return to him. He told no one about his wealth. For some reason love went further when it wasn’t connected to money.
On the late-July afternoon when the thunderstorm passed over, into, and through his house, the walls complained, and a faint smell of something burnt seeped into the blackened basement. Electrical wiring, Garner guessed, or old wood siding cooked by lightning. At an altitude of nine thousand feet, even sturdy structures cowered when thunderheads rumbled.
In the darkness, Garner felt his way around tables stacked with live plants. He reached the stairs and climbed to the main level of the house, where the hall light had survived the zapping. The red gardening clogs on his feet thumped heavily on the unfinished pine steps.
The thunder was great and his house was small, and the atmospheric vibrations always caused his windows and his inventory to rattle. In the front room, which had been converted into a small store, his glass jars of homemade herbal teas and prized recipes of tinctures and salves were displayed on neat shelves and secured behind wood rails. He checked these first, though to date no storm had ever damaged them.
Even so, a small buzzing noise in his left ear suggested that this routine summer disturbance was anything but routine. His mind filled with the idea that something was about to break—something strong that couldn’t stand up against the will of God. An oak tree, perhaps, bowed under the Lord’s thumb.
Garner entered his kitchen, searching for the electric stench. There was a window at the sink that looked out over a hillside jagged with black volcanic rocks and sparse plant life. It was a stunning panoramic view. If God had not selected this house for a target, it was possible that Garner might witness someone else’s devastation.
After making sure his house was not on fire, Garner decided to eat a snack. He wouldn’t replace those basement bulbs until after this storm ended.
He went into his pantry for a jar of peanut butter and some round crackers. They sat on the shelf above a case of empty apothecary jars and a selection of essential oils, which he needed to restock—an activity for after eating, if the electricity was still down. He tucked his meal into the crook of his elbow, fetched a plate and a knife, and took everything to the table for assembly.
A flash of light and the exploding stink of scorched tar shingles startled him so badly that he crushed the first dry cracker he picked up. The black skies became an apocalyptic floodlight that sliced through his head to the back of his solid skull. Within the very same second, even as he blinked, the lightning’s booming electrical charge clapped the humid air right into his kitchen.
The window over the sink burst like a water balloon, showering glass and rainwater across the stainless basin and the old utility carpet. The force knocked Garner off his chair, which tipped backward, and he found himself on the floor, shielded by his heavy table.
The ensuing gust swept the plate up off the table and clapped it against the wall, then released it to gravity with a clatter.
The sight of the destroyed window filled Garner with a quivering anticipation. Surely it was a sign. The sign. This spectacular breaking of glass, as theatrical as his daughter’s smoldering exit, told him the time for reunion had come. It came now because Garner had finally in his heart let Rose go, because he’d accepted another daughter to replace her—Cat Ransom, a woman who needed her own father figure. Wasn’t that always how it worked? For his years of suffering and loneliness, Garner’s life would be doubly blessed, like Job’s.
With no concern for the weather pouring in, or for the glass stuck in the carpet like glittering stalagmites—those could wait—Garner rose from the kitchen floor and found his rain jacket in the hall closet. The peanut-butter-covered table knife was still in his fist. He returned the utensil to the howling
On the late-July afternoon when the thunderstorm passed over, into, and through his house, the walls complained, and a faint smell of something burnt seeped into the blackened basement. Electrical wiring, Garner guessed, or old wood siding cooked by lightning. At an altitude of nine thousand feet, even sturdy structures cowered when thunderheads rumbled.
In the darkness, Garner felt his way around tables stacked with live plants. He reached the stairs and climbed to the main level of the house, where the hall light had survived the zapping. The red gardening clogs on his feet thumped heavily on the unfinished pine steps.
The thunder was great and his house was small, and the atmospheric vibrations always caused his windows and his inventory to rattle. In the front room, which had been converted into a small store, his glass jars of homemade herbal teas and prized recipes of tinctures and salves were displayed on neat shelves and secured behind wood rails. He checked these first, though to date no storm had ever damaged them.
Even so, a small buzzing noise in his left ear suggested that this routine summer disturbance was anything but routine. His mind filled with the idea that something was about to break—something strong that couldn’t stand up against the will of God. An oak tree, perhaps, bowed under the Lord’s thumb.
Garner entered his kitchen, searching for the electric stench. There was a window at the sink that looked out over a hillside jagged with black volcanic rocks and sparse plant life. It was a stunning panoramic view. If God had not selected this house for a target, it was possible that Garner might witness someone else’s devastation.
After making sure his house was not on fire, Garner decided to eat a snack. He wouldn’t replace those basement bulbs until after this storm ended.
He went into his pantry for a jar of peanut butter and some round crackers. They sat on the shelf above a case of empty apothecary jars and a selection of essential oils, which he needed to restock—an activity for after eating, if the electricity was still down. He tucked his meal into the crook of his elbow, fetched a plate and a knife, and took everything to the table for assembly.
A flash of light and the exploding stink of scorched tar shingles startled him so badly that he crushed the first dry cracker he picked up. The black skies became an apocalyptic floodlight that sliced through his head to the back of his solid skull. Within the very same second, even as he blinked, the lightning’s booming electrical charge clapped the humid air right into his kitchen.
The window over the sink burst like a water balloon, showering glass and rainwater across the stainless basin and the old utility carpet. The force knocked Garner off his chair, which tipped backward, and he found himself on the floor, shielded by his heavy table.
The ensuing gust swept the plate up off the table and clapped it against the wall, then released it to gravity with a clatter.
The sight of the destroyed window filled Garner with a quivering anticipation. Surely it was a sign. The sign. This spectacular breaking of glass, as theatrical as his daughter’s smoldering exit, told him the time for reunion had come. It came now because Garner had finally in his heart let Rose go, because he’d accepted another daughter to replace her—Cat Ransom, a woman who needed her own father figure. Wasn’t that always how it worked? For his years of suffering and loneliness, Garner’s life would be doubly blessed, like Job’s.
With no concern for the weather pouring in, or for the glass stuck in the carpet like glittering stalagmites—those could wait—Garner rose from the kitchen floor and found his rain jacket in the hall closet. The peanut-butter-covered table knife was still in his fist. He returned the utensil to the howling
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