“No, no, I mean his family’s other business. Turns out they own a media company.”
Granny’s eyes turned dark. “One that buys struggling papers, I presume?”
Rebecca let out a breath. “He insists he has nothing to do with it, only his dad and brother—”
“But you’re suspicious.”
“Very. Not to mention, Josh seems to think he’s rotten.”
Granny said nothing, just sipped her tea. Then she sighed.
“Would it be a bad thing? If Wennerman’s company bought the paper?”
“I guess not, not in the big picture. But they’re dirty, Granny.”
She relayed what happened in Lark Run, Littleton, Milltown.
“Granted, those papers were sinking ships, but I’m not sure how I feel about working for people who seem to feel no shame about cutting the dying competition at the knees. I’m no stranger to buyouts, but after what happened with the Bannister Group in New York, after all Ed’s promises that my job would always be safe, look what happened. Axed without warning in spite of all I gave.”
Hot tears threatened, and she was glad for the twilight, glad she could swallow them back. She was done crying over the past.
Granny reached over, clasped her hand. “It sure wasn’t Christian the way they treated you. I bet all this, and now the Wennerman business, feels like a rehash of all you went through.”
“Yeah.”
The katydids chirped away as twilight thickened.
“Granny, can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“You know how people are always saying ‘give it to God’—whatdoes that mean, exactly? It’s something Devon and I were talking about recently, and it’s been on my mind.”
She felt more than saw Granny’s shoulders shift. “Ah, that’s just a fancy way of saying pray about your worries instead of letting them trouble you. You make a decision to give it to the Lord, who will handle it on your behalf.”
“So you get cancer and decide you’re not going to waste your time stressing about it. You just say God, handle this for me?” Rebecca raised her eyebrows.
“Pretty much.”
“Sounds fatalistic.”
“It’s not, really.” Granny sighed. “More like you’ve decided he’s in control of your ship and you’re going to rely on him to take you through the storm. Like when you’re on an airplane and it starts to sway—you know your pilot’s going to fly you out of it because there’s a vested interest.”
“That’s assuming God has a vested interest in us.”
Granny laughed. “I’d say he does! But yes, it’s making that assumption.”
They grew quiet again.
“So, how do you do this, exactly? Talk to God. Give him your troubles.”
“You just keep it simple. Sit down in a quiet spot and talk to God like you would anybody else.”
Rebecca made a face in the darkness. “Like how? Like, hey God, it’s me, Rebecca, and I know we haven’t talked in a while but I have a hangnail and it hurts and can you please fix it?”
“If that’s what’s on your mind, sure,” Granny said evenly.
“Seriously.”
