Page 53

I grab my purse, slip on my shoes, and take one last look around my apartment.

My stomach still flips.

I’m still nervous.

But I reach for the doorknob anyway.

The church parking lot is only half full when I pull in.

Its only 9 and service doesn’t start until nine-thirty.

Perfect.

Being early has always been my preferred form of anxiety management. I’d rather sit in my car for twenty minutes than feel rushed for two.

I grab my Bible, tuck my purse over my shoulder, and make my way toward the front doors.

The familiar scent of coffee greets me almost immediately.

People stand in little circles throughout the lobby, laughing and catching up before service. A cluster of women near the welcome desk. Two dads balancing toddlers and to-go cups. An older couple holding hands like they’ve done it for decades.

Everyone belongs to someone.

For a second, I wonder what it would feel like to know these people. To walk in and have a circle of my own to fold into.

Maybe in six months.

I tighten my grip on my Bible and follow the hallway toward the auditorium.

One step at a time.

Halfway down the hall, something slips from between the pages of my Bible.

My folded piece of notebook paper.

It flutters to the floor.

“Oh.”

I crouch to grab it.

At the exact same moment, someone comes barreling around the corner and clips my shoulder.

“Ow!”

I look up.

A boy stumbles back a step, more surprised than hurt. Maybe nine or ten.

Messy brown hair.

Gap-toothed grin.

I swear I know that face.

“Oh my goodness.” I reach out instinctively. “Are you okay?”

He looks down at his shoes, checks them for damage, then nods.