The morning dragged on until Alex thought the clock
would never read twelve. When it was close enough, he clicked on
his cell phone as he left the sound booth, the number to the
shelter already programmed into the phone’s memory. He stood in the
hall between the recording studio and the lobby and listened to the
rings. Come on, he pleaded, wishing someone would answer
already. Jamie, or one of the volunteers, someone…“St.
Catherine’s—”
“Father Nate,” Alex sighed, relieved. “It’s me, Alex.
Jamie there?”
“Not yet,” the priest replied.
Fuck. “Where is he?” Alex hated the desperate sound in
his own voice but he couldn’t deny that he was getting worried.
Getting there? a part of him laughed. You’ve been worried since
you called yesterday. Admit it, you don’t want to think about hi
