Since the microwave was free, I dug into the walk-in and pulled out a leftover piece of quiche. I heated it up, scarfed it down, then walked upstairs to get dressed. I knew Father Pete was a diligent pastor … he hated cell phones, but he checked those emergency messages quite often. Which was a good thing, because I had a very important question to ask him.
From the excited voices emanating from Arch’s room, I could tell the boys were happily occupied. If I knew anything about my son, he’d found a stash of chips, candy, or both, in his room, and handed it around to his pals while they waited for the enchiladas to heat.
While I was finished getting dressed, Arch startled me by banging on the bedroom door. Had he already run out of snacks?
“Mom! Father Pete’s on the phone.”
“Could you as
