Chapter 10

The church in my dream smells like wet ash and sea salt. I’m standing in the doorway, barefoot on cold stone. Every candle on the altar is lit, a hundred tiny flames shivering in a draft I can’t feel. Rain hammers the stained glass so hard the colored saints look like they’re crying. He’s at the front. Back to me, hands braced on the edge of the altar, shoulders hunched like he’s been standing there forever. Denim jacket gone dark with rain, the fabric clinging to the sharp angles...