The Lightning in Her Palm

Evelyn's fingers trembled as they hovered over the glowing screen. At eighty-two, she'd handled everything from rotary telephones to wringer washers, but this iphone felt like something from outer space.

"Don't worry, Grandma," Emma said, her granddaughter's voice warm and patient. "I'll write it down. Big red button with a phone symbol. That's all you need to remember."

Evelyn's arthritis made her knuckles swollen, but Emma took her grandmother's hand gently, pressing it against her own palm. "See how similar we are? Your hands have built a life. Mine are just starting."

That evening, a summer storm raged outside. Lightning flashed across Evelyn's window, and she found herself transported back to 1947—sitting on her mother's front porch in Kansas, counting the seconds between thunder and lightning to guess how far away the storm was. Her mother had called it "God's photography." Now, at an age where she'd outlived nearly everyone who'd ever really known her, Evelyn wondered what kind of pictures God was taking of her life.

The iphone buzzed. Emma's face appeared on screen, smiling from some airport somewhere. "Grandma! I forgot to tell you—remember how you said your cousin used to work for the government during the war?"

"Your Great-Aunt Margaret? She was a secretary, dear."

"Not exactly," Emma laughed. "I was going through some old boxes, and I found her letters. She wasn't just a secretary. She was a spy, Grandma. A real one."

Evelyn's heart raced. Margaret, with her perfect posture and mysterious trips abroad, who'd never married and always smelled like expensive perfume. The family had called her eccentric.

"She left you something," Emma said, holding up a small, worn notebook. "Palm readings. She did them for everyone in the family, even you. You want to know what she wrote when you were twelve?"

Evelyn leaned closer to the screen, her eyes misty. "Tell me."

"'This one will live to see miracles she cannot imagine.'"

Outside, the storm had passed. Through her window, Evelyn watched the lightning flash one last time, illuminating the iphone in her hand—this glowing rectangular miracle that Margaret could never have imagined, this device that let her hold her granddaughter's face across a thousand miles.

"I'm seeing it now," Evelyn whispered. "I'm seeing the miracle."