Walking into church next morning, Don almost expected to be struck down, just as Michael had been all those years ago. Was there accusation in the gaze of his fellow churchgoers? Or simply concern for the haunted appearance and dark-rimmed eyes Don had been unable to banish?
Don took his seat at the back of the hall and kept his head down, no doubt presenting an attitude of piety and devotion. The thought was a bitter one. He struggled to listen to the sermon—when had he ever been in more need of God’s guidance?—but the meaning of the preacher’s words trickled from his mind like holy water through a priest’s fingers at a baptism.
Robert, the church elder, came over at the end of the service, as Don was about to slip out without staying for coffee. “Don, I wonder, might I have a word?”
D
