U. UR: HEATHER
“I heard it, Mac.” Katie was out of her seat. John turned right around, coming in with coffee.
There was something, but surely not laughter. No one here is likely to be laughing.
Outside, the summer stars hang in the night without moving.
A priest shouldn’t be at such a loss. I want Christ to rise into the sky like the sun. I want Chloe to be warmed by him, and sit up and really laugh.
But all I can do is walk over and put my big hands on Katie’s shoulders.
Half asleep, she jolts, looks up at me.
“It’ll be all right, Mac,” she whispers. As if I were the one whose daughter is dying.
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