“I can’t tell if you want it to be true,” he says in a low voice that I feel as if I’m the only one who can hear. “I don’t know either,” I tell him honestly. “But if you are, I think I need to go to church tomorrow, because that means impossible things exist like unicorns and the resurrection.” He laughs then, a wide mouthed, white teeth flashing. “Tomorrow’s Friday.” I nod. “I know, but it can’t ever be too early to repent.”
