Wynn in the Willows by Robin Shope

excuse me, God, for speaking to You twice in one day when You haven’t ever really heard from me, but You should know that I find You culpable in the dissolution of my family. You could have put a stop to it. All of it! But You stood idly by and watched my dad die, and did not one thing to keep my mom from running off. Just as I was healing and starting over for the third time, You decided to shake things up again and take Grammy and Gramps. What were You thinking? I was just a kid! You are as remote to me as my own mom. Strangers! How can I believe in You when I have been deserted!”
    The central secret of her existence was that she despised God, Hated Him, even.
    Wait…
    That meant she did believe in Him. It became a revelation.
    She believed in God!
    In fact, she believed in Him just as much as the Bible study ladies. Only she didn’t love Him like they did. Conflict and guilt set in as she considered the abundance of splendor that surrounded her. The One she hated, had created a beautiful, intricate biological system which only a unique, loving and creative Mind could. The dichotomy was unsettling.
    Wynn grabbed her backpack and headed back. She had fooled herself into thinking she needed a mother—her mother, who had so willingly dismissed the child she bore. Well, she didn’t need her, not at all. Not anymore.
    She wasn’t sure what she was going to do about God.
    It was getting dark now and soon the bog would be impossible to navigate without a flashlight. Wynn returned to the Jeep and propped her feet up on the dash. Thunder sounded from miles away. She looked out the windshield at a clear, but darkening sky.
    By the time she reached home, a storm cut a swath eastward across Lake Michigan. Clouds soaked up twilight like a sponge. The rain arrived full of electricity and wind.
    Wynn looked at the sea of papers. She sat on a stool in her lab with a cup of tea, a plate of fruit, and a microscope. She studied nitrogen fixation caused by symbiotic bacteria and compared it to the plant life samplings. Her shoulders carried knots the size of rocks. Every time she shifted to get more comfortable, the rickety table threatened to collapse, taking her test tubes with it. Just as she started logging her findings, another crack of thunder split overheard, rattling the condenser lens. The lights dimmed, and then flickered for a few moments, before returning to normal.
    Wynn muttered under her breath and raised the shade to look out at Roxie’s beautiful flowers being lashed to the ground by the driving rain.
    Tree limbs shook and the wind hurled sheets of heavy rain against the window. The ground was turning to mud. A narrow pond was forming on the other side of the driveway. The lights flickered again, and then went out completely.
    Wynn waited for several minutes, hoping to complete this segment of her research tonight. When the power wasn’t restored, Wynn rubbed the back of her neck and ran fingers through her rumpled hair, before going up the steps to her apartment. The sky was dark. Her thoughts turned to her box of cards, and her Grandparents.
    Passed over. That was the term everyone used when Gramps died. He’d had a heart attack after a particularly pleasing meal.
    Grammy was not only a splendid cook, but was also an overtly religious woman, which at times served as a stumbling block for Wynn’s spirited individuality. The household was cold, regimented.
    Every day, Grammy made Wynn practice hymns on the piano, as Grammy added her singing voice. Twice a week they mailed fat letters to Ruth in Central Africa, once they found out where she was. They drew close when they went to town to pick up mail, expecting a response from Wynn’s mother.
    “I guess she’s too busy folding her hands in prayer,” Grammy said, doing her best to put a happy spin on the loneliness they both felt. “She doesn’t have time to write. God is keeping her too busy.”
     
    ****
     
    It was the second winter after her mother had left.