Having filled with the warm scent of wax candles, Frank’s eyes adjusted to the low light of the room. Breathing in, he tried to calm his nerves, and lowered his eyes again. Somewhere in the room, another chair creaked and his eyes sprung open again. Sighing, he shifted in his own seat, accidentally nudging Ruth next to him on the couch. He felt her fingers graze his hand, and she fragilily squeezed, as she leaned into his shoulder and whispered, “It’s just a prayer meeting. It’s not even a drop in the bucket compared to your destiny.” She pulled her frail and withered hand away from his and slipped a Rosary into his grasp.
© Megan Singer