Summer 2020
The Cahill family was in southern California today, having had their regular campaign season Sunday service in a silvery crystal cathedral that towered three times as high as any of the buildings in the small Oklahoma town where Judith Claudia Cahill had been born. She'd closed her eyes at the right moments and prayed the right prayers, but Jesus and the Holy Spirit had seemed terribly far away. She'd picked a fight with her sisters, something easier now that they were all stuck together again for the first time in nearly four years, and won the freedom to sulk in her room instead of joining the family for dinner. So she lay on her bed and listened to the news outside without having to turn on her television, then after a moment's consideration she took out her phone and texted Arcane.
Hey Abby. Can you FaceTime?