Sarah fingered Frank’s prayer beads as she stood at the sliding glass door. She looked out at the morning sunshine frosting the blooming wisteria on the back pergola. It had been a year since she returned home, back to the life she’d left behind, yet she didn’t feel at home, nor had the daily routines she once went about casually, come easily. In her fingers, Frank’s burnished prayer beads wheeled around, bead by bead. They’d replaced her rosary, and they never left her side. As for God, she’d made her truce with Him, but she hadn’t set foot in His house since she returned. She just wasn’t ready yet. The sting of unanswered prayers had lessened, but there were moments late at night, when the emptiness of a shattered future crept in.
The coffeemaker gurgled, then dinged behind her. Soon, R
