The woman was taking up way too much space in his head. He drove by the guesthouse several times a day. He saw her car coming and going. He felt her presence. He caught himself gnawing on concerns about her. “I didn’t know that Gen was one of the kids.”
“Yeah.” Eli chewed a bite of bacon. He’d ordered the farmhouse scramble. The second—and final—espresso Sam would allow himself today sat before him on the bar.
“They were there on a mission trip, right?” Sam asked.
“Right. Their church organized a junior high mission trip. About twenty kids, plus a few pastors and chaperones, flew to El Salvador. They were scheduled to help run a week-long sports camp for kids there. At the end of the second day of the camp, one of the pastors asked some of the kids to return sports equipment to the basement of a nearby building.”
“What building?”
“It belonged to the charity the church was partnering with. It was tall and old. Built of concrete. The kids were in the basement when a 7.8 earthquake hit.”
In high school, Sam had been too irresponsible to fold his laundry and too lazy to do anything except play video games once he finished his homework and his long list of chores. He couldn’t imagine how he would’ve responded, at that age, to a natural disaster.
Eli loaded his fork with veggies and eggs. “Around here, the Miracle Five are still considered different and special. Whenever one of them walks into a room, you can bet that the first thing anyone’s thinking is that they’re one of the Miracle Five, even though none of them have spoken about it publicly in years.”
“Why?”
Eli shrugged. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Genevieve.”
Sam took a sip of coffee.
“Those Bible studies Genevieve writes are popular,” Eli commented.
“How popular?” Sam found it hard to believe that women were racing out to buy books written by someone who wore her robe backward.
“They’re bestsellers. She films teaching videos that go along with her studies, and she speaks at women’s events. She can easily fill a megachurch every time she gives a talk.”
Sam eyed Eli with surprise.
“Take it from me,” Eli said. “She’s extremely successful.”
Genevieve
Suddenly, terribly, the walls in the room begin to lean inward.
We rush to the middle as the walls on opposite sides tip toward each other. All five of us crouch on the wrecked floor, which continues to jerk back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
I lace one arm through Natasha’s and cover my head with my other.
A grindingcrashsounds, and I look up to see that the walls have hit each other, forming a triangle above our heads.
I can’t get enough air into my chest.
How long will the walls stay like that? Propped against each other? Seconds?
And then, suddenly, the earthquake ends.
The ground is stable again, but the building isn’t. It’s still collapsing around us in slow motion.
Chapter Six
If a girl was going to spend time farming, it was best to begin with a thick layer of good-quality, non-pore-clogging sunscreen and a ponytail. That pretty much summed up Genevieve’s knowledge of farming.
Even so, she was walking from her cottage to Sam’s house on this blustery afternoon because she was determined to help Sam with his garden. For two reasons.
One, she’d told him she’d assist around the farm back when they’d negotiated their rental agreement. Until today, she’d been feeling too lethargic to follow through. But a deal was a deal.
Two, she needed conversation. Two weeks had passed since her first appointment with Dr. Quinley. At that appointment, they’d crafted a daily schedule that Genevieve had been carefully following ever since. Wake. Eat. Go for a thirty-minute power walk around the farm. Shower. Work. Leave the cottage to eat lunch at a public place. Finish workday at public place. Hang out with others. Pursue life-giving hobbies. Take sleep medicine so she could rest. Meet with Dr. Quinley weekly.
