I nodded.
The organ started again. A little shaky at first.
We walked the rest of the way. Tap, step. Tap, step.
Behind us, I heard movement in the front row. Shuffling. A purse dropping onto the floor. My father’s voice, low and furious: “Margaret. Now. We’re leaving.”
I didn’t turn around.
When we got to the altar, Grandpa took my hand and put it into Daniel’s. Then he held both of our hands together in his for a second.
“Good joints,” he said to Daniel. “Tight. Make it last.”
Daniel’s eyes filled up. “Yes, sir.”
Grandpa let go and lowered himself slowly into the front pew on the right side. Daniel’s mother scooted over to make room for him. She put her hand on his arm, and he patted it.
Then I looked over at the left side of the church.
The front row was half empty.
