Snow.

Nolan peered up at the light gray sky as the snow tumbled down, smothering the cracked sidewalk with white. He'd never liked snow, not even when his parents were alive. He'd tolerated it, played in it when necessary, but he wasn't one to burst with excitement when the first flakes hit the ground.

Was she the kind of person who ran to the window to catch a glimpse of the first snowfall?

She didn't even look at him at all now. With each day, he watched, helpless, as the light he'd come to adore flickered, threatening to blow out. She was so much like his last year's self—miserable, quiet, avoiding contact with anyone she could. She still laughed and smiled with Erin and the others, but it wasn't the same dynamic laughter that seemed to take over her entire being. It was worn.

I thought getting her out of there was supposed to help, he snapped. I did my part. Why aren't You doing Yours?

Nothing. Just a growing frustration.

He'd helped save her from her dad, but now she was crumbling before his eyes, and there wasn't anything he could do about it. She didn't want his help. And could he blame her?

Help her. Please.

His phone dinged. Could it...?

He snatched his phone from his pocket. His hope fell. Andy.

He opened the text.

Are you okay??????

He pocketed his phone without replying. He wouldn't reply. It didn't matter how much he wanted to. He'd already destroyed Nora's happiness. He wasn't about to interfere with her friendships.

Did you fall and now you can't get up????

His lips twitched. Still, he didn't reply.

Seriously though I'm here for you. Just wanted to make sure you know that

His eyes turned to the sky again. Flakes caught at his lashes as he glared. Why? Why get me attached to these people just so I could lose them?

Of course, nothing.

Then, his voice: "It's only going to make things worse for you."

The anger. The blame. Like Ryan had said—it was stewing inside him, unrelenting, a weight pressing down on his chest every single day. It had been a relief, this past summer, to have his rage cool—to be truly happy again. But now? It was all crashing back. And it was exhausting.

But how was he supposed to move on from this? To forgive and trust? Ryan and Nora said it would take time, but it had already been over two years.

He needed help. But the one person he wanted to ask hated him.

He reached a tired, brick building tucked between two others that looked just like it. Harman's Hardware, scrawled the hanging-sign over the door. He shuffled inside, wiping his feet on the entrance's carpet.

The place was chaotic and organized all at once, with its busy walls and bursting aisles. At the cashier's desk, a man who appeared to be in his thirties looked up from the book he was reading.

"Afternoon!" he said.

"Afternoon," Nolan echoed. He stepped toward the counter, and the man straightened.

"And how can I help you today, son?"

"I spoke to the manager on the phone about filling out an application?"

"Oh, yes!" The man grinned. "Nolan, right?"

He nodded.

The man stretched out a hand. "Craig Burns. Nice to meetcha."

Nolan shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, too, sir."

Craig dished out an application. "Do you need a pen?" he asked.

"No, thank you." Nolan tugged a pen out of his pocket.

"Ah, you came prepared!" Craig chuckled. "You can fill it out right here, if you want. I won't stare you down. This book is gettin' good."

As Nolan started filling out the application—name, date of birth, address—Craig returned to the book. Nolan jotted down answers to the backdrop of flipping pages. When he was finished, he slid the paper across the desk. "Thank you for your time," he said.

"Of course!" Craig said. "You should hear from me within the next two weeks."

"Thank you."

Nolan tucked his pen back into his pocket and left, returning to the snow and the cracked sidewalk and his thoughts.

✝

how do i forgive god?

Nolan hit Enter, and Google sprang to life, displaying articles and blog posts about whether people should, could, and needed to forgive God. He bounced between a few, but didn't find any that struck him the way Ryan's sermons and Nora's stories had. After fifteen minutes, he grumbled out a sigh and shut his laptop.

He laid back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. His hand twitched toward his phone, but he didn't pull it out of his pocket. What right did he have to ask her anything anymore?

He rolled over in his bed and pressed his face into the pillow. What was it Ryan had said about forgiveness? "You need to let it go." He hadn't gone into more detail—the application was a lesson he'd saved for the following youth group meeting, which Nolan hadn't been able to attend.

He sat up, hands to his head. He could...he could ask Ryan, somehow. But a quick social media search showed that Ryan had no interest in posting his life on the Internet, and Nolan was back to square one. He couldn't go to church and ask. Nora would be there, and he couldn't do that to her. He couldn't ask Andy or the others for his contact information, but maybe he could ask...

Willow.

For the second time, her named rammed into his head, an answer suddenly becoming clear: Willow. Nathan. Pastor Nathan.

He hopped from his bed and padded into the living room, where Greg was listening to Caleb read a book—homework.

"You joining story time?" Greg asked.

"Can you give me a ride?"

"Dude, I'm reading," Caleb said. He'd definitely gotten that from Sam.

Greg must have seen the importance of the request in Nolan's face, because he stood. "You can read the rest of it to me in the car," he said.

Caleb sighed, but nodded. He followed Nolan and Greg out of the apartment without protest, reading out loud the entire way down the stairs. Nolan walked behind him just to make sure he didn't fall.

"Where are we going?" Greg asked once they'd piled into the car.

Nolan relayed the address, and Greg pulled out of the parking lot, into the road.

✝

"This it?" Greg asked, leaning against the steering wheel and peering at Willow's house.

Nolan nodded. "I don't know how long I'll be."

"That's okay. Caleb will keep me entertained."

"If I finish the book, I'll just start it over," Caleb supplied.

"See?"

Nolan smiled and hopped out of the car. His sneakers left prints in the snow as he made his way up the walkway, to the front door. As he approached, it occurred to him that this might be a stupid idea.

He reached the door, lifted his fist...and faltered.

This was a mistake.

No.

He frowned.

You need this.

He winced. And knocked on the door.

His stomach wrestled with itself while he waited the few painful seconds it took for the front door to open. When it did, his breath caught in his throat.

Nathan's eyes widened. "Nolan," he said. "Hello."

Nolan opened his mouth. Shut it. He hadn't thought this far. "Are you busy?" he asked.

Nathan searched his face. Like Greg, he must have detected the urgency, because he opened the door wider and gestured Nolan forward. "Why don't we talk in my office?" he asked.

Nolan stepped inside, dutifully slipping off his shoes and setting them on the mat by the front door. He followed Nathan to his office, a spacious room, with an L-shaped desk and a faux-leather chair. Nolan hovered in the doorway, scanning the walls. Each was decorated with framed photographs of Nathan with his family. Nora was in a few, her bright smile summoning a sad one of his own.

"Sit, sit," Nathan said, grabbing his desk chair and rolling it across the floor. He set it across from the faux-leather chair and plopped into it. The flop sent him rolling backward, and he threw out a hand to stop himself from hitting the wall. "Whoops," he said with a chuckle. "You'd be surprised how often I do that."

Nolan wouldn't be, but he just gave Nathan a small smile before sinking into the chair. It was comfortable, but he couldn't appreciate it.

"So what's going on, bud?" Nathan asked. He leaned forward.

Nolan stared past Nathan, at the pictures on the walls. Nora stared back at him. "I need help," he said softly.

"Okay."

He looked away from the photos. "Did Nora tell you anything about what happened to my parents?"

"No, she didn't."

His jaw worked. "They were...uh..." He swallowed. "They were killed. Murdered."

Nathan's eyes widened. His jaw slackened. "I'm so sorry."

His mom on the filthy floor, dead eyes facing the ceiling.

Nolan blinked the image away. "I've been uh..." He shoved his hands in his pockets, removed them. "I've been angry for a really long time. Not just at the guy who did it, but at...at God."

Nathan nodded—no disgust.

"Every time I think about trying to let go, I see my cereal bowl on the floor."

"Your...?"

"I dropped it." He looked down at his palms. "On the floor. The news did an emergency broadcast. Cereal and milk got everywhere."

Nathan nodded.

"I ran all the way to the gas station," Nolan continued, fidgeting now, unable to keep still. "That's where they died. And I saw her—my mom." A tear slipped down his cheek, and he locked his jaw. "She was...she was on the floor."

"Oh," Nathan breathed.

"Anyway." He swiped the tear away. "Like I said, I see my cereal bowl on the floor. And I see my older brother's face when he realized he had to take care of us. And I hear Caleb screaming when he found out we had to move, because he was convinced if we left, we'd be abandoning our parents."

Nathan frowned sympathetically.

"And this whole thing with Nora." He sighed and wiped at his eyes again. "I thought He guided me, or whatever, to help her. But she looks worse every day."

He dropped his hand. "I don't want to be angry anymore," he murmured.

"I can see why you've been holding onto this for so long," Nathan said kindly. Nolan looked up. "It can be hard, when we feel like God has abandoned us. And it's true, that He allowed this stuff to happen."

Nolan blinked.

"It's really difficult to attempt to understand why He would let terrible things happen to the greatest of people. We can say that God does—or doesn't do—everything for a reason—and I believe that to be true. But we can never hope to understand those reasons. We can try, but He's beyond full understanding."

Everything for a reason.

His cereal bowl clattering on the floor.

His mom...

"So, we get angry. We're hurt because all we see is the pain and suffering. We believe it's unfair. And it is."

Nolan leaned forward.

"Our task isn't to understand," Nathan said. "Our task is to try our best to make the world a better place. So, when you get angry at God, when you get caught up trying to understand His motives, remember, and try to accept that you won't ever understand. Obsessing over it is a waste of your time and talent."

"That's it?"

Nathan smiled. "It's definitely easier said than done. Believe me. I've had my fair deal of arguments with our Father. Actually, I'm in one right now."

Nolan's eyes widened. "You are?"

"Yes. It's been a struggle, seeing Nora in so much pain." He sighed. "So, when I find myself getting upset with Him, I do my best to remember the good. He's responsible for that, too."

Nolan nodded.

"When you find yourself mulling over all the injustices you and your loved ones have faced, mull over your feelings about them instead," Nathan continued.

"What does that mean?"

"Okay, let's take Nora," he said. "When you see her at school, what do you feel?"

"Guilty." The word slipped out before he even registered the thought to say it. "Sad," he continued. "Angry."

"Okay. So, instead of obsessing over these feelings—repeating the same notions over and over in your head on an exhausting loop, growing guiltier, sadder, angrier with each repetition—you accept them. Yes, at this moment, you feel guilty, sad, angry. But it's a moment, not forever. It will pass."

Nolan's face must have said it all, because Nathan chuckled. "I know. Accepting is hard. And it won't come instantly."

"How long will it take?"

"However long it takes," Nathan said. "I know that's not what you want to hear. But peace, ironically, is something you have to fight for."

"How do I do that?" Nolan asked.

"You find ways to counteract the anger," Nathan said. "You say to yourself that you are unwilling to live in these moments for the rest of your life. They happened, and it hurts, but you're not there anymore. You concentrate on the good. Do some stress relief exercises. Mediate, journal—these are great methods to center yourself and make sense of your feelings. Turn what hurt you into something you can use to help someone else. Surround yourself with positivity.

"As you give your anger less power, it'll fade. It won't happen overnight—and maybe not even for quite a few nights—but if you work, practice, and concentrate on living a more positive life, it'll help you in the long run."

A more positive life. A simple idea, but...

"Okay," he said.

They stood. Nathan clapped a hand on his shoulder and brought him into a hug.

"You are loved," Nathan said. "And you are always welcome here."

They pulled away. "Thanks," Nolan said.

"Thank you," Nathan said, "for trusting me enough to tell me what you've been through."

"Will she be okay?"

Nora's beaming smile pierced him. "She will," Nathan said.

"She will?"

"She will. And so will you." Nathan's smile returned. "I have faith in that."

Faith. Nolan nodded and turned, ready to leave.

"Oh, Nolan!"

He stopped and looked over his shoulder.

Nathan opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a worn-down copy of the Holy Bible. "This was mine when I was about your age," he said. "It has a lot of notes, guides on what to read for when you're feeling a certain way, what have you. I think it could help you."

"I don't want to take yours from y—"

"Oh, I don't mind at all." Nathan smiled. "If you don't want it, that's fine, of course. I just thought I'd offer it."

Nolan took it from Nathan's outstretched hand. "Thank you," he said.

"Of course. And Nolan," Nathan said, "you will be okay."

Nolan's lips pricked upward. And then he left, closing the door behind him.

When he returned to the car, Caleb was back at the beginning of the book. "Jennifer wanted to—" He stopped and looked up as Nolan hopped in and buckled up. "Hello."

"Hi."

"How'd it go?" Greg asked.

"Good," he said. "I think I'm going to be okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."