I’M STILL TRYING TO erase the image of Nate in a towel from my memory when I knock on the Conways’ door.
I’m surprised when Dan answers. He seems equally surprised to see me. “Father Tom, hi! Were . . . were we expecting you? Miriam didn’t tell me before she left.”
“No, and I’m sorry for not calling, Dan,” I say, “but I was out anyway and I thought I’d stop by and check on the little patient for a few minutes.”
Dan smiles. “Helen was nice to give me the day off. Frankly, I think she thinks she can clear Gladys single-handedly. But I won’t complain.”
“Well, if this is a bad time—”
“Father, when you have four kids five and under at home, there’s no such thing as a good time,” he laughs. “Come on in.”
I step inside a well-lived in and well-loved home. The living room is a minefield of t
