“Betsy was the sister closest to me in age. Her ignominious death by lightning strike while braving the weather on her way home from school was entirely purposeless . . . she was just a little ninth grade girl. Everyone always said we were two peas in a pod, inseparable. But it was more than that. My fondest memories were of us playing. How could I forget the long hours we spent in the tree-house Dad built high up in the big oak, how I goaded her because she had to climb up using the board steps nailed to the trunk, but I could ascend the big rope with a knot tied every foot along its length? Then one day, tugging on my hand as she led me outside, she announced a surprise. I stood aghast as she grabbed the highest knot she could reach and pulled herself off the ground, her skinny legs encircling the rope. Knot by knot, she struggled upward until she reached the branch outside the entrance. I knew she must be thoroughly exhausted, but she didn’t let on, just looked down at me for approval. I was overcome by her commitment, her sheer resolve. I applauded and shouted accolades. Her face glowed with pride. No, we weren’t just peas in a pod; We were soul mates.”

“That’s a great story,” I said. “I can see why you felt betrayed by god when she died.”

“Her passing made no sense. Why would God snuff out so precious a life, so vibrant a personality, a soul so tender and so kind? I was offered clever equivocations by phony backyard philosophers and the Parson who tried to console the family. I hated his puny excuses about how I would ‘understand it all someday.’ It’s all just bullshit so people will keep attending church, keep giving him their money. It was mean. It was cruel. If there is a god, he’s a damned sorry one. The trauma left me a virtual agnostic.”

“There are many things in life we do not understand,” Fahad said, “regardless of our system of belief or our concept of God.” He seemed reticent to say more.

“I have four other siblings still at home with Mom in Susanville, California. It’s a rural area of the state. Over the years, Dad built a prosperous hardware business there. They suffered even more than me. Mom was devastated by his suicide and every day they live under the shroud of her gloomy depression, listening to her accuse two IRS agents, Marisa Taylor, and her partner, Sally Williams of driving Dad over the edge. How dare they? How dare they?”