My Childhood Sweetheart Asked Me to Sign a Special Folder in Room Four Hundred Seven

stood behind the altar, his black cassock smelling faintly of old paper and candle wax. He was a small man with thin white hair that drifted over his ears like cobwebs, and he kept his hands folded over a small leather-bound book.

Ben sat in his wheelchair beside me, his legs covered by a heavy gray blanket, though he had insisted on wearing his polished continue reading …