religion was my parents’ thing, not mine. When I left for college I left it too. I’m not into talking about church or God’s love or Jesus or any of that stuff.”
“I’m not talking about church or God; I’m talking about whether religious objects somehow have some kind of super powers.”
“Real life isn’t like those comic books you love so much.”
“I realize that. It’s why I’m trying to have a conversation with you about it so I can learn something.”
“Fine.” Tori flopped back in her seat. “Let’s talk about the chair that old lady dumped in your store a few days ago.”
“She’s not old.”
“I thought you said she was in her seventies.”
“She’s elderly, not old.”
Tori laughed. “Sorry. The chair the elderly lady said was made by Jesus.”
“She didn’t say it was made by Jesus. She implied it. You’re the one who—”
“Whatever.”
Talking about God turned Tori into the ice queen. Why? “So if Jesus did make this chair, could it heal a little boy?”
Tori leaned forward again, a frown etched into her forehead. “Did someone get healed?”
Corin pulled the Internet article on Brittan out of his back pocket. “Did you see that story about the kid who was cured of asthma?”
“No.”
Corin handed her the article.
She uncrossed her legs and took small sips of wine as she read the paper. When she finished the story, she set it on the armrest of her chair and smoothed it out with her palm. “What a joke.”
“What?”
“Are you saying you actually believe your chair healed this kid?” Tori leaned back again and folded her arms.
Corin waggled his head back and forth. “I’m saying it might be possible.”
“You’re serious.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“A few hours before the supposed miracle hit, he was in my store. He fell asleep in it. So maybe it healed him.”
“So you’re saying catching a few winks in that chair helped get rid of his asthma?”
“I don’t know; I’m just exploring the idea.”
“Do you think if I fell asleep in it thinking about my feet, I wouldn’t get any more ingrown toenails?”
“I’m serious, Tori. I think the chair has something to do with his getting cured.”
“Okay.”
“Answer me, from what you know, do religions believe artifacts like this chair have healing powers?”
Tori took another sip and stayed silent. The scowl that had taken up residence since they started talking about the chair shifted into sadness.
“You all right?”
“I’m good.”
“So do they?”
Tori stared into her glass, her lips pressed together.
Corin stood and walked to the end of Tori’s porch, tapping his fingers on the railing as he moved. “Okay, I get it. No talk. Listen, don’t worry about it. I can start Googling this stuff. I just figured you might know something about it since you grew up in the church.”
Tori ran her fingers through her black hair and tugged on the ends. “Yes, there’s a bunch of people who think religious objects have miracle powers.”
“Like?”
“Haven’t you seen those pieces of toast where Mary shows up in them? Or Jesus appears in a piece of avocado?”
“Are we going to talk about this or not?”
“I’m serious. People think that.”
“I was hoping for something a little more substantial than food.”
Tori pulled her dark hair back into a ponytail. “Yes, there are serious stories about healings being tied into religious artifacts.”
“Like?”
“In ancient days up through the Middle Ages, most Christians believed amulets or blessed objects had healing powers. At times Christians used the Bible like a talisman in desperate situations, like when someone was dying. They’d put it under the bed, thinking it would heal the person.”
“Anything else?”
“The Shroud of Turin. People claimed just looking at it had cured them.” Tori stood and pointed at his stomach. “Do you have any room in there for some Brie and crackers?”
“Sure, love
“I’m not talking about church or God; I’m talking about whether religious objects somehow have some kind of super powers.”
“Real life isn’t like those comic books you love so much.”
“I realize that. It’s why I’m trying to have a conversation with you about it so I can learn something.”
“Fine.” Tori flopped back in her seat. “Let’s talk about the chair that old lady dumped in your store a few days ago.”
“She’s not old.”
“I thought you said she was in her seventies.”
“She’s elderly, not old.”
Tori laughed. “Sorry. The chair the elderly lady said was made by Jesus.”
“She didn’t say it was made by Jesus. She implied it. You’re the one who—”
“Whatever.”
Talking about God turned Tori into the ice queen. Why? “So if Jesus did make this chair, could it heal a little boy?”
Tori leaned forward again, a frown etched into her forehead. “Did someone get healed?”
Corin pulled the Internet article on Brittan out of his back pocket. “Did you see that story about the kid who was cured of asthma?”
“No.”
Corin handed her the article.
She uncrossed her legs and took small sips of wine as she read the paper. When she finished the story, she set it on the armrest of her chair and smoothed it out with her palm. “What a joke.”
“What?”
“Are you saying you actually believe your chair healed this kid?” Tori leaned back again and folded her arms.
Corin waggled his head back and forth. “I’m saying it might be possible.”
“You’re serious.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“A few hours before the supposed miracle hit, he was in my store. He fell asleep in it. So maybe it healed him.”
“So you’re saying catching a few winks in that chair helped get rid of his asthma?”
“I don’t know; I’m just exploring the idea.”
“Do you think if I fell asleep in it thinking about my feet, I wouldn’t get any more ingrown toenails?”
“I’m serious, Tori. I think the chair has something to do with his getting cured.”
“Okay.”
“Answer me, from what you know, do religions believe artifacts like this chair have healing powers?”
Tori took another sip and stayed silent. The scowl that had taken up residence since they started talking about the chair shifted into sadness.
“You all right?”
“I’m good.”
“So do they?”
Tori stared into her glass, her lips pressed together.
Corin stood and walked to the end of Tori’s porch, tapping his fingers on the railing as he moved. “Okay, I get it. No talk. Listen, don’t worry about it. I can start Googling this stuff. I just figured you might know something about it since you grew up in the church.”
Tori ran her fingers through her black hair and tugged on the ends. “Yes, there’s a bunch of people who think religious objects have miracle powers.”
“Like?”
“Haven’t you seen those pieces of toast where Mary shows up in them? Or Jesus appears in a piece of avocado?”
“Are we going to talk about this or not?”
“I’m serious. People think that.”
“I was hoping for something a little more substantial than food.”
Tori pulled her dark hair back into a ponytail. “Yes, there are serious stories about healings being tied into religious artifacts.”
“Like?”
“In ancient days up through the Middle Ages, most Christians believed amulets or blessed objects had healing powers. At times Christians used the Bible like a talisman in desperate situations, like when someone was dying. They’d put it under the bed, thinking it would heal the person.”
“Anything else?”
“The Shroud of Turin. People claimed just looking at it had cured them.” Tori stood and pointed at his stomach. “Do you have any room in there for some Brie and crackers?”
“Sure, love
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