Page 40 of Thin Lives

But he didn't know.

He didn’t know any of it.

And little by little, with every day that passed her by, Emma found she was losing those pieces that reminded her they had existed once.

Just like the rosary.

All too soon, Emma knew … there would be nothing left.

Still, as she stared at the rosary, she couldn’t deny the urge to give it back to its rightful owner. To put it back where it started, and let it make its way home.

The rosary had served its purpose. It comforted her. It gave her hope. It grounded her.

But it still wasn’t hers.

And she thought maybe … just maybe … Father Day would like to have his rosary back.

Emma quickly leaned over the coffin, and grabbed hold of Father Day’s cold, unmoving hand. She lifted it, and put the rosary over top his other hand before laying his palm down on it again. The black beads tangled around the cross he held, while the golden cross attached to the rosary was hidden between his hands.

“Thank you,” Emma said, straightening back up again. “Thank you for giving me sanctuary.”

She hadn’t found the road that Father Day said she would.

Not yet.

But the lingering faith she had wouldn’t let Emma go.

For that, she was grateful.

With one last quick goodbye, Emma made her way out of the private room, intent on finding her husband and then a pew to sit in. As it was, she had been standing for too long.

She was twenty-six weeks along in her pregnancy. It was nothing more than a miracle that she had made it this long without her cervix weakening and putting her into early labor.

She wasn’t supposed to be on her feet like this.

Nonetheless, she felt like she had to do this today. She owed it to the priest.

Right outside of the private room, Emma froze, finding Calisto standing off to the side. He was leaning against the wall, and staring at an intricate, rich-colored tapestry hanging off a curtain rod just outside of the confessional room. He didn’t seem to notice her presence, but he must have known she had been in paying her respects, or he would have interrupted her.

Emma didn't say a thing—she took that moment to just stare at Calisto when he didn’t know she was doing it. He looked more like the old him before his accident than he had in a long while. His suit jacket was tossed over his arm, and the sleeves of his silk dress shirt had been rolled up to the elbows.

A clear sign he was stressed.

The strong lines of his face were darkened in his frown, and it was impossible not to see the pain flickering in his eyes.

Emma thought most times, Calisto often looked confused. She didn’t think anyone else knew it, because he hid it well, but she saw it. Like he was staring around at his world and knowing something wasn’t right, but still being unable to make it better.

Between the fingers of his right hand, he twirled an unlit cigarette.

In his left, he held the rosary she had given him last Christmas.

“Cal?” Emma asked.

Calisto barely acted like Emma had startled him as he turned to glance at her. “Afternoon, Emma.”

“You can go on in.”

He didn’t move. “In a minute. But thanks.”