“But let me get to what really matters to all of us here,” Arch said. “There’s been so much talk in recent years about how Nashville is booming, and how that’s good for us all. I want you to ask yourself: Has it been good for you? There has been so much growth. How have you felt that growth? Are your kids’ schools better than they were five years ago? Are your opportunities increasing as quickly as your taxes? Do you recognize your neighborhoods? Do you feel like we’re moving in the right direction?”

The crowd was restless. No one seemed to disagree. There was the usual talking-point bullshit. Then Arch did something Terrence and Rev Joseph were expecting, but which came to me as a complete surprise.

“I don’t think many of you know this,” he said, “but I’ve been to the Lighthouse before, many years ago. The occasion was the funeral of Mrs. Louella Robie, Terrence’s grandmother, one of the most loyal and faithful members of this congregation, for many years.”

I felt the pulse of the room quicken. I watched the faces of the parishioners, so as to avoid making eye contact with Arch. I could not help but look at Terrence, who met my gaze but did not break character. Perhaps he thought I knew this was coming.

“I think of Miss Louella often,” Arch said. “She worked hard all her life, took care of the people she loved, raised her kids alongside her husband, Carl, and then raised Terrence on her own after Carl passed. And she might as well have been a mother to the children of the families she served, and they loved her.”

Everything he said was true. Arch had been to the Lighthouse on the occasion of Lou’s funeral—to pick me up in the parking lot. He had, in fact, met Terrence then, and so neither of them could be accused of outright falsehood. Arch never knew Louella, but his description of her life was accurate, down to the name of her deceased husband and the basic narrative of Terrence’s childhood and the families for whom Lou had worked as a maid. If anyone remembered that funeral, they might recall seeing a white boy there who was a friend of Terrence’s, but would anyone remember that the white boy they saw was me and not Arch?

If they did, they weren’t going to say anything about it.

I tried not to glare as Arch finished up his little charade with a pitch about preserving neighborhoods and holding down the cost of housing and the usual talking points about the spirit of Nashville. When he was finished, he handed the microphone to Rev Joseph and sat back down. I leaned up from my seat behind him and whispered in his ear.

“You might have told me you were going to do that,” I said.

Arch glanced over his shoulder, bemused.