“Well, at least the rain held off”, Jess offered, almost apologetically.
The drive home from the cemetery had been conducted in awkward quietness and her innocent attempt to break the oppressive silence had resulted in an increasingly heavy atmosphere made worse by the fact that the rain she had so, obligingly, mentioned now began to thrash down as if to spite her. It fell in large drops that splashed on the road and streamed down the windows relentlessly. She caught herself noticing Jack’s reflection in the glass, distorted by the rain that attacked the outer surface so that his whole demeanour seemed to be made of tears, the tears he refused to shed in his anger and grief. Why do men refuse to weep, she thought. more
