The feeling of being watched comes over me almost immediately. Finally, after I’ve deleted email number twenty-seven, I look up. Wilma is slow to avert her gaze, but to her credit, at least she tries.
“Did you know my stepfather, Wilma?” I don’t need to be a mind reader to know what it was she was thinking about.
Wilma flinches. “Yes. I’ve been a member of the church for twenty-seven years and was on the welcoming committee when Pastor Blake took over for Pastor Johnson. I became an assistant when Pastor Thomas arrived.”
I nod once, slowly. “I see.”
“I don’t know the details of things, Lennon. Just the gossip.” She sniffs. “Not very Christian of the gossipers, if you ask me.”
My chin tips to the side. “And yet…”
Wilma chuckles softly. “Nobody is perfect.”
My expression hardens. In my unfortunate experience, the people who portray perfection are the furthest from it.
A noise sounds in the hallway and Wilma looks past me, her thin lips lifting into a smile.
Behind me, I hear the deep baritone of a man’s voice, followed closely by girlish laughter. I stand up just as a man walks through the door with a young girl by his side. There are some remnants of the little girl I knew, but mostly she looks like a whole new person. Quickly I try to calculate how old she is, but I can’t remember if she was four or five when I had her. The hat she’s wearing only adds to the challenge of correctly guessing her age.
The man, who is probably about five years older than me, looks at me, his face in an easy, welcoming smile, and extends a hand. “I’m Pastor Thomas.”
I blink twice, thrown off by his youth. “Lennon Davies,” I respond, placing my hand in his. It’s warm and soft, and his smile is so pretty it should be considered a sin. Good boy vibes seep from every pore of his body. He and Brady should be best friends and go on some kind of rescue mission.
His smile falters the moment I say my name. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He nods as he speaks, his eyes somber. “I know I speak for everyone when I say we’ve all suffered a tremendous loss. Not as tremendous as yours, of course,” he adds quickly.
I nod and tell him thank you. It’s a perfunctory response if there ever was one.
I look to Ellie and smile. She attempts a smile, but it doesn’t quite make it. She has dark brown hair nearly the exact shade as mine, and eyes that are even darker.
“I don’t expect you to remember me, Ellie, but—”
“Elliot,” she says in a strong, confident voice, glancing at her grandmother, then back to me. Her voice takes me by surprise.
I feel some weird sense of pride that she’s not afraid to correct a stranger. Extending a hand, I say, “Elliot, it’s—”
“It’s Ellie, really. Not Elliot,” Wilma interrupts, a shred of annoyance in her voice.
Elliot’s mouth sets into a grim line, and I picture her retort bouncing around inside her mouth.
“Well, my name is Lennon, and it’s not Lenny or anything like that. Just Lennon.”
Elliot’s frown slips and her lips form a semblance of a smile. She sets her hand in mine and shakes it with the strength of a full-grown human. “You were my Sunday school teacher when I was little.”
“Yep.” I nod.
“You counted my crackers for me.”
I laugh. “I was just telling your grandma about that, and also—”
“Ellie, let’s let Lennon do what she came here to do.” She places a hand on Elliot’s forearm and eyes her meaningfully.
Elliot’s eyes widen. “Oh, right.” She looks at me like she wants to say more, but her discomfort is evident.
I squeeze her shoulder lightly. “It was good to see you again, Elliot. You’ve grown into a lovely young woman.”
I turn my attention back to Pastor Thomas, so I can accomplish what I came here for.
Taking a deep breath, I say, “Arrangements need to be made for my mother. Can you help me get them started?”
