Lost Little Lamb

Cindy sat across from Pastor Murphy's wife twisting her hands in her lap. The secret burned her tongue, each second she held it in feeling like a betrayal to herself. When Mrs. Murphy opened the door she didn't let Cindy speak. She just took her hand and pulled her out the door like the whole world might hear what was coming. The air outside tasted thick. Mrs. Murphy swung their clasped fingers and said it straight: "You're here because you're into girls. My husband told me." Cindy's mouth went dry. Before the heat could climb her neck, Mrs. Murphy suddenly veered them back toward the house, muttering about burning cookies. Inside the kitchen the smell hit them sweet and sharp. Mrs. Murphy plated the warm dough and walked Cindy into the living room like she was leading confession. She slid onto the couch close enough their thighs brushed. "I've been where you are. I like women too. My husband likes men." Cindy pushed back into the cushions, shock snapping through her. "That breaks every rule the Church sets down," she whispered. Mrs. Murphy smiled slow. "God's word can be read different ways, honey. We believe the lost sheep need us most. So we welcome them, one touch at a time." Her palm rested warm on Cindy's knee. The room felt too small for breath. "Let me show you mercy the way God taught me," Mrs. Murphy murmured. Her other hand tucked a strand of hair behind Cindy's ear, knuckles grazing cheekbone. Her breath tasted like sugar. Cindy felt the old rules melt against that heat, leaving only the ache of what she'd come here wanting and never dared name.