“...Amen.”

I whisper the final word of the new priest’s prayer under my breath.

At the altar, Father Martins makes a sign of the cross. The congregation stands, their pews creaking as people begin to stream toward the exit.

My father rushes up to the altar rail, leaning in to whisper something to the new priest.

I glance around the nave.

Mrs. Monroe is waiting near the back, looking poised and impatient. Her so-called aide is nowhere in sight.

A few rows over, another woman lingers with her arms crossed over her chest.

They're the same people who were frowning the other day. Now they're waiting behind to meet him,...