Angel Falling Softly by Eugene Woodbury

glasses.
    “The real depressing part,” Carl continued, “is that I know I couldn’t do it again. The field is too crowded. Like I said, no one wants to write real software anymore. It’s all XML and Perl and ActiveX controls. What a joke! And then you have the dot-com punks eating up all the venture capital. That bubble is still burst, as far as I’m concerned. I happened to be in the right place at the right time. That’s what it comes down to. I got lucky. I rolled sevens.”
    “Pretty depressing attitude when you put it that way, Carl. Success depends on a lot more than getting lucky.”
    “What else do you call it? God’s will? God wanted Carl Cameron to be rich and bored? Okay, I’d like to believe that too. Though if God were so okay with the rich part, you’d think he could do something about the bored part. But I really don’t think nonlinear video editing is something God takes a profound interest in. For that matter, neither do I. That’s what Bruce is for.”
    He shook his head. “You know what our problem is? We way exaggerate what we think God cares about. It’s like—like that time we went down to Saint George to see Grams and Kris had that stupid doll she was always dragging around whenever she went anywhere—”
    “—and she left it behind.”
    “Yeah, and she didn’t remember until Dad got to, like, Parowan—”
    “—and Dad turned around and we went back and got it. I’m amazed you still remember that. That was twenty years ago.”
    “Hey, I was pissed royal. We had a monster D&D session set up for that evening—Dan, Pete, the whole gang. I ended up missing half of it. But the thing of it is, there was nothing intrinsically valuable about that doll. It was only valuable because Kris valued it. And because she was pitching a fit. That’s what our lives are to God: kids pitching a fit. Maybe if we pitch a big-enough fit God gives in. But odds are, it’s just some piece-o’-junk doll. Do you think she even remembers that dumb doll anymore?”
    “Not like you’d ever let her forget it.”
    “Yeah, well—”
    “Lucky you’re not God.”
    “Nah, I’m an old-fashioned deist these days. Whatever happens happens. Man makes plans, God laughs. Getting born is ninety-nine percent of the game right there. The rest is frosting. Hey, and I don’t blame God one way or the other. You want a universe with free will and all that, this is the universe you’re gonna get. At any rate, if I ever run my car into a tree, it’s because I’m a bad driver, okay? Believe me, God’s not going to be calling me anywhere.”
    “I don’t doubt that for a second,” Rachel said.
    “Speaking of dolls—” Carl reached down and took a box from his carry-on bag. “Here. Something for Jennifer.”
    Rachel opened the cover. Inside was a stuffed Dilbert doll astride a bright green dragon, like a wrangler riding a bucking bronco. She burst out laughing. “How clever! Was this your idea?”
    “More of a family project. But that is what my job is like. Riding the dragon.”
    “We’ll forgo the business metaphors. I’m sure she’ll love it.”
    “So, how is Jennifer?”
    Rachel started to say, Okay, she’s okay, but with Carl there wasn’t much of a point. She said lightly, wanting to get past the subject, “You and Liz thinking of having any more kids?”
    Carl gave her a shocked look. “Hell, no. I’m getting a vasectomy. I thought I told you.”
    “Told me?” Rachel echoed. She gaped at her brother. It’s a joke, she told herself, one of Carl’s gross jokes. “You’re what ?”
    “Yeah, as soon as I can take a couple days off without Bruce freaking on me.” He caught her expression and said, “We never planned on having five kids. Mom and Dad only had four. It was always going to be two. Okay, okay, by Utah standards we’re pikers in the procreation department. But in our neighborhood, with five kids we’re the population explosion on the corner. Besides, Liz is getting up