When we were woken in the middle of the night, instinctively I assumed it was Grayson messing with me. Droplets dripping onto my cool skin, my mind ran with theories as to why he would think drenching me with water was a good idea. Grudgingly sitting up, slowly the sleepy haze faded, and I realized that it was raining. Beside me, Grayson began to stir.

      "It's raining." I shoved him lightly. "Please tell me we can break the rules and go inside."

     Grayson groaned, swatting the wet blanket off his body. "Rain?" he mumbled groggily.

     "Yes." Already collecting my things, I struggled against the tent's drooping tarps. "It's pouring, actually."

      One foot out the door, my other leg was caught in Grayson's grasp. I yelped in surprise. I tried to wiggle free, but his hold was strong. Despite his death grip, he barely paid me attention, instead shooting the leaking material a gaze of intrigue. Brows knitted and lips puckered, he wore an expression of thought, as though struck with an idea; it was a look that always brought me fear.

      "Improvise," he muttered along with other incoherent words. "Adapt..."

      "What?"

      "We're not going inside!" he finally announced enthusiastically.

      I did not share his enthusiasm.

      Jumping to his feet, he took my hand and forced both our bodies through the small entrance that was likely meant to be a window. Rather than running for shelter as a normal person would have, Grayson brought us into a clearing, leaving nothing to separate us and the sky. Releasing my hand, he tilted his head towards the clouds and outstretched his arms to properly enjoy the rain. Shivering against my wet pyjamas, I wrapped my arms around myself and watched Grayson with a soft smile. I didn't care that it was freezing, his euphoria was captivating. Shaking the wet hair away from his eyes, his gaze landed on mine and promptly he pulled my arms open. He placed me in the same position he had held moments ago, wet fingers sliding against my wrists.

      "You love the rain," he reminded. "Let yourself be a kid again. Let's go running in the rain."

      He didn't wait for me. True to his suggestion, he ran around the yard, reveling in the feeling of the cold rain against his skin. I watched him for a while before joining. We ran around the house like children, laughing giddily, until Grayson let himself fall on his back, sprawled against the wet grass. Content smile on his face, I laid next to him.

      Breathing in the scent of fresh rainwater, fingers running through the cold grass, I took a deep breath. In that single breath I tried to release all my latest worries. In and out, with every breath I released some of that week's tension. I willed myself to lay here, mind-empty, sole focus on my grinning best-friend.

      "Can we try something?" Grayson eventually asked.

      Turning my head, I watched him through my wet lashes. Vision blurred from the rain, still I was able to catch his glowing blue eyes. His kindness washing over me in a heavy wave, my throat grew dry. Though I had no voice, I nodded.

      "I need you to close your eyes," he said softly.

      Eyes lingering on his a second longer than necessary, I did as he wished.

      "Focus on the way the rain makes you feel now but imagine yourself as nine-year-old Alexa."

      My lips twitched into a smile, but recalling his serious tone, I tried to keep focus.

      "Imagine a very short Alexa Adams with a Dora-like bob and bangs," he began again. Even with my eyes closed I knew a smirk was painted on his face. "You're probably wearing a variety of different colors, just to counter the belief that clothes should match... Maybe a red pair of shorts, a blue long-sleeve shirt with long purple socks and a bright pair of yellow sneakers. Your clothes are tattered and muddy because we've just come back from collecting frogs in a nearby pond. I'm there next to you, of course. Scrawny little kid, a proud two inches taller than you. I'm missing a front tooth and I've got mud on my forehead because I got in your way at the pond."

     Vividly imagining his detailed tale, I laughed softly.

      "It's the middle of the day, but the sky suddenly turns dark. Stormy clouds swirling above us, we barely make it to your yard in time. It drizzles lightly as we walk pass the swing set, but by the time we reach the shed and put away the nets and buckets, it's pouring. Pouring just as hard as it is now." His voice was soft, quiet but still overpowering the loud clattering of rain drops against the tin shed. "The rain is falling so hard that it stings our skin, but it doesn't matter because we're giggling so hard that our sides ache. I'm wearing a pair of cargo shorts and what used to be a white shirt, and very quickly my green rubber boots are making way for the house, but you hold me back. You take my hand and pull me deeper into the yard. We run until we're breathless, giggling and jumping in puddles, until fatigue washes over and we collapse in the grass... just like this.

      Like today, the rain falls so hard that we can barely be heard. Teeth clattering, we have to shout to get our words heard. It's a lot colder than it is now, sometime in November. We don't care about the chilly air, but Emma does. Conrad and Maddy are out, but your mom is home and when she finds us out in the rain, she isn't pleased. At least at first. She could never stay angry very long. Emma was always the optimist. She forgave quickly... something I wish you'd have inherited—"

      Huffing indignantly, I nudged him in the ribs. Forced to pause his story, he let himself chuckle before starting again, just as enthusiastic, and hopeful as before.

      "Imagine your backyard. We're lying near the swing, staring up at the wooden house. The rain gutters drip furiously, and the windows glow as bright light seeps through the sudden darkness. In desperate need of a paint job, the scratched white door swings open, and Emma is standing in the doorway yelling at us. Kitchen light illuminating her body, she's wearing her usual faded high-waisted jeans and white halter top. Long brown curls in a high ponytail, reading glasses sliding to the tip of her nose, her hazel eyes are furrowed sternly. She has her hands placed on her hips, her signature stance.

      She's going on about getting a cold and claiming that were being irresponsible. I'm scared; quite ready to bolt over the fence and safely hide in my yard, but you hold me down. Small, chubby hand placed lightly on my arm; you're grinning at your mother. You make some snarky remark that catching colds has no relation to the cold weather, and then you're convincing her to join us. "You know you want to," you taunt her. "The rain feels amazing!" She doesn't need much convincing. Wearing a grin identical to yours, she kicks off her slippers and with a hoot she runs out the door. She twirls and dances goofily in the rain, anything to make us laugh. In a matter of seconds, she's by your side—"

      With a soft gasp escaping my lips, Grayson's voice faded into the distance. Squeezing my eyes shut, I held my breath in desperation to hold onto the familiar images flashing through my mind. I remembered that night. Even when Grayson fell silent, the story continued to unfold. I remembered, I could envision, details that he hadn't mentioned. I saw the moment my mother's scowl transformed into a mischievous grin. I saw the way the hands at her hips relaxed and her warm eyes shimmered joyfully. "Oh, what the hell," she had said. Shrugging before kicking off her purple slippers and jumping out the door.

      Remembering her words, remembering the soft tone of her voice, my breath caught in my throat. I replayed the memory of her voice over and over, afraid that it would be taken away. Dancing and twirling as Grayson had explained, I remembered her lying next to me, so close that our arms touched. Her melodious laughter music to my ears, despite the strong river smell, I could smell her vanilla lotion. With my eyes shut so tightly, I could almost pretend that she was lying next to me. Though tears slipped onto my already wet cheeks, I couldn't help but smile. The moment was bittersweet, but the sense of accomplishment was indescribable. I knew something of the woman who had raised me. I had a memory of my own to rely on. A choked breath of relief escaped me.

      The mixture of emotions was overwhelming. After so many unsuccessful years, the return of a memory, no matter how small, filled me with hope and relief. But to remember... To know the traits and gestures that had resulted in the woman's immense importance in my life; to remember her kind and carefree nature expanded my feeling of loss. It intensified my grief. The memory came as such a shock that the sudden heaviness to my chest took my breath away. I thought that with the rain, Grayson might not notice the tears, but the uneven rhythm of my breathing was certainly revealing of my state, and for once in his life he was perceptive.

      With the obvious return of a memory, I expected Grayson to celebrate. I expected him to jump to his feet and dance in the rain as my mother had so many years ago. But he was silent. When I finally dared to open my eyes, I didn't find a large grin or victorious smirk plastered on his face. Head still turned my way, he watched me with soft eyes, expression displaying nothing but patience. Despite his part in the memory, he deemed its return private. Careful not to add to the jumbled mess of my thoughts, he opted to serve as a reassuring presence.

      "I remember her voice," I said quietly, as if to speak the words any louder would make them untrue.

      He smiled; the kind of sweet, reassuring smile that made you feel like you held his undivided attention. The kind that always made me melt.

       "She had a nice voice, didn't she?" he smiled. "No one was better suited to deliver a lullaby."

       I smiled radiantly. "Can you tell me more?"

       Blue eyes held a flicker of question.

      "About that night in the rain," I clarified. "Or any night before and after it."

      His usual mischievous glimmer returned. It was a well-known fact that Grayson had no trouble talking. Eyes shining, he started where he left off.

      Though the darkness and unusual silence in the neighborhood was a clear indicator of the early morning hours, a time during which we were expected to sleep, we didn't move. For hours I laid by Grayson's side, paying careful attention to his every word. There was no other triumph moment of remembering, that night. There were no other memories of familiar smells or voices, but I remained as optimistic. This was only the beginning. I held great hope that the memories I currently held as retellings would someday soon become memories of my own.