Page 48 of No Room in the Inn

“Nixon, you’re spitting on the gift He’s giving you. You’re saying that His forgiveness doesn’t count—only yours does.”

A silence falls over the car that somehow wasn’t there before—a stillness in which I can barely hear Nixon breathing. I take a deep breath and force my final question out:

“Are you greater than Him?”

My words are so soft, so quiet, that I might doubt Nixon heard me at all. But I know he does, because there’s a second of silence, after which he turns away from me, opens the car door, and gets out, disappearing into the night.

Chapter 22

Nixon

Are you greater than Him? Are you greater than Him? Are you greater than Him?

The words race through my mind, over and over, in exactly the way she said them—carefully and hesitantly, as though she was making herself speak despite fear of my response.

I stumble away from the car. I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing, but I find myself standing in front of the plastic manger holding plastic baby Jesus.

What right do you have to hold on to something He’s already forgiven?Willow’s question echoes in my head as I stare down at this poor representation of the King of Kings. The lights illuminating Jesus, Joseph, and Mary from within are on their last legs, but they still give off a bit of a glow.

I don’t know how long I stand there, staring at the nativity, tracking the ebb and flow of emotions within me—guilt and then peace, peace and then guilt, guilt and then peace. But when I hear the crunch of snowy footsteps from behind me, I tense automatically. I don’t know how I feel right now, and I don’t want to talk about it. In fact, I really wish we could lighten the mood.

Willow must sense that, because what she says is, “Do you think it freaked Mary out?”

It takes me a second for my brain to confirm that I’ve heard her correctly. I turn and look at her. “What?”

“Mary,” she says, gesturing to the Mary figure. “Do you think it scared her? I mean, imagine if an angel showed up and was like, ‘You’re going to be the mother of the Savior. Don’t mess this up.’ Wouldn’t that be intimidating?”

Unbidden, a smile tugs at the corners of my lips. “I haven’t ever thought about it, but…yeah. That would be scary.”

Willow nods fervently. “The Good Lord knew what he was doing when he didn’t give me that particular task.”

I laugh. There’s no point in me telling her that she’ll be a good mother someday; that will tip her off that I don’t dislike her as much as I wish I did. So I just don’t respond.

A minute or so later, Willow speaks again. “You good?” she says, her voice soft.

“Yeah,” I say automatically, keeping my eyes on baby Jesus. I don’t know if I’m good, actually, but I don’t want to talk about it. Not yet, anyway.

There’s silence for a second, and I wonder if Willow is going to call me out on my half-lie. But instead she just clears her throat.

“And…arewegood?”

“We’re good,” I say.ThatI am sure about. Then I turn to her and sigh. “Let’s go home.”

And as I follow her back to the car, her words once again fill my mind:

Are you greater than Him?

Chapter 23

Willow

Three days later, I’m woken by a call from the realtor.

She sounds far too cheerful for—I squint at the alarm clock on the bedside table—nine in the morning; I amnota morning person. I can guarantee I don’t sound anywhere near that happy while we’re speaking. I sound groggy and possibly half dead. It takes me a second to process when she says she’s found a potential buyer, but after that I wake up quickly.

I drag myself out of bed and head to the kitchen while we talk. Well, whileshetalks; I mostly just grunt in response to things she’s saying.

“Okay,” I say to her as I enter the kitchen. “So—” But I break off and do a double take when I see Nixon at the table, eating a bowl of cereal—shirtless. “Um,” I say, staring.

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