Rain Delay at Fenway

The rain started in the third inning, a sudden downpour that sent everyone scrambling for cover. Sarah found herself squeezed against a stranger beneath the narrow overhang of Section 12, her hair plastered to her face like dark seaweed. She hadn't brought an umbrella. She never brought an umbrella anymore.

Her iPhone buzzed in her pocket—the third time in ten minutes. She knew who it was. David always texted during rain delays, some superstitious holdover from their marriage. *"Is it raining at the game?"* he'd ask, as if weather could bridge the three hundred miles between them.

She didn't answer.

The baseball field was transforming into a lake, water pooling around home plate, the tarp flapping wildly in the wind. She remembered how David had proposed during a rain delay at this same stadium, nine years ago. He'd gotten down on one knee on the concrete, while drunk fans cheered and someone spilled beer on his new jacket. They'd been so young then, so certain that love was enough to weather anything.

Now she watched the water cascade off the stadium roof in dirty sheets, thinking about the ultrasound appointment she'd canceled that morning. The baby—neither of them had been ready for it, really—would have been due in spring. David had wanted to try again. She'd wanted a divorce instead.

The woman beside her was laughing, shaking water from her hair, taking selfies with her boyfriend. Their joy seemed obscene somehow, like laughing at a funeral. Sarah's phone buzzed again.

*"I still have that jersey. The one you bought me. Still fits."*

She stared at the screen until it dimmed, watching her own distorted reflection in the glass. Somewhere beneath the tarp, the grounds crew was fighting a losing battle against the water. Against gravity. Against time.

"Rain delay," the announcer's voice echoed through the empty stadium. "Game suspended until further notice."

The crowd groaned, then began to scatter. Sarah stayed where she was, water dripping from her hair, her phone finally silent, watching as the field disappeared beneath the rising water, thinking about how some things you can't bail out, no matter how hard you try. No matter how badly you want to.