Page 13 of Veil of Silence

She’d been wrong.

Nora had always prided herself on having good judgment. There were very few things she could count on in her life, but that had been one of them.

Not anymore.

The loss felt almost physical.

So now, when she looked at Christian and something didn’t add up, when her instincts screamed that something was wrong—how could she trust that instinct? Jacob had seemed trustworthy too. He’d been good at it.

Maybe her judgment had been broken all along and she was just now finding out.

Before her thoughts could stray any further, Nora climbed out with her bag.

Shelby’s house sat at the end of a short gravel drive. A trampoline tilted sideways in the yard, and two pumpkins flanked the porch steps. Someone had drawn faces on them with black marker. One looked angry. The other had eyelashes.

The front door opened before Nora reached it.

“I was determined to get the door before you had to knock.” Shelby held it open with one hand while tugging down the sleeve of her sweatshirt with the other. “Come in.”

She was a few years younger than Nora. Today, without makeup, with shadows beneath her eyes and pale skin, her exhaustion showed.

“You’re supposed to be resting, not racing me to the front door.” Nora stepped inside and slipped off her shoes. “How’s the incision?”

“Sore.” Shelby hesitated. “I may have overdone it a little.”

“What did you do?”

“I went to prayer meeting last night.”

Nora stared at her. “Five days after surgery?”

“I mostly sat. Dale drove us there and back, and everybody made sure I didn’t lift anything.”

“You still could have stayed home.”

“I know, but Preston wanted to go.” Shelby glanced toward her son. “Since the divorce, half the men at church have tried to step in for him. Not replace his father, exactly. Just make sure he has decent men around. They’ve all been good to Preston. He loves being there.”

Nora understood that. It still didn’t make attending prayer meeting five days after surgery a great idea.

“Next time, let them bring prayer meeting to you.”

“I’m beginning to understand that.”

Nora followed her into the living room. Preston lay on his stomach in front of the coffee table, driving a red Matchbox car along the edge of a coloring book. Nora taught his Sunday school class and had always liked the boy.

“Hey, Preston.”

“Hi, Miss Nora.” His car went airborne over a stack of crayons.

Nora set her bag on the couch. “Excellent stunt work.”

That earned her a glance. “It can jump four crayons.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Four?”

“Five if I make the ramp higher.”

“Sounds dangerous.”