The Letter Had This Week’s Postmark

Then he nodded once. “We’ll be close.”

St. Agnes was a small brick church with a side garden and a sagging white sign out front missing the S in Blessing. Friday fish fry listed underneath in crooked letters. The place smelled like lemon polish and old hymn books.

We went in through the side door.

No choir.

No crowd.

Just the low hum of window units and continue reading …