Page 89 of One Last Shot
“Which means maybe I should stick around for a few more days, at least. Oh, by the way, does the team have the parachute from Mike’s fall?”
“I think it might still be in our gear. Why?”
“Mike woke up, and he said someone tried to kill him.”
“Seriously?”
“Seraphina isn’t sure—he was still pretty out of it—but I told her I’d look into getting the parachute.”
“I have a buddy who is a detective at the Anchorage police department who we could ask for help.”
“Seraphina wanted to wait until he’s awake and get a better picture of the truth, so I’ll let you know.”
“Will do.” He gave Oaken a look. Then, “You could stick around and be a real part of the team.”
Oaken handed a piece of firewood to Moose. “Oh, I don’t . . . I mean . . .”
“God has you up here for a reason, Oak.” Moose stood up and took a long match from a container on the mantel. Struck it and put it to the crumpled newspaper and curled birchbark.
“Yeah, to clear my head, make some money, maybe write some new music.”
Moose stood, shook out the match. “Those are your reasons. What’s God’s reason?”
Oaken tightened his lips. Looked at Axel in thekitchen. “Sorry,” Axel said. “Snow day spiritual conversations. I’d offer you whiskey, but this is a dry house.”
“Your liver can thank me,” Moose said to Axel. Then he turned to Oaken. “Listen. I believe that nothing happens by chance. There is a purpose behind everything—whether we’ve orchestrated it or it’s out of our control. The answer isn’t to seek the purpose but to ride the waves, respond to what God is teaching you.”
“I’ve never considered the things that happen to me as God trying to teach me something. I’ve always thought...” Oaken looked out the window. “Maybe he was punishing me.”
“For what?”
He looked at Moose. “For hating my sister.” And he didn’t know why he’d let that out. He’d blame it on the crackle of the fire, the smell of grilling food, and the way Moose seemed to consider him without judgment.
“So you let anger get a root inside you and tell you lies,” Moose said.
Oaken stilled. “I wasn’t angry?—”
“Where do you think hatred comes from? We feel like someone got something we should have had, or that we were treated unfairly, or they hurt us and didn’t care—any number of things. So we get angry, and it roots inside us. And with that root, the devil gets a foothold in your life.” Moose closed the grate. “And then he seeds all sorts of chaos.” He slapped the debris from his hands. “So why were you angry at your sister?”
Clearly Moose had no idea that he’d sent claws through Oaken’s chest, turning everything raw and bleeding. “She wrecked our home. Our life. She didn’t care about our dreams—just her own.”
Moose walked back over to the counter. “Yeah, I’d be angry about that too—” Oaken followed him, sat on a stool. “—if I didn’t know that God could put me exactly where I’m supposedto be, if I trust him.”
Axel set a grilled cheese sandwich in front of him. “Made with good old American cheese singles.”
“Yuck,” Moose said.
“You’re such a purist.” Axel plated his own sandwich.
“But how can I trust God when—” Oaken started.
“When bad things happen to you?”
Oaken made a face. “Maybe when I cause bad things to happen.”
“Like punching out a guy at your concert?” Axel said and sat on a stool next to him.
“Wow. This is a rough crowd.”