Has to Be Love by Jolene Perry Page B

stay home today?
    I glance at Dad to see if we can give a mutual eye roll at a talk I feel like I’ve heard a million times, but Dad’s blotting tears from the corners of his eyes.
    What am I missing?
    Don’t get me wrong, Dad tearing up in church isn’t all that unusual. In fact, it’s a near-weekly occurrence, but for this? All I know is that I’m pretty sure Jesus’s name was mentioned and I think there was a story about a hunting trip the guy took. The rest sort of went over my head.
    I’m dying.
    Seriously dying of boredom. I lean my head down to cover my face with my hair better and try to scan the room to see if anyone else is as bored as me. Sadly, the only company in my boredom is very small children. I wish Cecily were here. This is when I should pull out my scriptures and read, or try to think deeply about my life and the decisions I have to make, but it seems like all I’m doing is making decisions, or at least being faced with them. This meeting is normally my break and reset time, but today it’s just not working for me.
    I stare at my feet and tap the toes of my ballet flats together. Then twist my hair with a finger. Suddenly I hear the words that signify the end of his talk.
    â€œAmen.”
    Whew. Survived. Still awake.
    Sunday school is Old Testament studies, and instead of following along in the lesson, I read in Psalms. The rhythms of the words and the interesting thoughts bounce in my brain, settle my heart, and help me remember why I come to church in the first place.
    â€œYou seem distracted,” Dad says. He holds the passenger door open for me after church. He’s done this since I was a kid, and I went through a phase where I thought his overt politeness was stupid. But Suki pointed out that Dad lost his wife, and I’m his little girl, and sometimes we let people do nice things because it makes them feel better. It isn’t always about the person on the receiving end. I guess she has a point.
    â€œMaybe a little distracted.” I give him a noncommittal shrug.
    â€œA lot distracted since you and Elias went out the other night.” Dad walks around the front of the car, and I notice his graying hair and growing belly in a little different light. My dad looks … older. Noticeably. Like I can remember a time when he barely had any gray, and it doesn’t feel like that long ago.
    A fluttering panic beats in my chest as Dad slides in the driver’s seat. “Well?”
    â€œSenior year. Just busy. Getting over being sick.” Fake sick. I blink a few times, wishing for his age to fade.
    It doesn’t.
    Dad looks at me sideways as he turns on the car. “Don’t think for a minute I don’t know you use ‘just busy’ as an excuse.”
    Well, crap. “I’m good, Dad.”
    He gives my knee a quick squeeze. “Well, okay. I wanna stop by your mom’s grave today. You up for that?”
    No, I’m not up for that. She’s gone. She’s gone and I don’t get to talk to her or get her help or …“Yeah, of course.”
    Dad slides the car into reverse and we move out of the parking lot. “I wanted to ask you …”
    I wait. And wait. And tap my fingers against my skirt and then stare out the window …
    â€œTwo things, I guess.” Dad’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Mr. Kennedy is …”
    The car clunks over the uneven pavement as we wind through the trees, and Dad doesn’t speak.
    â€œGet it out, Dad. You can do it,” I tease, wondering if I should have kept my mouth shut or had a pretend coughing fit to avoid the conversation.
    â€œI want to know if you and Elias are being careful.” The words blur together in Dad’s nervousness.
    I can totally feel my brows rising, and I’m once again holding my breath—sort of counterintuitive when I’m trying to make myself sound relaxed. “Um … shoulders