Lindsey watches his father place flowers at the graves of Lindsey’s siblings. Flu season is over, but too late for a third of them.
”You have to understand, Lindsey,” his father says. “The good Lord took your brother and sister because he needed them by his side.”
Lindsey doesn’t even want to believe in a God who could be that cruel, but he knows better than to say that. Instead he asks, “Will the good Lord take me too?”
His father’s eyes grow wet. “Not for a long time, son. Not until you’re an old man.”
Lindsey doesn’t believe him.