James doesn’t ask which ones. Everyone knows. “They are, it’s true. But you aren’t that kid anymore.”

“I’m not ready to forgive him,” I tell him.

“You already know how I feel about that.”

“I might hit him.”

James cracks a smile. “If I had two minutes, I would most definitely kick Drew in the balls.”

“You’re not a very good pastor,” I say.

“I keep telling them that. I think worship leaders slash youth pastors willing to work for nothing are hard to come by.”

“Are you going to marry Dani?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Are you dating my niece?” he fires back.

“As long as she’ll have me.”

He grins. “Me, too.”

He gets to his feet and holds out a hand. “I have to get this stuff cleaned up. Why don’t you head over to my place; Meg will be worried.”

“I thought you said Brian told you?”

“No, I told you he didn’t. But Meg did. Saw your bike.”

“So she sent you?”

“So she mentioned it, and I left. I know. I’m not as cute as my niece, but she can’t play guitar.”

“Actually, she might. I’ve never asked. But she sang for her worship band back in Ann Arbor.”

James freezes. “Really?”

“Easy, Pastor. She may not like that I told you that. She’s not ready.”

He scratches his neck. “I might have picked up on the hesitation.”

“Have you?” I waver over saying more, but all these exposed emotions have got me feeling protective. “Listen, James. However hesitant she seems to you, she’s probably a hundred times more than that in actuality.”

James looks thoughtful but doesn’t respond.

“So, what are you going to do?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

“You could always reach out to him.”

“I don’t think so.”

James’s expression is pained. “Maybe he’s afraid to reach out. Of you rejecting him.”

“Maybe. But I’m worth that much, you know? I’m not chasing him down.”

“Fair enough. Can I pray for you?”

He means right now. He means for us to sit in a pew and bow our heads together. I move for the doors and open the first, still facing James, and slip on my sunglasses, palming my keys. “Sure,” I say. “Thank you.” And I walk out.

17

Meg

“Okay, but did Jesus have a girlfriend?”

“Um, no.”

“What about Mary Magdalene?”

I smother a smile. “Just how many times have you read Dan Brown’s collective works?”

Carolyn rolls her eyes in the way a fourteen-year-old girl does. I pass her an Oreo.

“Here. Take this instead. A peace offering for a ridiculous question.”

“I thought there were no ridiculous questions in youth group,” Maddy pouts. I pass her an Oreo, too.

“There aren’t,” I agree, but I hold up a finger. “Except ones I’ve already answered a hundred times.”