I pushed away my lousy frame of mind and studied the pristine office, containing overflowing bookcases, family photos, and reflections of his faith.

“I appreciate you and Mrs. Emory conducting the counseling.”

He leaned back in his chair. “We’re glad to help.”

Dare I mention his check? Did his wife know about his generosity? The idea of coming between a pastor and his wife sounded deplorable, but I feared the damage had already occurred.

“Thank you for the funds to finance my small business. I’ll pay you back in installments, beginning at our next counseling session, around seventy dollars.”

“I’m not worried about repayment. The money was a gift to help you get started.”

“I think returning the money as soon as possible is commendable.” Mrs. Emory squared her shoulders. She’d be an attractive brunette if she would smile. “The gesture speaks well for rebuilding your reputation and future.”

Maybe they’d been stung by lending money in the past. “My thoughts exactly.”

“Ms. Pearce,” the pastor said. “Outside of a few hiccups, are you getting settled?”

“I’ve experienced good times and not-so-good.” I shared with him about James Peterson and how I valued his support as my parole officer. “My goal, and his too, is for me to beat the odds and weave my life into this community.”

“He’s active in the community, coaches Little League, and is on the school board.”

The info revealed a good man. “Sheriff Wendall has also been helpful.”

“Not like Officer Hughes?”

I refused to go there. “He’s concerned about his community and sister.”

“Ms. Pearce, let’s speak the truth here. While I must send an overview of our sessions to the parole board, I promise you our discussions are confidential. Randy Hughes isn’t on your side.”

“Yes, sir. Will he ever be?”

He sighed. “Doubtful, unless God gets ahold of him.”

His unspoken words aligned with Amy-Jo’s. I tried to pray for whatever misfortune had affected Officer Hughes, but until I could forgive him and mean it, the prayers wouldn’t surface. “Do you recommend I avoid Edie at church and stop the sibling arguments about me?”

“Have you asked her?”

“She insists our friendship is important. But we aren’t meeting in public.”

“Then you have your answer.” He opened a legal pad and scanned it. “You received severe beatings in prison, before and after you became a Christian.” Mrs. Emory gasped, and he took his wife’s hand. “I forgot to inform my wife about those.”

“I’m so sorry.” Mrs. Emory paled.

“Shelby was hospitalized four times with injuries from a gang,” the pastor said. “Broken bones and a concussion.”

“I . . . I was horrible when you entered the office.” She touched her mouth. “Please—”

“No need to apologize. I understand how I appear in light of my criminal record.” This part of the counseling I could handle. I explained the problems in prison were because I refused to admit knowledge of a crime I hadn’t committed, and I’d attempted to defend a young woman whom they had chosen to abuse. Other times were a refusal to be part of a gang and to avoid guards’ lewd advances.