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wipe my wet face with the backs of my hands. “It's just—just that God isn't talking to me anymore,” I blurt out. “He hasn't given me a dream or a vision or anything. Not since—since I told Him to give me a break.”
    Ebony looks like she's about to laugh.
“You told God to give you a break?”
    I nod, swallowing hard to hold back my tears. “After we got back from Phoenix, I told God I was tired. I asked Him to leave me alone and give me a break.”
    Now she actually does laugh. “Well, you
needed
a break, girlfriend! You'd been strung pretty thin over the whole Kayla affair. And God certainly used you in a bigway down there, and then we had that terrorist business on the flight home. Good grief, who could blame you for wanting a break?”
    “But I shouldn't have said those things to God. I sounded so ungrateful and whiney and—”
    Oh, Samantha, do you really think you could possibly offend God? Do you think you could stop God from doing what He wants to do?”
    I just shrug.
    “Don't you remember Jonah? How he tried to ditch God by hopping on a slow boat to China, or something to that effect? But God never left that man alone.
Remember?”
    “Yeah.” I replay the old story through my head. The reluctant prophet who didn't want to tell the people God's warnings and how God didn't let him off the hook, so to speak. Then even after being swallowed and barfed up by a whale, Jonah still tried to ignore God. But eventually Jonah had to listen—and obey.
    “So, can't you see? If God wants to give you a vision or dream,
He will.
He's not going to let something you said stop Him, Samantha. He's a whole lot bigger than that.”
    I sort of laugh. “Now that you put it that way, I do sound pretty silly, huh?”
    “So, just lighten up. God is the Giver of the gift, and it's up to Him. Right?”
    “You're right.”
    “Now let's get out of here.”
    Mrs. Clark is expectantly waiting upstairs. I can see that she is desperate for us to tell her something, anything—likea starving dog waiting for a tiny morsel—the smallest bit to help her through her agony. I actually shoot up a silent prayer, begging God to give me something that will bring comfort.
    “Would you like to see pictures of Peter?” she eagerly asks us, almost as if she's afraid to let us go quite yet.
    “Sure,” I say, although I would rather not. His story is so sad. I just want to get out of here and away from it.
    Then she leads us past where Cody is still glued to his game and shooting people with all sorts of weapons, taking us over to the brick fireplace, where some cheaply framed photos of Peter and his soccer team are arranged on the wooden mantel. I look at Peter with his trombone, Peter holding up his little brother when Cody was still small.
    “He was a nice-looking guy,” I say for lack of anything better.
    “He was a good boy too,” she says in a slightly defensive tone. “I don't care what others say. He
was
a good boy. “
    “I'm really asking God to show us something,” I tell her. “I believe that He is the one with all the answers, and I'm asking Him to give some to us.”
    She peers, at me. “Are you a Christian?”
    I nod. “I am.”
    She frowns. “I used to go to church back when the children were small, but I don't have much use for God anymore. Not after all this. What kind of a God lets these things happen?”
    “I know how you feel,” I say. “I felt the same way after my dad was murdered.”
    She looks slightly surprised by my confession.
    “But I finally got to the place where I decided that I would rather be unhappy
with
God than unhappy
without
Him.” I smile at her. “After that, I discovered that God is the only one who could make me happy again anyway. So it was sort of a win-win situation.”
    She shakes her head. “I'm afraid you have more faith than me.”
    “Faith is a gift,” I tell her, knowing this is true but fearing it sounds a little trite. “God is the One who gives us faith.”
    She