“That’s what I said.” Devon grinned. “He’s God—he can do anything!”
Rebecca dunked a fry. “I was coming at it from the perspective of life generally and the odds of this planet being the only one of all the billions out there. I think the odds are slim we’re the only planet with life. But whether those other life forms travel the universe, land on our planet? Who knows?”
Louanne laughed. “You two. You crack me up.”
“Solving the problems of the universe one week at a time.” Rebecca winked at Devon. “That’s what we say, right, Devon?”
“Right, Miss Becca.” Devon took a huge bite of burger as Louanne wandered off to check on her other tables.
The room was close to empty this time of day—one man at the counter, a few other booths occupied with pairs like them. Outside the sun shone fiercely, but inside, Harold’s Diner was cool and comfortable. Rebecca could already feel the tension of the day melting from her shoulders.
“So how have you been doing? Anything new with the camp?”
Devon nodded, swallowed. “Everything’s good. The kids like it. Oh, and they really like your stories in the paper. Miz Peters readsthem to us. Neesa, the one with the sister with all that stuff going on? She likes you. She said she never gets to talk about it with people, and she was embarrassed at first, but it was really easy to talk to you. I mean, we have a school counselor, but they deal with the regular stuff. You know, bullying and being too loud in class and all that.”
Rebecca chewed her lip. “That’s a good point. When I talk to people, even my friends back north, you can say only so much without feeling like you’re dumping all your troubles on them. I bet it does feel good to just unload.”
He shrugged. “Guess that’s why I spend so much time with God. I just give it all to him.”
She peered at him. “What does that mean, exactly? Give it all to him. People say it all the time.”
“I don’t know, I go sit with my Bible, shut my eyes, and tell him about my day. What’s bugging me. You know.”
“Like a regular conversation?”
“Yeah, real natural. Like, ‘Hey God, some kids were bugging me at school today, what do I do?’ That sort of thing.”
“Hm.” She took a small bite of her burger and drained her coffee, marveled at how easy Devon made it sound. She’d tried once or twice to talk to God like that, but it felt weird. Stuffy and stiff and ultimately like she was speaking to a blank wall. Which she actually was.
“Mama taught me.” Devon’s voice was quiet, and she looked at him, searched for grief or anger or anything. But there was only that little wistful acceptance. Her coffee suddenly seemed too hot for her throat.
He cleared his voice. “Well, really she showed me, at first. She was always doing that stuff—you know, praying out loud with me in the car, or like one time the power company was going to turn off the lights and she just took the power bill and she sat at thekitchen table and said, ‘Jesus, I’m giving this mess to you.’”
He slurped his milkshake, the wooooooshst loud in the small diner.
Rebecca fell silent, picturing this mom who prayed in front of her son, this son who watched and followed her example.
“So you started doing the same thing?”
“Yeah. Before she passed, she said, ‘Baby, your friends and your family are gonna let you down, but God and Jesus are always there for you.’ She said if I don’t learn to give them my bad stuff in prayer, I’m gonna be looking for the answers in all the wrong places. You should try it.” He looked at her. “It’s pretty easy.”
Rebecca wondered what it was like to have a mom with such faith. Her own mom liked to solve problems on the tennis court or out for a little shopping therapy. Work it away, she used to say. Rebecca had forgotten that. She wondered what it would feel like to not deal with all your troubles alone, to do that simple mystery, that thing she couldn’t actually ever figure out how to do: Give it all to God. It sounded way too easy.
“So … would you like to come with me tomorrow night?”
She cocked her head. “Come with you where?”
“I help out with something every week at my church called the Friday Night Giveaway. For people who don’t have a lot. It’s getting pretty big, and Rev said we need more volunteers.”
“What do you do?”
“A bunch of things—food, free clothes, sometimes toothbrushes and those little tiny shampoo bottles, whatever the churches collected this week. We hang out, give it to people. Miss Marla, at the school? She’s Rev’s wife, and she helps, and a ton of people from churches all over town. It’s more of a Dahlia thing than a my-church thing. You could maybe do a story.”
She resisted the initial no, made herself really think about it. Maybe she could go. Just because she helped out a couple timesdidn’t mean she actually had to worship there or anything. It was just, well, being a part of the community. Something she frankly needed to do more of, anyway, if theDahlia Weeklywas going to resurrect. Which at the moment seemed could possibly happen. At least it did this week. In this town, she’d learned things could turn on a dime.
“What time?”
He gave her the details.
