“Thanks for allowing me.”
The urge to touch her again, to pull her into a hug, set Maurice’s heart on a thunderous rhythm. He wanted to say something, to make this moment last a little longer so he could have more to remember.
She smiled, unlocked her door, paused. “See ya ’round, Mo.” She disappeared into her room.
Maurice unlocked his own door and stepped inside. His phone was buzzing. Multiple alerts. Missed prayer times. Maurice looked at the notifications.
0600 prayer completed. 1200 missed. 1500 missed. 1800 missed. 2000 missed.
In the thirty or so years since he’d chosen this practice, he’d never missed four prayers in one day. The wrongness should be overwhelming. The guilt should be squeezing at the base of his skull by now. Instead, Maurice just felt neutral, balanced.
He walked to the balcony. The city spread before him—Christmas lights competing with New Year’s decorations, music drifting up, celebration everywhere. The season of joy. Of redemption. Of new beginnings. Standing here, feeling nothing when church bells had rung earlier, realizing he’d chosen to miss prayer times, he felt only relief. Maybe it had never been faith at all. Maybe it had just been another way to fill time.
Through the wall, he could hear water running. Monique in her room, probably showering, probably as tired as he was.
His phone buzzed again.
TOMMIE
You good?
His automatic response wouldn’t come—that shallow “yeah” he handed out like church candy. Was he good? The question pressed on him, demanding honesty.
MAURICE
I’m good. Needed some quiet.
TOMMIE
Bet. See you tomorrow. Beach day!!!
Maurice smiled and set his phone down.
Tomorrow was beach day and more of Tommie’s string pulling. He would have to say something to him. But tonight, Maurice had chosen. He’d walked with someone who understood silence. He’d skipped a commitment without guilt. He’d missed prayers without panic. He wanted to do something, and he’d done it. Well, almost…
CHAPTER 10Monique
The room was quiet. Too quiet, despite the lively streets below.
Monique had showered—hot water didn’t quite ease the ache settling into her bones after her walk—and changed into a knee-length sleep dress made of the softest cotton. Now she sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, staring at the time.
8:47 p.m. in San Juan. 6:47 p.m. in Chicago.
Right on schedule, her phone lit up with a video call. Justin’s face filled the screen, too close.
“Dude, back up. I don’t need to see up your nostrils.”
Justin laughed and adjusted the phone. “My bad, Ma. Just making sure you weren’t kidnapped by pirates or whatever.”
“There are no pirates in Puerto Rico.”
“How do you know? You’ve been there one day.”
Today, she learned that San Juan was a walled city, a fortress. Justin’s imaginary pirates would have a hard time getting at her.
Monique smiled in spite of herself. “Where’s your sister?”
“Right here!” Jasmine’s face crowded into frame beside her brother’s. “Look at you, all dewy and relaxed!”