WE SPEND THE NEXT SEVERAL hours hoping, waiting, and praying. One by one, the members of the Acutis society return from giving blood, the bandage in the bend of their arm mute testimony to the small sacrifice each gave so Mae—or some other person in need—could have a chance at life. As they come, each stops by to ask if there’s any word.
“Not yet,” I say quietly. “You still need to pray.”
Gladys comes back and wheels herself over to the Trents. “Mr. and Mrs. Trent,” she says. “I’m Gladys Finklestein. I don’t believe we’ve met formally, but I’m a friend of Mae. I consider her my best friend in the parish—really, my best friend anywhere. I’ve been through a lot of stuff in my life, and I’ve been working to become a better person—a better Catholic. I—I just want to tell you that Mae, more t
