Eight
“ARE YOU READY FOR THIS?”
Helen looks at me as we approach the Applegates’ front door. Looking around, she takes my hand and gives it a squeeze.
“Ready?” she whispers with a grin. “I’m excited. I’ve been wanting to tell people since we found out. It’s just about killed me having to keep it to ourselves.”
“I know how you feel,” I say. “Sunday morning during my homily, I almost burst out singing when I looked at you.”
“Oh, no!”
“What?”
“My darling, you have many fine qualities, but you can’t sing.”
“What do you mean?” I say, offended that she’d remember after all these years. “I chant the Mass just fine.”
“That’s the Holy Spirit,” she chuckles. “On your own, you’re hopeless.”
I open my mouth to protest, but Helen’s already rung the doorbell.
***
AFTER A DELICIOUS MEAL—THE c
