Scott stopped attending mass after Rae’s death. Her funeral was the last time he ever set foot in a church, and on the way home from her service, he ripped the crucifix from his neck, breaking the 14-carat gold chain, and threw it out the window. In the back seat, Kimmy watched him with huge eyes and a low jaw, but she didn’t say a word.

When they were back home and Kimmy was out of earshot, Lisa said, “I wish you wouldn’t have done that.”

“Who cares? I’ll be glad if I never have to say any of those stupid prayers or see any of those stupid people ever again. Won’t you?”

Lisa was quiet for a bit, then she said, “I was actually thinking of going to mass tomorrow morning.”

Scott stared at her. “I thought you hated going. Spent the last twenty years complaining about it.”

“Today, what Father Patrick was saying about hope and the afterlife . . . it made me feel a little better.”

“That’s interesting,” Scott said, “because it made me want to puke.”

“I think you should keep that to yourself,” Lisa said. “It’ll confuse Kimmy. And throwing your crucifix out the window? Seems disrespectful.”

“Disrespectful? To who, exactly?”

“I don’t know. To God.”

Scott barked out a single guffaw. “So after twenty years of naysaying, you suddenly want to will Him into existence now to make yourself feel better? By all means, you go right ahead. Enjoy the fantasy.”

Lisa blinked. “You don’t mean that. You’ve believed in God your whole life.”

“Well, not anymore,” Scott said harshly. “And on the off-chance that I’m wrong and He does exist, well . . . good riddance.”

Scott grew quiet, and he watched his wife as she stared out the window, white sun on her cheeks, her posture low and weary, arms of cement.

“Lisa,” Scott said. He released a long exhale. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be difficult. It’s not you I’m mad at.”

“I know.”

Scott crossed the room to hug her. She rested her head against his.

Scott said, “You do whatever you need. That means going to mass, that’s fine and I’ll shut up about it. Whatever you need.”

Lisa nodded and caught delicate tears with the back of her index finger. “Same goes for you,” she said. “Whatever you need.”

Later that day, they asked Kimmy if she wanted to go to mass the next morning with her mother or stay home and cook breakfast with her father. Having never before been presented with this choice, she did not take it lightly. After mulling it over she decided that she would prefer to stay home.

So Lisa went to mass by herself, and she faithfully kept going by herself every single Sunday, not just to the service but to Sunday school as well, and she began to attend Wednesday-evening mass too. She never pressured Scott to join her, and he did not mock her newfound faith again.