Page 13 of Shadowing You

It was dark now, probably after midnight. Very few people were on the road.

Her legs were trembling. She needed a place to rest, but she didn’t dare go to a hotel.

She hadn’t eaten since the day before. She’d forgotten that she had the freedom to eat when she wanted. Now, it was too late. The few restaurants she passed were closed for the night.

There had to be a restaurant or kiosk open somewhere, but without a phone, how would she locate one? She’d have to wait until morning.

She’d survived hunger for six years. One more night wouldn’t kill her. But calories wouldn’t just fill her stomach. They’d fuel her mind. She used to be smart and quick-thinking. Not anymore, not for a long time.

She turned a corner and froze.

The building was older than those around it, tucked between a mobile phone shop and a shuttered restaurant. Above the entrance hung a small cross.

Jesus.

She’d been praying in the back of her mind, as she’d done for years. Was this an answer?

She staggered across the street and up the steps to the front door, hoping it would be unlocked.

It was.

Thank You.

She stepped inside a dim sanctuary and took in the rows of pews, the aroma of incense, the mustiness of old wood, and the peace that filled the house of God. It was like something from a different life.

She sat in the pew closest to the back. And then, she lay down, pulling her knees to her chest. She’d rest, just for a moment.

Something brushed her shoulder.

Mei Lin was scooting away before she was fully conscious, heart slamming against her ribs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.” A man came into focus, his voice calm. “You’re safe here.”

He looked a couple of decades older and had a slight build, wearing a dress shirt and slacks. He took a step back, one hand up. He repeated the same thing he’d said a moment before. “You’re safe here.”

Was he the pastor?

He lifted something from the pew behind and held it out. It smelled heavenly.

She peeked at the contents and guessed rice and vegetables.

“For you,” he said. “Please, eat.”

She only hesitated a moment before she took the bowl and the chopsticks and scooted toward the center of the pew.

The meal was delicious, not just rice and vegetables, but pork.

It was the meat that brought tears to her eyes.

The pastor settled into the pew beside her, facing the altar. When she’d had as much as her stomach would accept—less than she wanted but more than she’d eaten at one time in years—she set the bowl on the pew beside her and folded her hands in her lap.

“What brings you here?” His question was curious, as if they were chatting after a service, not in the middle of the night.

“I was on a train, but I had to get off before my stop.”

He nodded.

“I had somewhere else to be.”