Page 139 of Halo

I turn in my seat. “For the record,” I whisper, “I appreciate the handsome vote. The rest could probably wait until Leah’s out of earshot.” I wink before shifting back around and wrapping my arm around Leah’s shoulders.

She scoots closer, patting my thigh as she beams up to me. “Thank you,” she says softly.

“I figured flogging fellow parishioners would be frowned upon.”

She giggles, relaxing into my side.

The final amen rolls through the sanctuary before the band carries everyone into one last song. By the time the last chord fades, people are already spilling into the aisles, collecting purses and Bibles while conversations rise around us.

Leah barely makes it three feet before someone catches her.

I hang back as she hugs an older couple, answers questions from one of the kids who found her earlier, and promises another woman she’ll call her sometime this week. Every few steps, somebody else stops her. She gives each of them the same attention, even the ones who were staring when we walked in.

While she’s occupied, I tip my head back. The sanctuary has more lighting fixtures than I noticed earlier, several mounted along tracks overhead with others positioned around the stage.

“Pretty extravagant, huh?” Leah rejoins me, nodding to the ceiling.

“It's something, that's for sure. Do they only host the one service in here, and then that's it? No more church?”

“Here in the sanctuary? Pretty much. They have two morning services, Sunday night service, and then Wednesday night service.”

“Jesus … shit—I mean, not shit. Damn it.” I rub the back of my neck.

A humored Leah covers her mouth.

I continue. “Are there other, like … committees or groups? Like isn't there Sunday School?”

“Yep. They meet in classrooms around the building. Would you like a tour?”

I tuck my hat beneath my arm. “Am I allowed? Don't I need to be sworn in or wear special under garments?”

She laugh, shaking her head. “So we're not Mormon. And no, you don't need to take an oath to see the building.” She reaches for my hand and laces our fingers together. “C’mon, Cowboy.”

I let her lead me toward a side door near the stage, watching the last few people disappear into the foyer behind us.

“Does this tour include the mysterious empty swimming pool?”

She looks over her shoulder. “You mean the baptistry?”

My eyes blink in surprise. “I have been on this planet for forty years, and I'm fairly certain I have never heard that word.”

She chuckles. “It's where we baptize people. We fill it with water and dunk ‘em.”

“So it is a pool.”

She rolls her eyes. “Let's go.”

Leah guides me around the campus, showing me the choir room, nursery, children’s wing, and a state-of-the-art sound booth. There’s even a soundproof room for new mothers who want to stay close to the service without a crying baby becoming part of the sermon.

Eventually, she leads me through another door. “And this—” Leah dramatically sweeps her arm inside—“is your swimming pool.”

I laugh as I follow her onto a narrow platform lined with coat hooks. A set of stairs descends into the empty basin, which is surprisingly small, maybe the size of two hot tubs pushed together.

“Huh.”

“Impressed?” She looks out into the sanctuary, the lights now turned off and most of the pews sitting empty below us. Without the music, flashing lights, and hundreds of people filling the room, the place feels completely different from up here.

“Deeply.”