up, why didn’t He just prevent it from exploding in the first place?”
“I don’t know.”
“Doesn’t it seem odd to you that God has to use you, run you clear
across the country, throw you at the O’Conner boy an instant before that
17,000-volt line blows up? Why couldn’t He just. . . oh, I don’t know.
. . just spit on the cable or something, fix it up with a little divine
saliva before it went blooey? Or instead of sending you all the way to
Atlanta to kill Norman Rink in that convenience store, why didn’t God
just tweak Norman’s brain a little, give him a timely stroke?”
Jim artfully tilted the pan to turn over the omelette. “Why did He make
mice to torment people and cats to kill the mice? Why did He create
aphids that kill plants, then ladybugs to eat the aphids? And why
didn’t He give us eyes in the back of our head-when He gave us so many
reasons to need them there?”
She finished lightly buttering the first two slices of toast. “I see
what you’re saying. God works in mysterious ways.”
“Very.”
They ate at the breakfast table. In addition to toast, they had sliced
tomatoes and cold bottles of Corona with the omelettes.
The purple cloth of twilight slid across the world outside, and the
undraped form of night began to reveal itself Holly said, “You aren’t
entirely a puppet in these situations.”
“Yes, I am.”
“You have some power to determine the outcome.”
“None.”
“Well, God sent you on Flight Two forty-six to save just the Dubroveks.”
“That’s right.”
“But then you took matters into your own hands and saved more than just
Christine and Casey. How many were supposed to die?”
“A hundred and fifty-one.”
“And how many actually died?”
“Forty-seven.”
“Okay, so you saved a hundred and two more lives than He sent you to
save.”
“A hundred and three, counting yours-but only because He allowed me to
do it, helped me to do it.”
“What-you’re saying God wanted you to save just the Dubroveks, but then
He changed His mind?”
“I guess so.”
“God isn’t sure what He wants?”
“I don’t know.”
“God is sometimes confused?”
“I don’t know.”
“God is a waffler?”
“Holly, I just don’t know.”
“Good omelette.”
“Thank you.”
“I have trouble understanding why God would ever change His mind about
anything. After all, He’s infallible, right? So He can’t have made the
wrong decision the first time.”
“I don’t concern myself with questions like that. I just don’t think
about it.”
“Obviously,” she said.
He glared at her, and she felt the full effect of his eyes in their
arctic mode. Then focusing on his food and beer, he refused to respond
to Holly’s next few conversational gambits.
She realized that she was no closer to winning his trust than she had
been when he had reluctantly invited her in from the patio. He was
still judging her, and on points she was probably losing. What she
needed was a solid knockout punch, and she thought she knew what it was,
but she didn’t want to use it until the right moment.
When Jim finished eating, he looked up from his empty plate and said,
“Okay, I’ve listened to your pitch, I’ve fed you, and now I want you to
go.”
“No, you don’t.”
He blinked. “Miss Thorne-”
“You called me Holly before.”
“Miss Thorne, please don’t make me throw you out.”
“You don’t want me to go,” Holly said, striving to sound more confident
than she felt. “At all the scenes of these rescues, you’ve given only
your first name. No one’s learned anything more about you.
Except me. You told me you lived in southern California. You told me
your last name was Ironheart.”
“I never said you were a bad reporter. You’re good at prying
information”
“I didn’t pry. You gave it. And if it wasn’t something you wanted to
give, a grizzly bear with an engineering degree and crowhar couldn’t pry
it out of you. I want another beer.”
“I asked you to go.”
“Don’t stir yourself I know where you keep the suds.”
She got up, stepped to the refrigerator, and withdrew another bottle of