“I’m sure something was deep,” Helen mutters.
I cover my mouth and snort, causing some of the parishioners to turn and glare at me. Oh yes, I’m fair game, whereas Helen and her friends aren’t. Another round of amusement comes from the group of ladies to my left who are busy whispering about this week’s smut book—in a house of God. I send up a prayer that the good Lord isn’t listening.
We are halfway into the service when my bag vibrates against my leg. Luckily, the Pastor’s exuberant preaching about wayward grandsons returning home and likening them to the Prodigal Son blocks out the noise. I slide it out of the bag, intending to turn it off, but my gaze catches on the message.
Fox
Enjoying the sermon?
Cleo
It’s certainly interesting.
Fox
I particularly like the part about the wayward grandson.
My eyes round and dart around the room, but there’s no dark and broody bodyguard hidden among the church-goers.
Cleo
Where are you?
Fox
I want my truth.
Cleo
I’m in a church. Pretty sure all I have are truths.
Fox
Make an excuse to leave, and come to the entrance.
Cleo
No.
Fox
Live a little.
Cleo
We did plenty of that last night.
Fox
Don’t mention last night unless you are willing to get up and leave.
Cleo
You aren’t even here. Pastor Peel is always talking about wayward grandsons, you aren’t the hottest news in Red Lake.
I fidget in my seat, the answering throb an echo of what he made me feel last night.
Fox
