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Grandma looked at the horizon, drew a deep breath and said, ‘This is Thunder Cake baking weather, all right. Looks like a storm coming to me.”

“Child, you come out from under that bed. It’s only thunder you’re hearing,” my grandma said.

The air was hot, heavy and damp. A loud clap of thunder shook the house, rattled the windows and made me grab her close.

‘Steady, child,” she cooed. ‘Unless you let go of me, we won’t be able to make a Thunder Cake today!”