It was like British rain when it began yesterday afternoon, genteel and ladylike. Then it strengthened to an all-American downpour, lasting for about an hour. For the first day in what--three months?--Fio didn't have to hand water. Her spirits soared. The deluge was unpredicted and unexpected, which opens Fio's imagination to other possibilities. Maybe she will land an agent and a publisher. Maybe her children will continue the family line. Maybe the drought will end.
What Fio was calling fiction yesterday is what she embraces as hope today.