; small dusky nipples erect from the cool rain, droplets clinging to the curls between her legs, and told me to leave my clothes on the porch.

I did.

We played in the rain, me trying to catch her and her too quick and slick to be caught. Until she let me.

Ma didn’t hold with nakedness either. That was even more sinful than dancing and wasting time. I asked Callie and she said she didn’t know about sin, she just knew it felt good.

Then she kissed me.

Right there. In the rain.

Her mouth tasted like the apple she’d been eating before we went outside.

I can still remember how her skin felt under my hands. Her hair. How her skin tasted like rain.

Caught a cold that night. Didn’t even mind.