Twenty-Three
LATE WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, I’m in my office, still trying to process what happened to me in the Applegates’ basement, when the Rectory doorbell rings.
I look at my calendar and realize a big question is about to be answered.
What does Gladys want to talk to me about?
When I open the door, she looks up at me. “Good morning, Father,” she says with a smile.
Which in and of itself is unusual. She usually calls me Dad in private, having adopted me some months ago as her surrogate father just as she’s adopted Helen as her surrogate mother. In public, she calls me Tom.
I can’t think of the last time she called me Father.
“Gladys,” I say. “Won’t you come in?”
I stand aside as she wheels past me into the hallway. I expect her to go into the living room, but instead she continues
