Kiera leaned back in her chair, considering. I was ready for that, too.

“See?” I raised my hands wide as if framing a huge neon sign that read, “First Missionary Crew Knows Purity.”

The flyer was folded under my laptop. I pulled the slip free and passed it to Jameer, who skimmed it, then passed it to Kiera.

“It’s at Commonwealth University? That’s an hour and some change from here,” Kiera said.

“Exactly.” I grinned, finally reaching my closing point. “Road trip.”

We had to get into the sanctuary for service before I could nail either of them down on a definitive answer. They both agreed to think about it, and I had a sense Jameer saw the beauty of my plan, even if he knew my ulterior motives. Regardless of why I was orchestrating this trip, it would get him away from his house, and Green Creek, for a few hours.

So, I felt good when I settled into the pew next to Mom, who beamed with all sorts of parental pride over the eager beaver routine that got me to church early that morning. I was even in a decent mood through all the announcements, and prayers, and overly long selections from the choir. My mood soured significantly when Newsome motioned toward the front pew while the choir wooh-wooh-wooed through their last selection.

A familiar, but at the same time surprising, face rose above the heads of the congregation members between me and her.

Her name was Tavia Roberts. A Baby-Getter. One of the few who hadn’t blown up a baby daddy with the BabyGettersToo hashtag. She hadn’t come back to school yet, so seeing her here for the first time since before summer felt extra wrong, like she needed directions to where she was actually supposed to be.

She took a few steps toward the short staircase that would put her at Newsome’s podium, hesitated, looked to a silver-haired woman I didn’t know. Her grandma, maybe? The old lady rocked a sleeping infant, and prodded her along with a flicking hand motion, the way people shoo flies. Tavia continued her slow march, each time she lifted her leg to take the next step looking like her feet were five-hundred-pound lead blocks beneath her floor-length flower-print dress.

Newsome pulled his mic free of its holder, said, “We have a homecoming today, family. A hard homecoming, but a homecoming just the same.”

Something in those words, they triggered an eerie premonition, and my gaze was drawn to Jameer like he had his own gravity. He didn’t look at me though; he was locked on to what was happening at the font, like everyone else. My attention skirted back there too, but even before Newsome spoke again, I knew what this was.

Bare your soul.

“Young Sister Tavia has come back to the Lord’s House. And we’re so grateful for that. Not only has she come back, but she has chosen to take the Lord’s word from Psalm 32:5 to heart. ‘Then I acknowledged my sin to you and did not cover up my iniquity. I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord.” And you forgave the guilt of my sin.’”