That Lucky Old Sun (The Bella Novella Collection Book 4) by Janice Thompson Page A

words, “Take shelter,” then groaned. What other choice did we have?
    Cracks of thunder sounded so close I wondered if they’d split the house down the middle. Surely not. My hubby had a hand in building this place, after all, and his work was made to last.
    Hubby.
    I crawled out of my chair and sat on the floor next to D.J., my hand now firmly gripped in his. His nearness calmed me. A little. Until the next peal of thunder. . .and the next.
    After what felt like an eternity, the winds seemed to die down a bit. The racket from the living room calmed, too. In my mind’s eye I pictured the large glass windows shattered top to bottom and a living room filled with patio tables. Still, I wasn’t going out there to see it all firsthand. Not yet.
    When things grew quieter, I heard Ling’s voice from her seat near me. “This is your doing, Bella.”
    “W-What?” I spoke from the darkness. “You’re blaming a tropical storm—er, hurricane—on me?”
    “Yes. That day we met for lunch at Moody Gardens you told me that something would happen to make our families bond.” She turned on her phone’s flashlight and pointed the little beam of light at her mother and Mrs. Pappas, who sat next to each other, hand in hand. Then she shifted the beam to her father and Mr. Pappas, who’d taken up residence in the bathtub. Together. Rub-a-dub-dub. Two fathers-in-law in a tub.
    “Well, yes, I did say something would happen to cause them to bond,” I explained. “But I didn’t mean a hurricane. You can’t blame this on me!”
    “Not blaming you.” The level of her voice rose as the winds outside began to shriek once again. “ Thanking you.”
    “You’re thanking her for the storm?” Mrs. Pappas asked.
    “No, I’m thanking God for the storm,” Ling explained. “I’m thanking Bella for reminding me that every situation in life, good or bad, can be used as a teaching tool. She gestured around the room. “This. . .is a teaching tool. And one day we’ll look back on it to discover that our worlds changed this very night.”
    Indeed. Though I wasn’t completely sure what lesson we could learn from the fellows in the tub.
    At that very moment a peal of thunder shook the room and Mrs. Nguyen let out a shriek.
    “Are you okay, M á ?” Ling asked.
    “I. . .I think so.” Mrs Nguyen’s voice trembled. “Hahn, are you all right?”
    At first we heard no response from Mr. Nguyen. A wave of panic washed over me as I pictured him in the bathtub, slumped over from a heart attack.
    Finally, we heard a gentle snore.
    “Hahn!” Mrs. Nguyen’s volume rose. “Are you actually asleep in that bathtub?”
    “W-What?” His groggy voice gave away his little secret.
    Darian let out a raucous belly laugh and Ling followed. Before long, everyone was laughing and talking. Until the thunder hit once more.
    “I just can’t believe you could sleep in the middle of a storm,” Mrs. Nguyen said. “Someone has to stay up and worry.”
    “No, someone has to stay up and pray ,” Pastor Lindsey said. “And that person would be me. So, bow your heads, everyone. I have to come up with a really good hurricane prayer, guaranteed to blow those winds right back out to sea.”
    “Actually, the storm is headed north to Houston,” D.J. explained. “From what I just saw on my phone.”
    I didn’t really care where it was headed, as long as my parents’ home wasn’t in the line of fire.
    Pastor Lindsey prayed a “Take thee back to sea” prayer. The Greek Orthodox priest took it from there, reciting something in his native tongue that caused Mr. Pappas to rouse from a state of near-slumber for a groggy, “Amen!” Then the Vietnamese pastor added his words of prayer, the staccato words sounding more like the rain pellets landing on the wall outside.
    Afterwards, the lights popped back on.
    “Well, there you go.” Mr. Pappas yawned and stretched, then rose to get out of the bathtub. “It took the prayers of all parties to stop the storm.