Page 164 of Share with Me

Yet something else that Ben had said vied for his focus.

An anonymous donor.

He glanced at Brinley. She was reading the Bible on her lap. That Bible looked like the one Grandma had given her. She looked so sweet, so pretty sitting there with her Bible. Grandma had said that her newfound faith was genuine.

Good for her.

* * *

Ivan wasthe first person out of Sunday School right after closing prayer. He wanted to go outside and stand for a few minutes to catch his breath, but the February weather was still cold out there and it would bother his wrist.

Stupid wrist! Heal!

After splashing water on his face in the men’s restroom, he realized he looked pretty bad wearing that scraggly beard. But he didn’t feel like shaving it off. In fact, he didn’t feel like doing anything right now, not even attending the church service. He wanted to go home and lock himself up again.

Vanish from the world. Hide in a cave.

Grandma is probably disappointed in me.

Well, it was going to get worse when they were both thrown out in the streets. He had called his sister, Willow, in Atlanta with whatever minutes he had left on his cheap disposable cell phone, and asked if she could take them both in.

Willow had said she had a new roommate taking up the other bedroom, but if Grandma didn’t mind sleeping in her bedroom, and if Ivan didn’t mind the futon in the living room, they could make it work. It pained Ivan to think that his poor sister would have to sleep on the floor indefinitely.

Poor sister.

Poor.

Ivan spoke to nobody as he dragged himself to the back pew. When he was a little kid, he liked sitting in the back row because nobody told him not to suck his thumb or sit up straight. Everyone’s back was turned toward him. He and Quincy would sit there pinching each other to see who could handle the pain the longest without shrieking and getting slapped by Grandpa Otto’s big hand.

Quincy had always won.

Ivan had known then, as Vittorio had found out, that he had a low tolerance for pain.

Matt sat down next to him. “Easy to find when you’re sitting in the back row.”

His friend handed a piece of folded pink paper to Ivan. “Read it.”

“Why?”

“I want to know what it says.”

“You read it, then.” Ivan handed the paper back to Matt. “Who is it from, anyway?”

Matt handed it back. “I think you’d better read it. Go on. Service is starting.”

Up ahead the choir was filing in.

Not knowing what to expect, Ivan unfolded the paper. There was a fragrance. A familiar fragrance.Pleasant days.

He held his breath and began to read.

I’m sorry I ruined your life. Please forgive me.

It was unsigned, but Ivan knew exactly who had written it. It was the same handwriting on theTrust Godbookmark he had ripped up and thrown into the trash can, and then picked up and taped back together using packing tape, shortly after freeing Brinley from his sorry life.

And yet.

A tenderness touched his heart, the same feeling he had the day they had walked on the pier and climbed the lighthouse.Yet, as quickly as it had come, he dismissed it.

Just a silly emotion.

Must’ve been some strong emotion because Ivan then fought it all the way through the church service, on the drive home, and the rest of the Sunday afternoon, evening, and night. And it spilled over to the next day, culminating in a big, bad headache.

He picked up the note and read it again.

Oh Brin. I wish I could tell you I love y—

No.

He tore the note to shreds.

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