“What a gift,” Sister Eleanor cooed. “The welcoming of a child is a joyous thing indeed. If you just go past here and turn, you’ll see the candles there. I’ll say a prayer of my own for your sister and her baby. May God bless them and keep them.”

“Thank you,” I said, turning to face her so I could sneak a look back at the confession booth just as the door opened.

Angelika slinked out, adjusting her skirt, followed by Jordan, hands adjusting his pants. In the midst of rehearsing the brimstone speech I was about to lash them with—I mean, serious, scorched earth, end of days tongue lashing—she reached back for his hand with the deepest affection in her eyes. And he returned it with adoration, the connection between them visible, palpable, even from across the room.

Stunt or no stunt, sinners or snakes, those assholes had found love. Real, honest love. A deep thrum of longing plucked in my chest. I sighed, the sound heavy with dreams lost and wishes I’d never have fulfilled.

Sister Eleanor watched me, worried. “Are you all right, dear?”

“I will be. Thank you, Sister.”

She patted my arm. “Of course,” she said before shuffling away.

Angelika and Jordan stepped up to the back of the Femmes, their absence unnoticed by everyone, except Natasha, who wore a look of disdain. She had something equally disdainful to say, judging by Angelika’s reaction to whatever she muttered. Sister Marilla was still going on—if I had to guess, about the organ. And with a quick moment to spare and the sense that I needed a beat, I ducked into the nook where the candles waited, glimmering in the dark.

Flickering flames in amber glass, a vision from a dream, the quiet to calm my screaming nerves. It took only a second, maybe two, before calm washed over me.

An absent hand slipped into my purse, returning with a bill I folded and slid into the donation box. A taper in my fingers, I stepped to the row, finding an unlit candle. I wasn’t a religious woman, ruled more by logic than anything, and faith seemed far away, a fanciful feeling. But there in reverent silence, I lit a candle, watched the wick catch fire, felt the tranquility of intention as I wished for peace of my own. And then, I placed the taper where it belonged, smoking in wait for the next soul who needed saving.

10

Sausage, Please

LILA