When I had taken five steps closer, the afternoon sun through the high stained glass window fell across the left side of her face.

She gave me a small, uncertain smile, and the skin on her left cheek folded in, opening the very same deep dimple I had carried on my own face for seventy-two years.

“Well, I’ll be,” I whispered to myself.

Behind me, Pastor Higgins made a noise like a wet cough, but I didn’t stop or turn around to give him a look.

The organist hit a wrong note on the foot pedals, and the music broke off in the middle of a chord, leaving the tall room completely silent except for the squeak of my shoes on the floor.