because she stopped and shuffled into the room. “Everything all right?”
God almighty. My legs, my hip, my head. And my heart. The sharpness from last night had subsided, evolved, mutated, and was now a dull ache with a wide footprint. Bearable but bothersome. “Fine, thank you. Saying my morning prayers, is all.”
Her voice pitched up in disbelief. “You pray?”
I grimaced, manually placing each leg over the side of the bed. “Don’t sound so surprised, Sherri. I come to Shabbat and chapel when we have them. You’ve seen me there.”
“But I’ve never heard you pray.”
“I’ve never heard you go to the restroom, but I suspect you do anyhow.” She didn’t act surprised by this stab, making me feel like the asshole I was. After rubbing my fists in my eyes and shaking off the last remaining sleep, I said, “I do it in my head mostly.”
“Except today?”
I exhaled and took a break from trying to stand. “What is this, Sherri, the Inquisition?”
“I was only asking in case you’d like to pray together. It’s been a long week, with Charles passing and Agnes leaving, and I heard you and Carl have a tough trip to make today. I’ve already prayed for you, but when two or three are gathered in His name, there He is also.” She straightened her breakfast robe.
We appraised each other. The last time I prayed out loud was at my final AA meeting, and it wasn’t the deep, honest moment it should’ve been. The Serenity Prayer always culminated AA’s formal proceedings, and during it I remember having scooted out of my chair in the back so I could beat everyone to the coffee carafe. I stirred in cream and said whatever words didn’t interfere with getting my caffeine fix. God, grant me the serenity to accept—sip—I cannot change—more sugar, stir—courage to change—sip—the wisdom to know the difference. Sip, sip, sip. Amen.
“Well,” I said finally, “I guess there’s no harm in it.”
This pleased her, and she shambled forward, standing close enough to take my hand. Her fingers were warm, her touch gentle. She dipped her chin so that I was staring into the shiny, bald crown of her head. I closed my eyes dutifully and waited for whatever came next, peeking up when it took too long to get going.
Sherri’s brow, folded into a dozen pleats, made praying look like hard work. I’d forgotten this part: the burden of collecting all your troubles and apologies and gratitude into one place. Maybe that’s why I didn’t do it often. But now, before I could help myself, there it all was. Everything in a moment. Forgiveness for me. Sobriety for Josie. Strength for Carl. A lucky break for Anderson. A chance with Alice. A raise for Nora. A new job for Luann. A heart for Sharon. And a new zip code for Bates. Better yet, a new continent.
“Do you want to speak first?” Sherri whispered.
I did but couldn’t. There was too much. She’d tapped at a cracked dam and broken it. My heart swelled, burned even, like last night. “I’m saying them in my head.”
She grimaced, frustrated by our backward progress. “Try.”
Knowing she wouldn’t let me go until I gave it a whirl, I decided on something benign and easy to put into words. The perfect wind from my dream. “I pray for good weather.” It sounded like a petition from a child. A sturdy silence followed it until eventually Sherri realized I had nothing more to add.
She drew a deep breath and spoke collectively. “Lord, help us weather all things by aligning the desires of our hearts with yours. Make it so in your good time, in Jesus’s name we pray—”
“Amen,” I said, relieved. I couldn’t handle the weight of it all anymore.
“I’m not done yet.”
Anderson rounded the corner and stopped midstride. He wore a black suit, something I wouldn’t have guessed he even owned. It brought out the angles in his jawline and the broadness in his shoulders. The suit suited him.
“What are you guys doing?” he asked.
“We’re praying,” Sherri said.
“We were praying,” I corrected, sliding my hand from hers