As the engine sprang to life, a shadow fell across her windshield and a knock sounded on the window. Turning her head, May gasped at Pastor Denny Ledbetter standing at the window, making signals with his hand indicating that she should roll down the glass.

He wore a gray short-sleeved shirt with crisscrossed golf clubs embroidered in white across the pocket, and he was smiling. “Come to see me, May?”

Unwittingly, May nodded. Her throat was dry. Words fled.

“Well then, open your door, and let’s go on up to the office.”

Where the strength came from, she did not know, but she managed to slide from the car and walk alongside Denny up the paved pathway beside the church. The afternoon sun behind tall pines in the nearby cemetery cast long shadows across the concrete walkway. Ahead she could see Denny’s cottage, where he had lived with Pastor Johnson before the old pastor passed away several years ago. May had been inside that cottage once to pay respects to the ailing Pastor Johnson, and her mind filled with the memory of wood-paneled walls, a redbrick fireplace, plaid throws cast casually over the arms of chairs, and the welcoming, cozy feel of the place.

Pastor Denny opened the door to his office and stepped back to allow her inside. “What a gorgeous day, eh?” He flipped the light switch and turned on the window air conditioner. He waved his hand. “It’s more than a bit stuffy in here. I had a christening earlier in the church. Then I rushed off for a round of golf with Grace’s Bob and his friend Martin. If you’d gotten here five minutes earlier, you’d have missed me. I just got back.” He looked at her and smiled. “You look very nice today. What can I do for you, May?”

Encouraged, May sank into the armchair in front of his teak desk, a gift from the women’s auxiliary last Christmas. The desk replaced the old army-issue gray-metal desk that had served Pastor Johnson for so many years. The auxiliary had also painted the office a pleasant shade of yellow, not too bright, not too saturated or mustard colored. Pastor Johnson’s prints of local waterfalls remained on the walls, and on many a day, when the question put to her by Denny required deep consideration, May had focused on these prints. They helped her relax.

Denny pulled out his green leather chair, sat, and looked at her. “Well. What’s on your mind?”

May felt the urge to use the ladies’ room. She needed time, and words that would not come. She reached for a Kleenex from a box on his desk, blew her nose, and concentrated on a waterfall. “You’ve never married?” May asked. What a stupid thing to ask, and so rude. If he gets up and walks out, I deserve it.