Genevieve’s words gave him pause. They had been doing that a lot lately, but especially now, Sam got the feeling there was a lot she wasn’t saying. Or, maybe there was much she was conveying between her actual words, and Sam was left with the puzzle she presented, confused and clueless. He stared at her for a moment, daring her to explain, but she didn’t. Sam cleared his throat and looked into his mug, letting her cryptic words replay in his mind. What… was she talking about?
“God doesn’t cry,” Sam said idly, even if he knew that wasn’t the point of the town’s old legend. He shifted in his seat as the face of his god flitted back to his memory. For years, he had loved and worshipped that face, but now, it seemed so much scarier. Unforgiving. Cruel. Sam didn’t like thinking about it anymore. His fall from grace, the exasperation from everyone he had ever loved. It was his old life, one not worth thinking about except to endeavor to do better.
That was why the idea that sins could be so easily washed away didn’t sit well with him. He was a mortal man now, with human emotions he couldn’t shake, and the pains of his past were settled deep into his bones. He didn’t deserve to have those cleansed. Yet Genevieve didn’t seem like she was talking about him when she spoke, so he looked up at her again, trying to understand her meaning. I should know. He opened his mouth, then closed it, not knowing what she meant by that.
“I’m not sure we can understand our god’s will,” Sam admitted. “His mercy might be a myth, or maybe just an exaggeration. His benevolence is defined only through the lens of those not used to such basic kindness. Maybe you’re right that such a thing doesn’t deserve thanks, but when that kindness is denied to us, even by our own creator…” Words like these would have gotten him into loads of trouble if Sam had still been celestial. He was free to say them now. They didn’t hurt like he suspected they might have, but he was unnerved all the same. If their own god didn’t support them, then who would?
Each other, Sam decided. Isn’t that why he’d become a hospice worker? To make up for a monstrous god’s lack of empathy? “We can extend that mercy to our neighbors,” Sam pointed out. “Our families and friends, sure, but strangers too. It’s a skill more of the world could use.” He was biased, of course; no one else knew how he had come to this place, but if they did find out, Sam hoped his new friends would forgive the wrongs he’d committed. But his attachment to his words did not make them any less true for him.
Sam looked over Genevieve again, suddenly feeling out of his depth. Was this the kind of conversation they should have been having now, when she was finally feeling better? He swallowed his doubts and dared to ask, “What do you mean?” It was none of his business, of course, whatever Genevieve was referencing, but she knew almost everything about him, even the ridiculousness of his past, and Sam knew nothing about the woman Genevieve kept so guarded inside. It wasn’t fair. And maybe, he thought, if he could just understand her, he could help her better.
Sam pushed his mug aside and cleared his throat. “You speak as if you deserve punishment, but I don’t understand how you could think so. Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve been nothing but kind. So Genevieve, what… What are you talking about? Make me understand.”
Bookmarks