My hands were black with damp soil, but I didn’t stop to wipe them on my apron.

I reached out with my foot and kicked a pile of loose gravel across the face of the stone, burying its blank gray surface completely.

The heavy oak door of the church office clicked open, and Pastor Glenn Higgins came out onto the back porch.

He straightened his glasses by the corners with both hands, then cleared his throat twice before stepping down onto the gravel path.

“Ona,” he called, his voice thin in the open yard.