Sister Agnes stands in the doorway, holding a folder and looking concerned.
Oh good.
Witnesses.
“No, Sister, I'm not crying.”
“You sounded like you were crying.”
“I was negotiating with a spreadsheet.”
“Ah.”
The older nun nods solemnly.
“Those can be difficult.”
At least someone understands.
She steps into the room and settles into one of the tiny student chairs.
The sight of a grown woman squeezed into first-grade furniture should be funny.
I'm too stressed to appreciate it.
“How are things progressing?” she asks.
I make a face.
She makes the same face back.
Not encouraging.
“We've raised a little over twelve thousand.”
“That's wonderful.”
“It would be if we needed twelve thousand.”
Sister Agnes sighs.
I sigh.
The classroom itself sighs.
It’s contagious.
The new gym has been years in the making.
Years.
The current one is too small.
Too old.
Half the equipment belongs in a museum.
When it rains, there are buckets.
