Katarina shook her head. If Dylan had talked, and the data hadn’t transferred, then what awaited her in Moscow would be even worse than her constantly chanting cellmate. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice quiet.
Hunter shrugged. “That’s too bad. We’ll have to find it the old fashioned way.”
Katarina looked down at her hands. “I don’t want to go back.”
“Sorry, Ms. Ivanovich,” Hunter said. “But you aren’t going to have much say in it. They want you, and we want our colleagues. It’s only a matter of time.”
63
Liz awoke with the sun in her eyes. She stretched in bed, enjoying the smell of coffee. She rose and made her way to the kitchen.
Grandma was there, frying eggs. She had a mug in one hand and a spatula in the other. Her wheelchair sat empty just behind her, and her bony elbows shook with the weakness of age, but Liz figured no one could have looked as comfortable in that pose. She’d been frying eggs for fifty years.
“Good morning,” Liz said. “Need any help?”
The old woman gave her a smile and pointed to the brand new countertop with her spatula. “Get the flour, won’t you?”
Liz picked up the heavy container and stood beside Grandma, waiting for more instructions. None came.
Grandma flipped an egg. “My little ones will be here soon.”
“Where did everyone go?” Liz asked.
“Workin’. Starts at dawn here. Better get used to that.”
Liz nodded. “What should I do with the flour?”
“Ever made gravy?”
“No.”
“Well you better learn.” The old matriarch laughed and began to give her instructions. A pan already had the sausage grease. Pour the flour in, bit by bit. Stir in the milk. “And keep on stirring.”
She gazed out the window as she stirred. A bird landed on the branch of a small tree near the house. The tree had the first buds of fruit. Apples. For some reason it made her think of Babel. This single tree had so much complexity and beauty. “That apple tree is a survivor,” Liz said.
Grandma shrugged. “I can’t see that far anymore, but I’m glad to hear it.”
“You don’t have glasses?”
“I can see what matters, the things close to me,” the woman said. “I reckon maybe God lets our eyesight get blurry because that’s a wiser way to see the world. I’m not so bothered by what’s far away from me.”
They were quiet after that, making breakfast. By the time Jake and his mom entered the kitchen, Liz had a pan full of gravy. A few lumps here and there, but she was proud of it. They sat and ate, with the gravy poured over the biscuits Grandma had made. Eggs, sausage, biscuits, gravy, and coffee. All by 9 am. Liz could get used to this.
The door burst open before they finished. “You started without me!” Annie rushed in and took her spot at the table. The scars from her stitches were healing fast.
“You’ll take any excuse to sleep in.” Jake’s mom smiled. “Some things never change.”
“Maybe the little things.” Annie twirled a curl of bright red hair around her finger. She turned to Liz. “But big things do change.”
“Like your new house?” Liz asked.
“And our new guest.” Annie’s freckled cheeks showed a touch of color. “Will you tell me more about Dubai today?”
“Of course.”
“And will you join me for a walk after breakfast?” Jake asked.
Liz nodded. “Best part of the day.”
They finished eating and headed out. Liz glanced back at the rebuilt Conrad home. It had the same classic style, but larger and with nice new touches. The Babel construction team did good work.
They reached the bank of the river by the apple orchard. Half of the trees still stood, the other half taken by the twister. Jake sat on the bank and Liz sat beside him.
His hand moved to hers.
Liz smiled. “I’m starting to get used to this.”
Jake squeezed her hand gently. “Me too.”
As he gazed over the river, the morning light made his sharp features soft. This invincible and implacable man made warmth swell up inside her. She never would have believed it a year ago, but she wanted to stay here, with him.
A gentle breeze rustled the branches above and lifted her eyes to the sky, where the tower gleamed in the distance. She thought of when she’d climbed to its top with a tornado on the horizon, and of what she’d heard there. She took a deep breath. She needed to tell Jake.
“When I was up there, on top of the tower…” Liz shook her head. “I know this will sound crazy, but as the wind was wailing, I felt like I heard a voice.”
Liz paused, as if expecting Jake to laugh.
He didn’t. “What did it say?”
“I felt like I heard: Pride leads to destruction. I give grace to the humble.”
Jake studied her, waiting for more.
She formed her words carefully. “I thought I was building this tower for my dad, and for the world, but it was actually for my own pride. And I was going to destroy myself…just like my dad did. Then came the storm, and the words.”
“Maybe God got your attention.”
“Yes.” She looked at her injured arm. “He made me feel as small and weak as I really am.”
“We’re still the created, not the creator. We can’t be God, no matter what we build.”
“Rachel tried to tell me something like that when I first had the idea about the tower. I didn’t want to hear it. My other friends just went along with whatever I said. Nobody tried to stand in my way, except you.”
He nodded, but didn’t answer at first. He ran his hand along Liz’s cheek. His touch and the sound of the river and the sun warming her skin made her body relax and her eyes close. She felt her pained memories and strains evaporating.
“Do you regret it?” he asked.
She glanced to the Babel tower, studying its lines of steel stretching to the sky. “I regret the way I tried to do it and some of my reasons for it, but…we are creators, too. My dad had the vision, and now the tower is standing. The company translates languages and helps people communicate. These can still be forces for good.” She paused, then turned back to Jake. “After all, they led me to you.”
He smiled and leaned closer, his hand finding the back of her neck. The space between them shrank as the tower faded from her mind.
THE END
What’s Next?
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Also by J.B. Simmons
The Omega Trilogy
Unbound
Clothed with the Sun
Great White Throne
The Gloaming Books
Light in the Gloaming
Breaking the Gloaming
Non-Fiction
The Awakening of Washington’s Church
Learn more about J.B. Simmons and his latest work at www.jbsimmons.com.
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