All That Glitters Isn't Gold

My friend June says everything is a gift from heaven. I used to think this was inspiring until she went overboard.

Remarking that a pay raise or a good mammogram is a gift from heaven reveals a commendable amount of gratitude and faith.

But June didn’t stop there.

One day she hurried home from church, excited that gold glitter had swirled down from the rafters and covered everyone sitting in the first 10 pews.

“It’s a gift from heaven,” she said excitedly, extending her glittering arms.

I started to ask, “How do you know the preacher didn’t use an electric fan to blow gold glitter through the vents?” But that sounded cynical, so when she said, “It’s a gift from heaven,” I replied, “Who’s to say it isn’t?”

We were roommates at the time, and June’s miraculous gifts from heaven began occurring with increasing frequency. I was astounded the day she came home from work with a ruby. “I found it on the sidewalk,” she said, flashing the blood-red gemstone.

I mentioned that she might want to turn it over to the police, somebody could have lost it, but she narrowed her eyes and shot me a murderous look. “It’s a gift from heaven. How can you doubt?”

Observing the frown line between her brows, I backed down and mumbled, “Who’s to say it isn’t?”

I was dating Bruce by the time diamonds and sapphires started replacing gold dust at church. She discovered them strewn across her path, evidence of divine favor, according to her pastor.

Bruce and I laughed behind her back.

“She’s a nut job,” Bruce said when June came home with a gemstone as big as a marble. She told him it was a gift from heaven, and he said he might become a believer if God was in the business of dispensing diamonds after Sunday service.

June, who didn’t like Bruce, was insulted. She whirled on me, insisting, “What do you think? Do you believe it’s a gift from heaven?”

“Who’s to say it isn’t,” I replied, hoping Bruce would back off.

After Bruce and I got married I didn’t hear from June for a while. Bruce was busy making lots of money in finance and technology and I was busy trying to be a writer, so we lost touch with our single friends. Then one day out of the blue, June called to say she had published a book.

“It’s a gift from heaven,” she said excitedly.

“Who’s to say it isn’t?” I said, although secretly I wished heaven would send a publisher in my direction. I admit I was a little jealous. I had been struggling to find a publisher, and her book, Gifts from Heaven, was a huge success. She was on several talk shows before the hubbub died down.

The book led June and me to renew our friendship, since we had writing in common. Bruce, who wasn’t keen on the idea, said, “I don’t care if she did write a bestseller. She’s crazy.”

But I needed a friend to confide in. Bruce was spending more and more time working and making money. He had also taken up skydiving, which consumed most of his free time.

I complained about it to June, who amazed me by taking up for Bruce. “He’s making all that money, which is gift from heaven. Who cares if he spends his free time skydiving?”

“I guess you’ve got a point,” I admitted, deciding not to complain about Bruce again. How do you complain to someone who thinks everything is a gift from heaven?

June and I lived in different towns and had been connecting mainly through text messages and phone calls, so I was surprised when she called one morning to ask if she could stay with me and Bruce for a while. It seemed she had squandered her book royalties on bad investments. I started to ask why she didn’t go to church and pick up gemstones or get sprayed with gold dust, then chastised myself for being sarcastic. What kind of friend is critical toward somebody who is down on their luck?

Bruce was more than a little annoyed at the idea of June moving in. “She’s nutty as a fruitcake,” he said. But when I told him friends should be there for each other, he agreed.

At first, I put June in the guest room. "It’s a gift from heaven, you letting me stay here until I get back on my feet,” she gushed, making me feel guilty over my resentments. But after a few nights, the guest room didn’t work. She developed an allergy to something, maybe the rug, so I ended up moving her to our bedroom and Bruce and I took the guest room.

“At least she’s grateful,” I said when Bruce grumbled about changing bedrooms. “She says we’re a gift from heaven.”

I was surprised that June started taking an interest in Bruce’s business. She had seemed a little self-centered when we were roommates, but now she was always asking him questions and listening to his answers with rapt attention. Bruce started spending more and more time at home, and I was pleased they were getting along so well.

I should have seen it coming and didn’t, because June was so religious. But sometimes we are gobsmacked by the obvious. As James Patterson wrote, “Everything can be going along just great, and then one day, whack, you're blindsided; a lousy, crummy blow you didn't see coming.”

It was a Monday morning, and I went to visit my mother, who didn't approve of June staying with us and never lost an opportunity to tell me so. But after taking her to lunch, she was happier and stopped harping on my house guest.

When I got back home, I was surprised to see that June’s car wasn’t in the driveway.

Maybe she’s finally decided to move out and we can get our bedroom back, I thought as I stepped inside my empty house.

It took me a few minutes to spot June’s note on the kitchen counter.

"You have truly been my best friend and a real gift from heaven. But I hope you’ll realize that heaven has seen fit to give me another gift. Bruce and I were made for each other; a match made in heaven. Please don’t hold this against us. We both love you dearly. June."

I stood there, stunned.

It didn’t dawn on me until much later to go downstairs and dig through the files in our office. I pulled out the mortgage, the investments, the bank statements, and anything else I could get my hands on. After reading them I nodded, satisfied. Nothing had been changed.

What I hadn’t confided to June was that when Bruce took up skydiving, he and I decided it would be better to put everything in my name. Insurance for skydivers is outrageous, not to mention the threat of lawsuits.

I was now a very rich woman.

Maybe I should call June and say, I believe you got it wrong. I’m the one who got the gift from heaven, this time.