Layla preached about Jesus at a megachurch, but after her husband died four years back from headlights that crossed the center lane, the wind in her faith fell flat. Those around her prayed she’d come out of the slump the devil devised with an empty tomb in her barren womb. Layla lifted her hands, praying beyond the hope she had left. The congregants grew in faith at her words of inspiration, talking about a man who forgives sin. But Layla didn’t think she could forgive the woman who took her husband. It was a step too far but closer than she’d intended to reach. Caleb turned up for a morning service. Layla preached, but her eyes swept to him and back again. Layla saw something in him. She didn’t know what, just that she did. He wore a Polo shirt and dark pants. Caleb styled his hair and trimmed his beard. Churchgoers lifted their hands in a sea of praise as the band played touching songs. Caleb hadn’t been to church since the day his wife died four years ago.
Layla moved down the stairs and approached Caleb.
“Great sermon,” Caleb said.
“Thank you, sir.” Layla’s cheeks reddened. “I’m Layla, an associate pastor.”
“I’ve seen you on TV.”
“I didn’t get your name.” She played with her hands.
“Caleb,” he said.
“Well,” she said. “What brought you to Bethel Church?”
“I felt God abandoned me four years ago.” Caleb dipped his head. The worship music still played.
Layla reached for his hand. “God never leaves you.” She gave him a stern look, the look of a promise. “I lost my husband four years ago.”
“I lost my wife four years ago, too,” Caleb said; tears formed as crystals streamed down his cheeks and rolled off his chin.
“My husband died in a car wreck,” she said. “A drunk driver.”
“She wasn’t drunk,” Caleb said.
“I’m sorry?” Layla arched a brow.
“Drunk,” Caleb said, “she wasn’t drunk.”
“How do you know, dear?”
“Because I was her husband,” he said.
For a moment, her eyes split him to pieces. Layla cleared her throat. “Caleb,” she said, narrowing one eye.
He was waiting for her to say more.
Layla looped her arms around her waist. “It’s you,” she said.
“Your wife killed my husband.” Layla’s eyes turned cold.
Caleb tongued his teeth and stared at a cross behind her. “She did.” Caleb nodded and moved a tissue over his damp brow. “I’m sorry.” Caleb shoved his hands into his pockets.
Church concluded, and people filtered through the pine doors with large bulletproof windows to the parking lot to sin for another week.
Caleb gripped her gaze with an empathetic glance.
“It’s not your fault,” she said. “I prayed for this day.” Layla put her hands in her back pockets. “I almost gave up.” Layla’s eyes welled.
Caleb caught her tears with his fingers.
“I thought God had given up on me.” Layla sighed.
“I’ve been waiting for this day, too.” Caleb pulled his hands out of his pockets and gestured. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’ve been watching you,” Layla said.
“Me?” Caleb brought his hand to his chest.
“I almost put a hit on you.”
Caleb scraped his fingers through his thick hair. “You wanted to off me?” His forehead puckered.
Layla laughed and tucked her long, dark bangs behind her ear. “I know.” She waved. “It sounds stupid.”
“What stopped you?” Caleb examined her intentions.
“You.” Layla closed the distance between them. “I had a private investigator follow you for a year.”
“What’d you find?”
“Everything I wanted,” Layla said, her voice tinged with that of a crush.
“You coach kids after work at your father’s firm. And you help feed the poor at Maryanne’s Kitchen. I have pictures of you praying during your lunch break.”
A waterfall of hurt broke the dam and spread across his cheeks.
“I saw someone hurting,” she said. “Hurting the way that I do,” Layla said. “I found God in forgiveness again.”
“I’m not as innocent as I look,” Caleb said.
Layla folded her arms and wrinkled her nose. “Why?”
“I sent a private investigator to follow you,” Caleb said. “I had the same intentions, but I came to the same conclusion. You’re everything I need.”
“Let’s start now.” Layla spread her arms.
Caleb had a sheepish grin. He embraced her.
And everything happened according to plan.