Chapter 9
“So. Peter.” Michelle tried to measure out each word carefully to avoid throttling the man. “What in the name of My Domain am I doing in Heaven?”
Peter had finally gained the sense to set aside the knife when he’d started mincing the pasta, the little bits and pieces flying all about his kitchen, pinging off framed paintings of the life of Jesus, a couple of goofy photos of some apostle reunion, and scattering across the dusky orange-tiled floor, before he’d realized what he was doing.
“I’m, uh, having a b-b-bit of a problem.” He stammered badly.
“Are you trying to tell a lie in Heaven?”
He smiled weakly at that. “I was trying to be wry. Or perhaps sardonic. Because frankly I’m at my wit’s end. I’m in it deep.”
“So,” she let the thought roll around in her head and she didn’
