Chapter 18: Tressa Stands Up

The closing on the thirtieth did not happen, and the buyer's lawyer sent a letter that Tressa's husband read standing up.

On the first Sunday of January, Gene wore his blue shirt to Our Savior Lutheran for the second time.

This time Neil walked in beside me.

He had put on a tie, and he looked dressed for his own audition.

"You don't have to sit with us," I whispered in the aisle.

"I know."

"People will talk."

"People have been talking since October." The crooked tooth showed. "I'd like to give them something accurate."

We took the second pew.

Behind us, a woman I didn't know leaned forward and whispered, "Is that the therapist?"

"He's off the case," said Gene's voice, from the tablet, at a volume that cleared two rows.

The pastor's wife stood in the doorway to the narthex with a stack of bulletins and her face very still.

Three months ago she had written Praying for you, Jenna under a post about me.

I had thought about that comment more than she knew.

When she handed me my bulletin, she held on for half a second.

"I'd like to talk to you after," she said. "If you'll let me."

"Okay."

Tressa came in late, in the grey dress, with her husband and the two children.

She did not sit in the front pew.

She sat three rows back, on the aisle, with her hands in her lap.

Rob's wife slid in beside her without being asked and took her coat.

The pastor read the psalm, and the announcements, and the casserole sign-up.

"Prayer requests," he said.

Tressa stood up before he had finished the word.

I saw her husband look at her, and then look straight ahead.

He put his hand on the pew in front of him to keep it from shaking.