After Forty-Five Years Apart, a Pastor Married His High School Sweetheart

He pushed his silver-framed glasses up with his index finger, his movements careful and precise as he stopped two feet from my driver’s door.

“You’re Pastor Tom?” he asked.

“I am,” I said, holding my brass car keys in my hand.

“Can I help you?”

“My name’s Wade,” he said, his voice practical and crisp, like a bank accountant reading off a ledger line.

“Margaret Miller is my mother.”

“She mentioned you this morning,” I said, eyeing the heavy metal clip holding his legal file shut.

“She said you arranged her transfer from Marion.”