I MANAGE TO MAKE IT through dinner without getting mashed potatoes in my hair, bid my three dinner companions goodnight, and retire up to my bedroom. I text Helen:
I’m just exhausted, so I’m heading to bed. I’ll see you in the morning?
A moment later, she replies:
I’m heading home too. DNA came in. It’s not a match to Nate. Fraternal match to Ashley’s baby.
I stop at the top of the staircase, absorbing this latest bombshell, then text back:
So Ashley’s r****t was her unborn child’s half-brother? That means the r****t’s father was the father of the child. +JMJ
For Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
Helen replies:
Get some sleep, my darling. I love you. Good night.
I respond:
God bless you, my darling. Good night. I love you too.
I change out of my clericals and slip on my pajamas—black wit
