Flash Fiction
Carl and Nancy
The Power of Love
It was a brisk day outside our cabin, and the frigid air seeped through a cracked window. I tossed oak logs into the fireplace, but a cool breeze still whipped through my sweater. The flames flickered in the shadows, providing entertainment during the power outage. I played soft rock music on my phone. We sat on the pine floor by the warmth, wrapped in our maroon blanket of trust.
“Are you okay, Carl?” Nancy leaned in, touching my arm. “I can see trouble stirring in your eyes.”
“Something is wrong,” I said, shifting my gaze. The pelting raindrops tapered to sprinkles from above. “I think God…” I choked back a lump in my throat. “I think…”
“What, babe?” Nancy brought her hand to my chin. “You think what?”
I sniffled. “My brother, Jacob, is gone,” I sobbed.
Nancy moved her fingers across my damp eyes. Nancy said nothing, almost as if the same thought had crossed her mind. “He did,” Nancy said, her voice tinged with sorrow.
“What?” I looked at her.
Nancy moved a tissue over her glassy eyes. “I got the call this morning,” she said. “I didn’t know how to tell you, and then the power went out, and — “
“It’s not your fault.” I lifted a finger to her lips.
“She called…”
I arched a brow. “Mom?”
Nancy nodded, still wiping tears away. “She dropped off something earlier.”
“We weren’t on the best terms,” I said, rubbing Nancy’s back.
“It was peaceful, just so you know,” Nancy said, fitting herself into my frame.
“He wouldn’t listen,” I said. “I tried.”
Nancy lifted her head and glanced at me. “Don’t you dare blame him.” Nancy returned her head to my shoulder.
“None of us is above addiction to alcohol or drugs,” I said, but I was realizing it myself.
“I want him to be at our wedding.” Nancy massaged my hand.
“I wish that could happen,” I said. “I wonder if God hates me, and what I did wrong for Jacob to die.”
“Maybe God isn’t the bad guy here,” Nancy said.
I laughed.
“Seriously?” Nancy said. She hid no lies in her green eyes. “Maybe God wants your brother at our wedding next week.”
“Nancy!” I said. “He’s dead.”
Nancy stood and moved into the kitchen.
“Nancy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” I sighed.
“This is what your mother dropped off earlier.” Nancy returned with a velvet urn. “He’s here,” she said. “He’ll be sober, and he’ll be at our wedding.”
As the power surged, our lives resumed, filled with love and beauty.
“God is good,” Nancy said.
I smiled. “Yeah, he is, isn’t he?”
We embraced our emotions in life.
(© 2025 AC)
