her own mind, used to working at 100 miles per hour, would stand still during a downpour. And who could tell then if her face was wet from rain drops or from tears? The rain was her best coping mechanism, but unfortunately, she could not conjure it on demand. So, when given the opportunity, Avery had always seized it. And there she was, on her front steps, face up towards the thick clouds, smiling gently as the rain drenched her hair, her face and her yellow coat and washed her worries down the drain.
True
