Ten
THE NEXT MORNING, I check my phone for any news from the hospital. It’s before 7 a.m., so I don’t text Dan, thinking he’s probably still asleep. Instead, I dress and go to the church to offer up prayers of thanksgiving for Catherine’s recovery.
Inside, I see the altar already prepared for 8 a.m. Mass. I smile and look around the church to see Dominic Trent kneeling in a pew, his hands together in prayer and his eyes closed. Dominic is always the first one here on Sunday and the last to leave, making sure everything is in readiness for the Masses.
Usually he’s alone. Today, he has Sam Reynolds sitting with him. Sam’s another altar server who’s kind of Dominic's shadow, or right-hand man, depending on your perspective. His youngest brother was my first baptism at Saint Clare’s—really,
