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  “Sure,” Mary said, opening the door.

  She pointed toward the sofa and asked if they could excuse her for a second. She went to Mama’s room and removed the pillows from behind her head, because there was more danger of her falling or choking when she was propped up. She returned to the living room and smiled. Mr. Lucas and Mr. Acevedo smiled back with forced, tight expressions. Mary knew right then that they were coming to deliver bad news.

  “Is your sister here?” Mr. Acevedo asked.

  “She was still at church when I left. She should be here soon.”

  “Oh.” Mr. Acevedo glanced at Mr. Lucas. It was obvious that they had not anticipated Kate’s absence and now they were lost. In the meantime, Mary was getting nervous that Kate had gone over to Simon’s house. There was no reason for her to come home and prepare Sunday dinner the way she used to when Papa was alive.

  “I guess we can wait a few minutes until she gets back,” Mr. Lucas said.

  “Would you like some lemonade?” she asked. Kate had made some the day before.

  “Sure, sure,” Mr. Lucas answered, apparently on behalf of both men.

  She walked into the kitchen and went about preparing the drinks as slowly as she could, taking the tall plastic glasses from the pantry, cracking the ice cube containers over the counter, and filling the glasses with lemonade. The only time she had prayed that morning was in the few moments in church before Reverend Soto began to speak, but she prayed again at that moment for Kate to come home as soon as possible. She waited in the kitchen a couple more minutes, listening for the front door to open, but all she could hear was the raspy noise of Mr. Lucas’s breathing.

  She returned to the living room and handed them the lemonade. Mr. Lucas took a sip, smiled, and burped. Mr. Acevedo looked around for someplace to put the glass. On the wall in front of the sofa was a picture of the Last Supper. “That’s a nice picture,” he said. “Is it new?”

  “It’s been there for many years,” she said. Mr. Lucas and Mr. Acevedo had visited Papa countless times before and had sat on the very sofa where they were now sitting, but she knew they were just trying to make conversation until Kate arrived. “Papa hung it on the wall the first day we moved to the house. Mama told me about it. She said it was a wedding gift from Grandpa, Papa’s father, who was also a minister.”

  Mr. Lucas and Mr. Acevedo began to squirm as if a couple of worms had crawled in their pants. Mary glanced at the door, but there was no Kate, and she resigned herself to dealing with their business. She sat down in the armchair and said with as much calm as she could muster, “I guess Kate may not be coming home straight from church. She might have gone out to lunch with Simon.”

  Mr. Acevedo cupped the lemonade glass with both hands. “I s-s-see,” he stuttered. He looked at Mr. Lucas for guidance. Mr. Lucas shrugged his shoulders. Mr. Acevedo frowned, then cleared his throat and began to speak.

  “We” — he made a gesture with his hand to include both himself and Mr. Lucas — “I mean, the church council and the deacons wanted us to talk to you and your sister.” He paused, clearly hoping that Mr. Lucas would continue, but Mr. Lucas chose that moment to gulp down half his glass of lemonade. Mr. Acevedo had no choice but to go on. “Well, I guess, first I want to tell you that the church is going to pay for your father’s funeral expenses. That came to about four thousand dollars. You decided on a burial rather than cremation, but that was okay with the church.”

  “Cremation is a lot cheaper,” Mr. Lucas piped in.

  Mary wondered why he was bringing up the fact the church would pay for Papa’s funeral. It had never occurred to her or Kate, she was sure, that they wouldn’t. Maybe it was a mistake for them to think that way and they just didn’t know any better. But it made her sad that the church found it necessary to tell them about it. Papa’s life and death felt cheapened by talk of the cost of funerals and money.

  “We have also collected a special offering for you and your sister from all the church members. The members of our church are poor, you know that, but somehow they dug deep and sacrificed, and we took money from a reserve fund, and all told we collected ten thousand dollars.” He paused for Mary to react.

  “Thank you,” she said. It would take a lot of money from each of the two hundred members to make up ten thousand dollars.

  “There’s also a pension plan that the church contributed to,” Mr. Lucas said. “It had built up to about sixty thousand dollars before the market came crashing down, and now it’s about a third less than that, but it will help.”

  “The church also paid for seventy-five percent of your father’s health insurance,” Mr. Acevedo added, “and correct me if I’m wrong” — here he turned to Mr. Lucas — “but you two girls should be covered perhaps until you graduate from college. Coverage for your mother, of course, ran out a long time ago.”

  “That’s correct,” said Mr. Lucas. “But you’ll need to check up on the coverage because the law has changed.”

  Mary nodded that she understood, but she was beginning to lose grasp of what they were saying. She wished with all her heart for Kate to be sitting next to her. Kate would bring a chair from the dining room, place it in front of the two men, and pepper them with questions. Mary took a deep breath, because from the look on their faces, it appeared as if Mr. Acevedo and Mr. Lucas were about to deliver the bad news.

  Mr. Acevedo spoke. “You know that the church misses your father very much. We appreciate all that he did for it.” He swallowed. “But . . . we need to move on. The church council and the deacons have a responsibility to find a new minister. I mean, it will be hard to fill your father’s shoes, but we need to.”

  “We have to do it as soon as possible, otherwise we’re going to lose members. They’ll go to another church.” Mr. Lucas moved to the edge of the sofa. His right eye began to twitch.

  “The Protestant churches here in El Paso are so small. You know, everyone is Catholic. We’re very, very fortunate to have as many members as we have. But we’ve been losing them by the dozen. In the past two years alone, we’ve lost over fifty people.”

  They seemed to be attributing the loss to Papa, and Mary prepared herself to defend him, the way Kate would if she were there.

  “We set up a search committee right away,” Mr. Acevedo said.

  “But then an opportunity came up that we’re all excited about.” Mr. Lucas finished Mr. Acevedo’s sentence. Mr. Acevedo glanced at him, annoyed.

  “Reverend Soto, you know, you saw him today. He’s agreed to be with us until we find a permanent minister. Many members are already saying that even though he’s young, he’d be the perfect replacement. They want someone more vibrant like him, who will attract young families with children. Young families are what keep churches going.”

  “More vibrant?” Mary said. How could these people possibly think that Papa was not vibrant? Papa was dynamic in the way that mattered most. His sermons made souls vibrate with warmth and praise and, yes, sometimes, sorrow and shame. How could they think that the preaching of Reverend Soto was better?

  “We don’t mean any disrespect to your father,” Mr. Acevedo said apologetically. “What we mean to say is that the direction of the church is different from when your father was leading it. Actually, the direction has been different for quite a while.”

  She looked at them, perplexed. Father was leading people to God. What other direction was there?

  “You saw how people were this morning at church. They were inspired. The Holy Spirit filled them up and they expressed that. There was so much emotion. That’s what people are looking for in a church these days.”

  It almost seemed as if they had fired Papa a long time before and now they were telling her why they had done it. Okay, maybe Papa wasn’t giving the church what the church was looking for, and maybe the Reverend Soto was God’s special gift come to save it, but Papa was dead now. Why tell her all of this? “So?” She sounded rude, but she didn’t care.

  “We’re very lucky t
o have Reverend Soto,” Mr. Lucas said. “There are churches all over that are eager to get him. And if we grab him now, we might be able to keep him permanently. He’s indicated his willingness to be our permanent minister. It’s such a blessing for a church to find someone so young who is willing to stay with us forever.”

  “Good,” she said. It was as cold and distant as she could be.

  “But . . .” Mr. Lucas started to say. He turned to Mr. Acevedo.

  “There’s a . . . I guess you can say a small problem.”

  “Reverend Soto already has an offer from a church in Lubbock as an assistant pastor,” Mr. Lucas said. “A church offering him better pay, better living expenses.” He looked around the room, and Mary followed his eyes. Their living room suddenly felt very shabby to her. “He has to let them know yes or no on the offer by next week.”

  She was feeling dizzy. They were trying to tell her something, but she wasn’t catching on. “So?” she repeated.

  “The problem is that we need the parsonage right away.” Mr. Acevedo seemed relieved to finally get the words out, the same words that had probably been stuck in his throat since he came in.

  Mary breathed in. Mr. Acevedo’s announcement was harsh, but its harshness did not affect her. Instead she felt strong, the kind of strength she had always admired in Kate. “What is ‘right away’?” she asked.

  “The thing is,” Mr. Acevedo said. He was looking at his brown, pointed shoes. “Reverend Soto needs to have a place for the summer . . . say, by the first day of June.”

  Mary laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “It’s the beginning of April. That’s not possible.”

  “I know it’s short notice,” Mr. Acevedo began to say.

  “There’s nothing we can do about it. If we don’t agree, we’ll lose him,” Mr. Lucas added.

  “Does he know it’s just Kate and me and Mama? Can’t he at least wait until the end of summer? Can’t he find a place to live for a few months? Where are we going to go?”

  “It’s not that he doesn’t understand your plight,” Mr. Acevedo said. “He’s a very kind man. But he’s not from El Paso, as you know. He needs a permanent place to live. He’s made having the parsonage by June first a condition of staying with us. He knows your circumstances, and he thinks it’s best for you if you don’t stay in this house past June.”

  “Best for us?” She felt disgusted. “But where will we go?”

  “We heard you have an aunt,” Mr. Lucas said tentatively.

  “Aunt Julia.” She was beginning to look more and more like their best hope. Mary took another deep breath. There was no reason why she should be upset. It was something everyone knew was coming. But June first? She looked at them. “Papa served in your church for twenty years and you want us to move out in two months?”

  Her words rattled Mr. Lucas. “Look,” he said, “if you want to know the truth, the council has been considering letting your father go for a number of years now.” Mr. Acevedo elbowed Mr. Lucas, but he went on. “We weren’t attracting any young members, members with children. And then there was the matter of your father not having a car. How can you be an effective minister unless you can drive to visit people?”

  She bit her lip. There was no way she was going to let these men see her cry. All these years, Papa was consuming himself slowly for the church, and this is what people were thinking of him.

  “All that doesn’t really matter,” Mr. Acevedo said. “We’re very sorry about your father and we want what is best for you. We’ll do everything to help you. We’ll help you move to wherever you go. Most of all, we hope you can stay and be part of the church.”

  Mary stood up as soon as he finished speaking. Everything he said seemed like an insult, as if he’d spat in her face and then said he did it to wipe a speck of dirt off her cheek. The men stood as well, looking confused. She walked to the door and opened it. They moved toward her, guilt on their faces. As soon as she opened the door, she saw Simon’s car stop in front of the house.

  “So can we count on you to leave by the end of May?” Mr. Lucas asked as he passed Mary.

  She imagined what would happen if they didn’t leave. Would a group of people from the church come and throw them out? They would lift Mama up and dump her in the back of a truck.

  “I’ll need to talk to Kate,” she said. Kate was out of the car by now and looking at Mr. Lucas and Mr. Acevedo with curiosity. “Or you can talk to her yourself. Here she is.”

  “That’s all right,” said Mr. Acevedo. “You can convey to her what we said.” He seemed afraid of Kate. They probably thought they got off easy when they found out they only had to talk to Mary.

  They all walked past one another on the path to the house. Mary stayed in front of the door, watching the pair of men leave.

  “What did they want?” Kate asked.

  “They came to tell us we have to move by the end of May.”

  “What?” Kate almost yelled. Mr. Acevedo and Mr. Lucas were still within hearing distance. They picked up their pace.

  “Reverend Soto needs the house by then.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Kate said. Mary saw her breath quicken and her fists tighten. She opened the door and touched Kate’s back, gently pushing her inside.

  “We knew it would happen,” Mary said once the door was closed again.

  “Did you tell them it was impossible? We can’t leave by then! We’re in April. We’ll barely be out of school by then. Did you ask for more time?”

  At that moment, Mary didn’t remember exactly what she had said to Mr. Lucas and Mr. Acevedo. “I let them know it wasn’t right.”

  Kate looked at her like she didn’t believe her. “I wish I’d been here,” she said.

  “I wish you had been here too. Where were you?”

  “I went with Simon to get an ice-cream cone.” Kate looked sheepish for a second or two. “What else did they say?”

  They sat down on the edge of the sofa facing each other, and Mary recounted the conversation as best as she could. She started with the part about the money the church was giving them and slowly worked her way to how the church had wanted to fire Papa for a long time. Kate listened in silence, her face turning pale and red in turn. When Mary told her about Reverend Soto and how he thought it would be best for them if they left by June first, Kate sprang up from the sofa and headed for the door. “I’ll be back,” she said.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To talk to the mighty reverend,” she said.

  Kate almost ran to the church. She didn’t truly believe that Reverend Soto would still be there, but she needed to search for him anyway, as if the act itself would vent her feelings. She’d go to church, not find him, and somehow she would feel better returning home. And if he was there, that was all right too. She’d tell him — what? What a jerk he was? He couldn’t possibly be the one pushing the June first move, not with the way he spoke that morning about love. And why would he want to meet with her if he was the one who was kicking them out? Wouldn’t he want to avoid her at all costs? Most likely it was Mr. Lucas and Mr. Acevedo and all the rest of them, the church council and the deacons. They were blaming it on Reverend Soto because they were cowards. How she wished she had been there when they came over.

  Going to get an ice-cream cone with Simon had been a big mistake. They had sat stiffly in the car, each waiting for the other to say something about the proposal, neither one of them brave enough to bring up the subject. Nor did she tell him about Stanford, although it was the perfect opportunity. Now all that had been unsaid was weighing on her, a load too heavy to carry anymore. She needed to let things out, and Reverend Soto might be just the right person to receive all her pent-up frustration.

  She slowed down as she approached the church. If Reverend Soto was there, she didn’t want to be all sweaty and out of breath. She wanted to be able to reason. She wouldn’t beg; she would reason. Would it be begging to tell him about Stanford and how they needed time to find the right pl
ace for Mary and Mother? Would that be playing on his feelings? Well, he was a minister, a man of God; shouldn’t his feelings be attuned to the hardship of others?

  She stopped for a few moments when she saw the church. There were people lingering in front who had probably stayed behind to talk to Reverend Soto. She didn’t want to be seen by them. It felt almost as if she were doing something shameful, as if her meeting with Reverend Soto needed to be kept secret. But there was nothing shameful in standing up against unfairness. He needed to see whom he was up against.

  The two ladies in the front of the church finally went their separate ways, and Kate headed through the children’s playground to the back door of the church. The minister’s office was located on the bottom floor near the back entrance. She entered the building and saw the office door standing open. She hesitated for another moment, realizing she was afraid after all. She felt sorry for accusing Mary of not pushing back.

  Kate stepped forward into the doorway. Reverend Soto was putting books into a box. She waited for him to lift his head and notice her. Finally, he did.

  “Hello,” he said, jumping back. “I wasn’t expecting to see you.” She had surprised him, and that made her less nervous. He smiled. “Come in, come in.”

  He offered her a chair and then closed the door. She sat down, and he pulled the chair from the desk and sat in front of her. She noticed the pile of books on the floor and recognized them as her father’s. He was replacing her father’s books with his.

  He followed her gaze. “I was going to take these to you.”

  “We don’t need them,” she said. “They can stay here.”

  “All right. I’m sure we can find a place for them here, in one of the classrooms perhaps. Books like your father’s will always come in handy.” He sounded eager to please.

  “Reverend, I wanted —”

  “Please. Stop right there. If we’re going to talk, you have to call me Andy.”