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5:30 p.m. | Atlanta

Ravinia Carey, named after a beautiful suburban Chicago park her parents had enjoyed while in Bible college, had sounded none too thrilled that they would be “dropping by” that evening.

“We’re on our way through Atlanta to look into ministry opportunities,” Thomas had told her from a pay phone, as cheerily as he could muster.

“You’re leaving Foley? What happened?”

“We’ll talk about it when we see you.”

“Oh, Dad . . .”

“Listen, hon, is there anywhere we can stay on campus? In a dorm, or—”

“Dad, this isn’t some church camp. No. The Emory Inn is within walking distance, and you’ll find the campus too complicated for parking anyway. Just have someone point you to Gambrell Hall, and I’ll meet you there.”

“All right,” he had said slowly, writing it down. “Any idea how much a room might—?”

“It’s owned by the university; just tell them you’re a parent.”

And so there Thomas stood after slowly pulling a U-Haul trailer more than 150 miles behind the eight-year-old Impala. Gas mileage was abominable with the extra weight, so he had tried to offset an expensive fill-up against a cheap fast-food meal. Grace hadn’t complained. She never did.

Even with the discount, the room rate made him blanch. “Might you know of any place more reasonably priced?”

The young black girl behind the counter leaned close and whispered with a smile, “Nowhere you’d want to stay, sir, really.”

He and Grace carted in a few items, and she stretched out on the bed. “This feels so good after sitting all day.”

“What are we going to tell Rav?” he said.

“That the Lord will provide.”

Thomas sighed. “You know how she hates clichés.”

“That cliché is true, sweetheart.”

Thomas found a hand towel and gave his black oxfords a once-over, tucking away a tiny hole that had appeared in one of his socks. He ran a comb through his hair and massaged his chin, debating getting rid of his late afternoon shadow.

Soon Grace rose and smoothed her dress. “We’d better go. I can’t wait to see her.”

6:30 p.m. | Touhy Trailer Park

Brady arrived home to find a familiar car on the apron next to the single-wide. He smelled dinner before he opened the door.

“Hey, Aunt Lois,” he said, tossing his stuff.

The short, freckled dishwater blonde rushed from the stove to hug him tight. “Oh, Brady!” she said. “Where’s your mama?”

“Probably stopped off somewhere,” he said. “You’ll be able to tell where from her breath.”

“You ought to speak of her with more respect.”

“Yeah, she deserves it. Petey here?”

She nodded toward the back. “Tell him ten minutes before corn bread, beans, and rice.”

“He’ll want iced tea, too.”

“’Course.”

Brady picked through the ashtray.

His aunt poked her head around the corner. “Oh, Brady! No!”

He shrugged. “I just quit football, so give me a break.”

“Football or not, those things’ll kill you.”

“I can only hope. What’re you doing here, anyway?”

“You’re not happy to see me?”

“Sure I am. I always am. But—”

“I come with bad news, if you must know, but I can’t tell you without tellin’ your mom and Petey, so don’t ask.”

Brady found his brother in the back, riveted to a video game.

“Wanna play?” Peter said without looking up.

“It’s rude to be back here when Aunt Lois is visiting.”

Peter sighed and paused the game. “She’s just gonna tell us about Jesus again.”

“Just nod and smile and tell her you’ll get to church again sometime soon.”

Gambrell Hall | Emory University

Ravinia looked stiff when her mother embraced her, and she barely seemed to return the touch. Thomas shook her hand, and they sat in the student lounge.

“You look well,” Grace said. “I wish you’d let your hair grow out a little.”

“I wish I had time to take care of more hair, Mom. Regardless, I’m straight, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Grace squinted at Thomas.

“She’s not a lesbian,” he said.

“Oh, my, Ravinia! I wasn’t even suggesting—”

“To prove it, one of these days I’ll introduce you to Dirk.”

“Dirk?”

“Dirk Blanc. Works at MacMillan next door, the law library.”

“He’s a librarian?” Grace said.

Ravinia laughed. “He’s a student too, but most of us work, you know.”

“I know,” Grace said, “and we’re sorry you have to.”

“Even most students with normal parents have to work, Mom.”

“Normal parents?”

“Those not dependent on congregations for their income.”

“Well, one doesn’t go into the ministry for the money, sweetheart. But God’s people have been good to us over the years.”

“Oh, please. No-body’s been good to you, and you know it. You give and give and give, and what do you get? Ushered out. So, what happened at Foley?”

“I’d rather talk about what you’re doing, Rav,” Thomas said.

“You promised to tell me.”

“Well, I said I’d rather talk about it in person, yes, but there’s time. . . .”

“No, there isn’t. I have no time, Dad. I study and I work and, if I’m lucky, I eat and sleep. And if you’re telling me that once again—surprise, surprise—you’re between churches, sleep may have to go too. So just tell me.”

“Where are you attending services, honey?” Grace said.

“Can we stop this, Mom? Even if I had the time, I don’t have the interest right now. And I have the feeling that whatever it is you’re about to tell me about the faithful at Foley just might close the church chapter of my life.”

“Oh, don’t say that, Ravinia,” Grace said. “We’re certainly not going to blame this on the people. The Lord just made it clear to us that it was time—”

“To move on, sure. I’ve heard that before. So what was it this time, Dad? You pick the wrong color carpet for the sanctuary? Spend too much time preaching through the Old Testament? What?”

“Actually, we’re pretty proud of what your dad brought to that little lighthouse. Sorry, cliché. But he got a visitation program going and even replaced their old children’s night with one that had updated curriculum. The kids loved it.”

Ravinia stood and rubbed her eyes. She moved to a window and gazed out. Appearing resolute, she returned. “All right, you’re not driving all the way up through here looking for ‘opportunities’ if everything’s peachy in Foley. Now out with it.”

“You’re going to make a fine lawyer,” Thomas said, forcing a smile.

“I’m going to start by suing those people if they did to you what the previous bunch did.”

“Oh, no; you know we don’t solve church problems in court.”

“Maybe you should. You certainly have grounds. Honestly, Dad, I know as well as anybody that you’re no Billy Graham. And, Mom, your piano playing and puppet thing are never going to make you famous. But how can people watch you work yourselves to death—on their behalf—and still treat you like garbage?”

Thomas chuckled too loudly. “Thought you hated clichés.”

“Don’t change the subject, Dad. You know I’m not letting you go until you tell me what happened.”

“Can’t we take you to dinner?” Grace said.

“C’mon! We both know you can’t afford it. Follow me through the cafeteria line, and you can share my meal.”

“That wouldn’t be right,” Grace said. “It’d be like stealing.”

“The place is full of lawyers! I’d find you counsel.”

Thomas was warmed to see even Grace smile at that. “Rav,” he said, “we just wanted to see you because we were passing through. And we thought it only fair to tell you that we won’t be able to help with your schooling anymore. At least for a while.”

“It’s all right, Dad. I’m grateful for what you’ve done already, and I know you couldn’t really afford that and certainly didn’t owe me anything after the way I’ve disappointed you.”

“I wouldn’t say you’ve disappointed us.”

“Well, I hope I have, Mom! I’ve tried to!”

Ravinia said it with a smile, but Grace looked pained.

“I’m just saying, I appreciate knowing, and I will make this work somehow. I’ll start my career the way everyone else does: in debt. I’m not aiming for some high-paying corporate job, but I’ll be able to dig out eventually.”

“You know you could go to our denominational school and—”

“Mom! I’m way past that. Anyway, if I was honest on the admissions forms, they wouldn’t take me. Now I need to go eat within the next half hour, and then I’m studying till midnight. But I’m not leaving you until you tell me what happened, so unless you want me to starve . . .”

7 p.m. | The Darby Trailer

“I’ll keep your mom’s plate warm,” Aunt Lois said as she and Peter and Brady crowded around the tiny kitchen table. “Brady, you want to pray for us?”

“No, ma’am. You, please.”

“Petey?”

Peter shook his head. “All I know is, ‘God is great, God is good, now we thank Thee for our food.’”

“Well,” Aunt Lois said, “that’s not half bad, but let me. Dear Lord, thank You for these precious boys and for my sister-in-law, wherever she is. Protect her and bring her back to Yourself. Give her strength when she finally hears what I have to tell her.

“Now, Lord, never let these boys forget all that I’ve taught them about You, that You died on the cross for their sins so they don’t have to go to hell but can live in heaven with You. And thanks for our food. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

Peter was smirking when Brady opened his eyes, so Brady shot him a scowl before Aunt Lois noticed.

The woman had good intentions, Brady knew. It was hard not to love Aunt Lois.

A minute later Brady noticed a tear running down his aunt’s cheek. “What’s wrong?” he said.

“I’m just thinking about your mama and the news I have for her.”