Chapter 19 — What a Comfortable Suspicion Costs

The town, too, was made to look at itself, and the person who held up the mirror was Pastor Timothy.

That Sunday, from the pulpit, he preached a sermon that named no names and needed none.

“Sometimes,” he said, to a packed and silent church, “we do more damage with a comfortable suspicion than with an outright lie.

We believe whoever speaks first, and whoever speaks loudest, and whoever tells us the thing we already half wished were true.

And when the truth finally comes to light, we tell ourselves that our careless words left no wound — as though a rumor, once it has passed through every kitchen in a town, simply evaporates and harms no one.” And I watched dozens of heads bow in shame across that congregation, because every one of them knew the sermon was about them.