Page 82 of The Serpent King

“I’m not going today.”

“Are you sick?”

“I just don’t feel like going.”

“You should go.”

“Why? What do you care? You didn’t even want me to go this year.” He rolled onto his side, facing away from her.

She came and sat on the edge of his bed. “No, I didn’t. But you insisted. You committed. So I want you to honor your commitment. We honor commitments in this house. We’re not rich but we have our word.”

“Not today. Today’s a bad day for honoring anything.”

Her voice became uncharacteristically gentle. “Is this about Travis?”

Dill rolled onto his back to look up at her. “No, it’s about my life. And Travis is part of that sad story. People leave me. It’s what they do.”

“Not Jesus. He’s always with you. We’re too blessed to be depressed.”

Dill laughed bitterly. “Oh yeah. Blessed is the first thing that comes to mind when I think of our life.”

“I know. We have trials. Don’t think I haven’t asked God, ‘Why me?’ But the answer is always the same. Why not me? Why should my life be free from pain and suffering when Christ suffered all things for us?”

“I’m glad that works for you.”

“I’m worried about you, Dillard. More than I’ve ever been. I’ve never seen you like this, even when your father got taken from us.”

Dill said nothing in response.

“Imagine how things’d be for us if I just decided not to get out of bed one day,” his mother said.

“I wouldn’t blame you. Maybe neither of us has much reason to get out of bed.”

His mother was quiet for a moment. “I get out of bed every day because I never know where I’ll meet with one of God’s small graces. Maybe I’ll be cleaning a room and find a dollar bill. Maybe I’ll be at the gas station on a slow night, and I’ll get to sit and be paid to watch the sun set. Or maybe I just won’t hurt much that day. What a miracle each day is. To see the spirit of God move across the face of our lives like he did the waters in the darkness of creation.”

“God’s abandoned me.”

“He hasn’t. I promise.”

“Today he has.”

“Will you pray with me, Dillard?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll pray for both of us.”

“You do that.”

“Jesus knows our sorrows. He tasted them. He drank from the bitter cup.”

“Then he knows already that I’m not getting out of bed today.”

Lydia sat in her car and tried calling Dill again. It was her fifth unsuccessful attempt. She shook her head and stared at Dill’s ramshackle house, looking for movement inside. Nothing. His mother’s car was gone. But the house didn’t feel empty to her. She looked at her watch. School started in fifteen minutes.

Where are you, Dill? Somehow I doubt you decided to get up bright and early and walk to school.

She sighed, started her car, and went to put it in gear. Then she abruptly stopped.