Tuesday, March 24, 2009
The wind stopped.
For a moment, Harold continued to cringe, having folded his six year old daughter into his arms and pulled her tight against his body to protect her from the flying debris. Then one eye opened, and a second. All was serene. He released Lucy.
“Was it a tornado, Daddy?” she said. “Will there be a house coming to fall on you.”
“I hope not, darling,” he said. “But we’re not in Kansas and we don’t get tornados in England. Hurricanes, sometimes, but not tornados.”
“That felt like a tornado,” said Lucy, “which would make this the eye of the storm. It’ll get worse again soon.”
“Best we run for cover then.” Harold scooped her up and ran for the house. “Look at the damage to the roof,” he said.
“Can’t you claim a new roof from the bank?”
“Not for hurricane damage,” said Harold, holding her to his chest as he jogged along. “They count it as an Act of God.”
Lucy was silent for several seconds before she asked: “Why is God so mean?”