“So,” Finley continued, “I think it would be healthy to add quiet time to our work routine so that we can all enjoy a few moments to pray or meditate. It’s centering to take a mental break.”

“No,” Luke said, impressed with himself for not using an expletive before the no.

“Not a problem,” she said without missing a beat. “This is absolutely voluntary.”

“I love to pray,” Trish said.

“I already meditate for twenty minutes a day,” Kat announced. “It enhances self-awareness and promotes emotional health.”

“Exactly.” Finley smiled. “I love prayerful meditation.” She handed mats to the women, then flicked off the lights.

Finley, Trish, and Kat sat cross-legged on the floor.

“Luke,” Finley said, “this posture is great for focusing on your breath.”

“You know what I like about my breath? The fact that I don’t have to focus on it.”

She selected a track on her phone that sounded like monks slowly singing uh-oh over and over again. In a calm voice, Finley talked about closing the eyes and expanding the ribs and emptying the lungs and a lot of other mumbo-jumbo.

Luke stared at her incredulously, wondering if he was being pranked. Maybe Finley was a YouTube celebrity who recorded herself fooling unsuspecting people.

He did his best to return to work and even tapped on the keys to let Finley know that at least one of them was spending time productively.

In truth, he wasn’t spending it productively. Because how was he supposed to follow a thought under these conditions?

He could tell by Finley’s earnest expression that she was praying.

He’d done the whole church thing when he was a kid. He’d gone to Sunday school and sung songs in worship services. His parents had driven him to youth group events and Bible studies. He’d been on a mission trip when the earthquake struck.

It’s not that he didn’t think there was a God. He still did. It’s just that Luke had lost his faith in Him, along with everything else in his life, when Ethan died.

In the years since, his decisions and mistakes had pushed him further and further from God.

He had the disorienting thought that maybe this wasn’t his real, actual life. Maybe he’d lost his mind while in prison and his body was still there. Just a few months ago, he’d been wearing a jumpsuit and waiting in line at the penitentiary’s cafeteria. That had been real. That had been his life.

Now he was at an animal rescue center in Misty River, surrounded by women on yoga mats, one of whom was so beautiful she stole his breath.

How could this be real? How could this be his life?

CHAPTER SIX

I’m going to turn off up here,” Luke said to Finley the following afternoon.