Finally Cub said, “They don’t call it global weirding.” “I know. But I think that’s actually the idea.” Cub shook his head. “Weather is the Lord’s business.” She felt an exasperation that she knew would be of no use to this debate. She let it rise and fall inside her, along with wishful thoughts. Every loss she’d ever borne had been declared the Lord’s business. A stillborn child, a father dead in his prime.
