“Hey, Aunt Sukie!”

“Finally! What have you been doing that you can’t take my calls? Or should I ask, who have you been doing?”

Aunt Sukie cackled at her own joke, a raspy laugh that always made me smile.

“We just had a—”

But before I could tell Aunt Sukie about the tornado, she launched into a monologue of her own.

“I had the wildest night last night! You should have been there, dear. You know how I like to support the arts. Well, I hosted the opening of an art show at my loft last night. The paintings were beautiful, dear—and so were the men! Most of them were gay, of course, but you know they make the best party guests. The champagne was flowing until the sun came up! And people were dancing so wildly, in the end we had to hide the paintings away. We locked them all up in a closet. I was getting so worried someone might spill on a painting! Although you know, I wonder what an oil painting would look like if you spilled a glass of Dom on it. I think the effect might be quite lovely, no? What could we call it? Impressions of Champagne?”

I smiled as Aunt Sukie described her wild night. Sukie’s stories were never boring, that was for sure. In fact, they were often downright hedonistic. There was a reason my God-fearing, conservative parents couldn’t stand Aunt Sukie.

“It’s so good to talk to you,” I managed to say when she finally paused to take a breath. “I’m sorry I couldn’t take your call earlier, but I was with Mama and Daddy.”

“Of course, I understand,” she replied breezily, completely unfazed. “How are James and Jane? Is my dear brother still walking around with a stick up his ass?”

I bit my lip hard and suppressed a laugh. Sukie had a way of saying things that I felt guilty for even thinking about in passing. It was usually best to just ignore her digs at Dad and move the conversation along.

“Things have been busy on the farm. We just had a string of tornadoes come through,” I said instead, deciding to ignore Sukie’s comments.

“Oh dear, well, I do hope everyone is alright?”

I looked around me, over the open fields. In the wake of the storm, a beautiful day had emerged. The sun was shining, and the green grass smelled fresh after the heavy rain. The goats were gamboling in their grazing area, playfully jumping and running around. In the distance, I could see the farmhouse on the horizon, standing steadfast—a comforting vision of home.

“Yes, we’re all fine. Everything here is great,” I replied with a smile. It was a picture-perfect moment on the farm, and I said another silent prayer to God, thanking him for sparing us any damage from the tornado.

“And that corn-fed, strapping boyfriend of yours? Owen? Is he great too?”

I paused for a moment before answering, my voice falsely cheerful. “Sure, Owen’s great! All great here. We’re great.”

I cringed, realizing that I was being too eager with my positive affirmations. One “great” would have been enough, Aurora, I reprimanded myself with annoyance. Of course, Sukie jumped on my hesitation immediately.

“Are you sure? You don’t sound great, even though you just repeated that word about a million times.”

I paused. The only sound was the bleating of the goats.

“Aurora? What’s wrong, dear?”

Sukie’s voice had lost its playful quality and taken a kinder tone. I paused, considering whether I wanted to go ahead with my confession. Sukie’s the last person to judge you, I reminded myself. Finally, I spoke.

“Well… I’m twenty-one now. And Owen and I have been going out since we were fourteen.”

“Christ,” Sukie muttered, “that’s longer than any relationship I’ve ever had. You’re awfully young for that kind of commitment, dear.”

“It’s not that I’m questioning the commitment,” I said hurriedly. “I love Owen. But it’s just…well… I tried to have sex with him the other day.” I took a deep breath. I’d said it. Then the rest of the words spilled out of me. “I tried to convince him to have sex with me. I was having all these impure thoughts, but I didn’t just leave them at thoughts, Aunt Sukie, I tried to turn them into action. And, well, now this tornado came, and Jamie didn’t make it into the bunker in time, and he’s fine, but what if the tornado had passed over our property? Then Jamie might have been dead. And I think it’s my fault. I think I’m the reason. God sent the tornado as a punishment.”