We went through his office and into a small room that was lined with storage closets. It was like a big dressing room with a dressing table on one sid... and a stool in front of a full length mirror on the other. There were two small windows close to the ceiling for ventilation and guaranteed privacy. The Reverend closed the door behind us and locked it, explaining that he took that precaution against some parishioners who had actually walked in on him while he was getting dressed. He opened one. With weak knees, I asked about his expectations. Charles might have told him almost anything. Fortunately, Charles had not. I almost laughed in relief, since I make a much better first impression than Charles. All the while, my pitch rolled on, but the butterflies bagan to settle. Soon, I was showing Mr. Richards around. The first places are always boring, so I started to relax. By the time we reached the main room, I was confident enough to take his arm. I opened the door and led him into my. We got out and dad led me inside and down into the basement of the building.It was kind of creepy. Fluorescent lights, cracked paint, and exposed pipes were the only decor down there and there were no people, just a bunch of closed doors with acronym-laden signs on them every so often. By the time dad knocked on one of the doors and opened it I had the feeling we were no longer under the same building we entered.The room we walked into was small with only a couple of o.d. green chairs and a. She stopped and listened, waiting on the sound of the thunder. The longer the sound took, the bigger her smile was. When the thunder did finally arrive, there was no crack, only the roll. She once again raised her arms above her head, skipping and dancing in the rain. She stepped again to the edge to look down, almost hoping some one would see her.The patio furniture near the french doors to the kitchen caught her eye. So many times she'd sat there, having her morning tea, or a coffee, some.
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