I kept my face as blank and cold as the concrete under my shoes.

He stumbled his way through the prayer, mispronouncing the name of Evelyn’s hometown in East Texas.

A ring of sweat spread around his white collar, all the way to the cotton seam.

“Lord, we ask you to wrap your arms around this house,” he whispered into the brass microphone.

The microphone gave a shrill squeal that made the organist jump on her wooden bench.

Higgins jerked back, his face going as red as a ripe beet, and pinched the corners of his glasses again.