As she drove north on the highway, May considered what this problem would be: she should have given it more thought before starting out. Now she had to make up something about Billie or her mother, Ida, or a situation at work. As a liar, May had failed many a test. June, bless her, could lie with a straight face and her eyes wide open and innocent. But not May. Oh, no! She’d sputter and turn red-cheeked and get all teary, and she’d been the one who’d taken many a whipping from their father’s belt when they were young.

She had no right to want to see and be with Denny Ledbetter. She an ignorant women and he an educated churchman. And then there was the age difference. Where did she come to think that he could be the slightest bit interested in her? Certainly not because he spoke to her in a voice as soft and gentle as lovers spoke to each other in movies. Wasn’t a kind voice and gentle manner the way a pastor would speak to anyone he counseled?

May glanced down at her hand on the steering wheel, at the faded place where her wedding band had been, and her stomach lurched. The closer she got to Covington and Pastor Denny, the more May’s insides quivered. She knew that when she saw him, she would, as she always did, ache to reach over and touch his hand. But she would squeeze her fingers together hard, so as not to make a perfect fool of herself.

Denny Ledbetter’s office door was slightly ajar. May hung back in the shadows of the hall, feasting her eyes on his slim form, his light brown hair falling forward in his eyes, the tip of his tongue visible between his lips as he concentrated on his typing. She knocked ever so lightly.

Denny smiled at her, pushed back his chair, and rose to greet her. “How are you, May? Come in. Sit down.”

May slid into one of two brown leather chairs. “This is our last time together?” she asked. Well, I messed that up, didn’t I? I couldn’t even think up a reasonable lie to keep coming.

“Unless you have something else you’d like to talk about.”

“You’ve helped me so much, and I thank you.”

“It’s been my pleasure. When will your divorce be final, May?”

“Six weeks.” She brightened. “I was hoping I could come see you until it’s over, until I go to court for my final papers. I can hardly sleep from the worry of it.”

“I don’t see why not, if you think it would help.”

Relief swept over her. “Oh, yes, it would help so much. Thank you.” And now I can’t think of a thing to say. “Funny. My mind’s gone blank.”