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Thunder rumbled through the sky, and the tree frogs’ bright melody faded into the water.
“Ever since I was a teenager, I always felt cursed,” Brother George said. “If the entire world believes I’m an evil psychopath, then there must be some truth to it, right?”
“Maybe.” Tiny droplets of rain fell onto the leaves above them. “But you can’t figure that out here.” The abbot pointed to the water where the box had sunk. “I think you need to go back to New York.”
Brother George’s eyes went wide, and he clenched the stuffed dog in his hand. “Excuse me? Do you think I’m a murderer?”
“Of course not.”
“Then give me another chance.”
“Give you another chance to do what? Shove another reporter
tomorrow?”
“Jesus Christ was violent all the time.”
“Jesus Christ wasn’t a monk!”
Brother George sat by the pond, dewy moss sticking to his
habit’s fabric. He placed the stuffed dog in his pocket and put his head in his hands. “I’ll stop making sex jokes about pizza. Or if it’s about that mother earlier—”
“Admittedly, she deserved that,” the abbot said with a sly smile. “I’m learning the power of God. I’m trying—”
“The power of God is suffering. It is about facing your troubles
and having the power to overcome them,” the abbot said, grabbing Brother George by the shoulders. “The abbey isn’t a place to hide.”
“What do you think I’m hiding from?”
Water droplets trickled from the sky faster and faster by the second until the thunder came. With a loud roar, rain pummeled the Earth. A lightning bolt feathered down from the clouds and struck the maple tree a few feet over.
“Come on,” Brother George shouted, shielding the older man’s head.
They ran toward a small cabin beside the pond where Brother George worked on his craft. When they swung open the doors, it was pitch black inside.
“Power lines must be down,” the abbot said, teeth chattering, cold and wet.