Priest_by_Sierra_Simone 3

like this out, but I’ve never been religious before, and part of me still kind of
balks at the idea…”
“Don’t think of it as being religious,” I advised. “I’m not here to convert
you. Why don’t we just talk? And maybe there will be some activities or
groups here that match what you need.”
“And if there’s not? Will you refer me to the Methodists?”
“I would never,” I said with mock gravity. “I always refer to the Lutherans
first.”
That earned me another smile.
“So how did you end up in Kansas City?”
She hesitated. “It’s a long story.”
I leaned back in the chair, making a show of settling in. “I’ve got the
time.”
“It’s boring,” she warned.
“My day is a praxis of liturgical laws that date from the Middle Ages. I can
handle boring. Promise.”
“Okay, well, I’m not sure where to start, so I guess I should start at the
beginning?” Her gaze slid over to the wall of books as she worried her lower
lip with her teeth, as if she were trying to decide what the beginning really
was. “I’m not your typical runaway,” she said after a minute. “I didn’t sneak
out of a window when I was sixteen or steal my father’s car and drive to the
nearest ocean. I was dutiful and obedient and my father’s favorite child right
up until I walked across the stage at Dartmouth and officially received my
MBA. I looked at my parents, and I finally really realized what they saw
when they looked at me—another asset, another folder in the portfolio.
“There she is, our youngest, I could picture them saying to the family next
to them. Graduated magna cum laude, you know, and only the best schools
growing up. Spent the last three summers volunteering in Haiti. She was a
shoo-in for dance at Juilliard, but of course she chose to pursue business
instead, our level-headed girl.”
“You volunteered in Haiti?” I interrupted.
She nodded. “At a charity called Maison de Naissance. It’s a place for rural
Haitian mothers to get free prenatal care, as well as a place for them to give
birth. It’s the only place besides the summer house in Marseille that my
boarding school French has come in remotely useful.”
Dartmouth. Marseille. Boarding school. I had sensed that Poppy was