The Handbook for Lightning Strike Survivors Read Online Free PDF Page A

energy. Rowan would disagree. He’d say something like
You can take the girl (referring to Mary) out of Podunk, but you can’t take the Podunk out of the girl
. He’d laugh at Mary’s suggestion.
    Driving home, she decided she’d keep the pictures in the bottom of her underwear drawer. Whenever Becca doubted herself, whether it was about the lightning or something else, she’d show them to her.
There’s something very special about you
, she’d say. There was no reason for Rowan to see these photographs.

Excerpt from
THE HANDBOOK FOR LIGHTNING STRIKE SURVIVORS
    Victims report feeling an “other-worldliness” when struck.
    Most surprising: 10% of lightning strike victims die, while just 50% seek medical attention.

[4]
… be on your best behavior, 1967
    The reverend leaned forward, his black boot on the sill of the Pitank’s front door. “Reverend John Whitehouse.” He shook Winter’s hand.
    “Evening.”
    Behind his grandmother, Buckley held an empty brown bowl cupped to his chest, a bent spoon protruding from his mouth.
    “Good evening,” said Abigail. The three Pitanks squeezed in the front hall. “Can we help you? Buckley, take the spoon out of your mouth.”
    Buckley bounced the spoon off his hip. “This is the reverend from that revival on Mrs. Catawall’s land.”
    “Nice to meet you, Reverend.”
    “Call me John.”
    “Nice to meet you, John.”
    “I’m Buckley’s grandmother, Winter Pitank.”
    He took her right hand, cupping it between his own two. “Buckley was helping me out tonight, and I got to thinking I should pay y’all a visit and see personally if you wouldn’t be interested in joining us next Saturday. I hope I’m not calling too late. I saw the light on.” He gestured to nothing in particular. “The flock’s trying to build a church here in Mont Blanc. The tents get right drafty. I’m hoping the good Mrs. Catawall is going to donate a parcel of land. I told her that the Lord appreciates when those who can give, give generously.” He handed a postcard-sizedpamphlet to each woman that read,
The Holy Redeemer, a place where all are welcome regardless of denomination. Come and worshipp in the name of the Lord. Come All. Be Filled With the Spirit
.
    “
Worship
’s misspelled,” Abigail said.
    “Where?”
    She held the pamphlet out for him to see.
    “You’re right. Awful glad you caught that.” He laughed. “It looks to me like Buck’s got two sisters.”
    “I don’t go in for that kind of talk, Reverend,” Winter said. “I’m an old woman.”
    “I don’t lie.”
    “You most certainly do.”
    “All God’s children are beautiful.” He bowed his head, looking up, his eyes dark and piercing. “As you are eternally young to the Lord, you are the same to me.”
    Winter said, “That’s a nice thought.”
    Buckley feared the reverend was going to mention the two dollars he’d rightfully earned, but instead the man pulled three gold foiled chocolates from his coat pocket and held them in his palm. He bowed his head once more. “I’m sure I’ve seen you ladies at services before, but I certainly do hope to see you again Saturday with Buck.”
    Winter said, “Thank you for the invitation, but we’re terribly busy.”
    “No one’s too busy to know God.” He pointed to the candies in his palm. “It’s chocolate and toffee from Hershey, Pennsylvania, where I spent time spreading His word. It’s an indulgence of mine, this sweet tooth.”
    Abigail and Winter took their toffees, but Buckley left his gold foiled candy in the reverend’s palm. Reverend Whitehouse slipped it back in his suit pocket. “It was a pleasure,” he said. Winter held the screen door open and the reverend descended the steps. “I’m sure you know already, but five o’clock on Saturday, and nine on Sunday.”
    “Thank you,” Abigail said. She unwrapped the gold foil.
    Winter said, “We’ll try.”
    “Bye, Buck.”
    “Bye, sir.”
    The screen door clacked shut. “What’s