The last time she’d attended a religious service was twenty years before in Indiana. That church had accomplished the diminution of humankind with a low-flying ceiling and a distinct lack of grandeur, helped along by the preacher’s endless repetitions of sin and unworthiness, and when everything in Mitch’s life fell apart and she stopped going from one Sunday to the next, she felt free and light—not unlike being in this tremendous structure with the organ breathing out notes that ricocheted every which way, that propagated through her like normal sound waves but set up a resonance under her skin that prompted her to gather Reginald’s hand in both of hers and squeeze so hard he flinched.
She hadn’t missed God in those decades away from the church, had found the something greater than herse
