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ever-present compassion, but at the same time, the way her chin pressed forward as if she dared Kendall to say anything but yes.
    Kendall nodded, but inside she was already planning the excuses she’d use when she called her pastor an hour before seven on Thursday.
    The pastor said, “So, I’ll see you then?”
    Again, Kendall nodded—better not to speak the lie aloud. She knew what this was about—her pastor probably had some cockamamy plan to bring her and Anthony together so that they could have an amicable divorce. Or worse, she could have arranged some kind of sick family reunion with her and her sister and Anthony. She wasn’t going to sit through either one of those scenarios.
    “And, Kendall”—Pastor Ford paused for a moment—“please don’t make me come looking for you.” The smile stayed on the pastor’s lips but not in her tone.
    Kendall stood in place, not moving even when she was alone. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t be able to get out of the meeting. But when she got to that church, if there was any sign of her ex-husband or her ex-sister, her pastor’s meeting would be cut short. Very short.

Chapter Seven
    V ANESSA
    Another night. Alone. Another dream.
    Vanessa tossed in her sleep, struggling to find Reed, needing to see his face like she had every night since he’d left for heaven. She opened her mouth, wanting to call for him. But no sound came. And neither did Reed.
    But then she heard him. She dashed toward the voice. In the bathroom—that’s where he was. But when she rushed into the room, all that was there were the bottles—the orange containers that she’d lined on the counter. But now there were not six, seven, or eight bottles—there were hundreds.
    The bottles moved, metamorphosing into bodies. Now the containers had ears, eyes, mouths. And the bottles laughed. And danced. And their eyes watched her, taunted and teased her.
    It was a song; they sang, If you do it, you won’t hurt anymore . Her head ached with their mocking.
    She stepped toward the counter. Reached toward one bottle—it leaped into her hand. She dumped its contents into her palm, lifted the pills to her mouth, and then…there was nothing.
    Vanessa looked at her hand; the pills were gone. She frowned. She needed those pills. It didn’t matter. There were more.
    But the bottles had moved, formed a new line, were now in the shape of a heart.
    She grabbed the first bottle—it slipped through her hand, touched the ground, and then, poof! it was gone. The same with the second, third, fourth, fifth bottle. Each bottle fell away—until there were none.
    Vanessa shouted, “I want the pills. Give me the pills!”
    “No.”
    It was a soft voice. Vanessa searched the bathroom—under the cabinets, inside the shower. But there was no one.
    “Give me my pills!” she yelled.
    “No.” Gentle. Guiding.
    She stood in the center of the room, spinning, searching for the one who was speaking. “Where are you?”
    “In your heart,” the voice said over and over. Again and again.
    And then the pills came back. At first, the bottles just mocked her—laughed and teased. But then the containers jumped her, a vicious attack.
    Vanessa screamed; bolted up straight in the bed. Her skin glistened with sweat. She panted, as if she’d just run a race, as if she’d just fought a fight. In the dark, her eyes searched for the bottles. Her ears strained to hear the voice.
    Nothing.
    She clicked on the lamp, turning the dark into light.
    Still, nothing.
    It was only a dream.

Chapter Eight
    V ANESSA
    Vanessa pulled open the wooden door of the church wearing the smile that she’d fixed on her face the moment she’d slid into her car.
    “What are you doing here?” Charlotte, a woman who had been an usher from Hope Chapel’s beginning, accosted Vanessa the moment she stepped inside.
    “What do you mean?” Vanessa took one of the programs that were almost slipping from Charlotte’s hand. “I’m here every Sunday.”
    “I know,