Eleven
Thursday afternoon arrived. After the noon mass, a van with a satellite dish emblazoned with the call letters and logo of Katherine Shepp’s television station pulled into the driveway of the rectory. Shepp got out and walked towards me, hair perfectly coiffed and wearing a light blue dress. She smiled that same perfect smile I noticed when I first met her.
After we exchanged pleasantries, I said, “You’re a little early,” I said. I hadn’t even had time to change out of my vestments. “We said 2:00 p.m.”
“Oh, I know,” Shepp said. “We’re going to shoot some B-reel.”
“B-reel?”
“Yes, shots we can use to illustrate the report,” she explained. “We want shots of the exterior of the church, you walking to the front, of you inside—”
I shook my head. “Not inside, no.”
“Really? W
