Crack. Now her left foot came up. Megan quickly blurted, "Ouch, I'm sorry." "That's better," he said. Crack. "Ouch," was her response along with both fists balled up tight, hitting the table. Every stroke brought the stamping of at least one foot and both of Megan's hands pounding the table. Crack. Crack, "I'm sorry," she whispered under a quiet sob. Crack. "Own, please stop." A tear fell from Megan's cheek as she sniffed back another sound of pain. Crack. Jason focused on swinging the belt evenly and consistently. He tried not to give into his wife's pleas, waiting for the signal from her that what he was doing reached the point he intended. With one final, crack, Megan opened up into a string of low sobs. Jason lowered the belt. He rubbed her lower back, as she leaned forward more and rested her head on the table. Both of her hands slid back and cupped her backside. "Megan, come here." The sound of her name snapped her back. She stood up, turned, and embraced her husband. The tears. It was coming our direction.I yelled, "Get ready everyone! A storm is coming." We flew around the campsite dumping things under the dining fly or into the tents for cover. About ninety seconds later, the rain hit. It poured buckets. Rob and Cindy found shelter in their tent. The rest of us huddled under the dining fly trying to stay dry. The rain splashed mud over everything. The rain killed the fire. It didn't even smolder.The deluge continued for about ten minutes. The rain slowly tapered off to a drizzle. Joe said, "Let's break out the backpacking stoves. We'll never get another fire going after that." Rob and Cindy came back out of their tent. Rob retrieved the backpacking stoves. Joe and I got them fueled and lit.Abby fried up our steaks in the frying pan while I boiled water to cook the potatoes. About a half hour later we said grace and served our dinner. This was the last fresh food we would have for dinner until the trip ended eight days later. We enjoyed it greatly. When.
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