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“Amen,” Bo and I say in unison.
For a few minutes, the only sounds in the room are forks against plates and Bo explaining why mashed potatoes taste better when you mix them with corn.
“We had a good service this morning,” Dottie says as she reaches for the gravy.
“Yeah? Sorry I missed it.”
I mean it. I always do. There’s something about walking into New Chapter on a Sunday morning that sets me right in a way a day off never quite manages.
“Bo went to his class this morning.” She says it lightly, but she catches my eye when she does, because we both know some weeks that doesn’t happen.
“We learned about David and Goliath.” Bo shrugs like it’s nothing.
I look at him. “Oh yeah? That’s a good one.”
Dottie spoons more green beans onto my plate before she looks up again.
“Pastor Jack gave everybody a challenge this morning. Show up every Sunday for six months, and get into a real community instead of doing life on your own.”
“Sounds like Pastor Jack.” And I mean it as the compliment it’s meant to be. “I hope people actually take him up on it. I hope it lights a fire in the ones who’ve been coming in and going through the motions for years.”
“You’re off next Sunday,” she adds. Not a question. Dottie keeps my schedule better than I do.
“I am.”
“Good. Bo likes it when you’re there.” A beat. “So do I.”
“I’ll be there,” I say.
And I mean it. I always mean it.
Working every third day means the job takes a Sunday from me here and there, and I hate the ones it takes. I sit in the recliner at the station with the service streaming on my phone and earbuds in between calls, singing under my breath in a room that smells like burnt coffee.
The off Sundays, I don’t miss.
Dottie raised me in that building. It held me up the year everything fell apart, back when I couldn’t hold myself up. So when I’m off, I’m there.
Bo insists on two stories before bed.
One is about a bear who eats pancakes.
The other somehow ends with the hamster becoming a superhero.
Neither of them makes much sense.
He falls asleep before the second one is over anyway.
I stand there for another minute, watching his chest rise and fall beneath the dinosaur blanket before pulling the door almost shut.
Dottie has already gone to bed.
The dishwasher hums somewhere in the kitchen.
I brush my teeth, turn off the hallway light, and finally climb into my own bed.
The mattress has never felt better.
I stretch out on my back, letting the weight of the day settle into it for a minute before reaching for my phone on the nightstand.
