“It’s been real hard on everyone,” Mary said quietly, as if speaking any louder would breach some code of reverence. “Especially the kids.” The break in her voice emphasized her point.

A million questions traipsed through James’s mind—Did anyone notice Travis changing? Did anyone ask him if he needed help? Did Travis know he’d turned into a monster? And above all those questions was a simple why? Why did this happen to good people? Why was the rug ripped out from under those who were just beginning to hope again?—but he wouldn’t ask any of those questions here, in front of the kids.

“They’re in heaven now,” Abigail said.

James turned from the window and glanced at his family.

Abigail peered back at him, seemingly unaffected by the obvious tragedy. That was a good thing. Seven-year-olds weren’t supposed to be traumatized by the horrors that life could inflict. Her faith in the adults, in the world, was intact. For the first time, James wondered if Abigail and Ian believed in God. Had Mary taken them to church? He chastised himself…had he ever taken them to church during his fleeting visits? He was as guilty of not taking care of his family’s spiritual needs as anyone. As a son, a brother, an uncle—a pastor—he should have been here, present for his family, so when the pieces fell apart, he could have comforted them, counseled them. Instead, he was hundreds of miles away. What was it 1 Timothy 5:8 said? But if any provide not for his own, and especially for those of his own house, he hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel. More failure. It burned in James’s heart. He couldn’t look inside there anymore.

Mary’s focus was past him and on the burned farmhouse that marred the pristine landscape. Her expression reflected ever difficult emotion a mother could feel: pain, despair, fear. Her haunted face dug deep into James’s soul, resting there against the emotions he’d just buried.

Ian’s stony expression gave nothing of the boy’s feelings.

James turned back to the window. “What—”

“Mom, can we just go,” Ian blurted.

His nephew’s vehemence gave James pause for a moment. The boy had spent the evening in emotionless silence. Why would this scene ignite such a fiery response? Had he been friends with one of the children? Survivor’s guilt? As a counselor to his flock, James was used to people coming to him for advice, pouring out their troubles. Oftentimes, their grief had built in their minds until it swamped all other feelings and the only solution was to confess before God, or His representative. A calling to which James could no longer lay claim. But maybe he could help his nephew as a secular counselor, as an uncle. Maybe this was the avenue God created to allow James back into His grace. Maybe here is where James would find his own heart, his own soul, and return to his God. Is this it, God? The thing You want me to do so Your healing can make us all whole?