I touched my brass wedding band and felt the thin groove forty years had worn into the gold.

“Did the manager believe him?”

“I told the manager you’re listed on her chart as resident parish clergy,” Helen said crisply.

“Arthur wants her cut off, Pastor.

He tried to get me to sign a visitor restriction form before my shift started.”

Margaret stirred on the mattress, her eyes opening slowly beneath the harsh fluorescent tube over the bed.

“He was asking about my black purse, Tommy,” Margaret whispered, her voice hoarse.

“The purse is in the trunk of my Buick,” I told her.