23

I parked behind Levi’s house, watching as he all but fell out of the other truck and shambled up the steps to his house. Feeling lost, I trailed behind.

Someone forced him into a back room, presumably to shower and change. I dumped the cold coffee and made a fresh pot, pouring it out for the friends who had gathered. No one questioned my right to do this. In fact, most of them thanked me. Pat Martin even hugged me.

I felt crushed by their kindness.

I’d just set a third pot to brew when a commotion from the living room drew my attention. I paused in the doorway, the soft light from the Christmas tree blurring as tears filled my eyes.

Gathered around Levi, a circle of men and women laid their hands on his shoulders. Together they prayed, the murmur of their voices rising and falling in quiet symphony.

Half of me longed to join them—these people who had known each other their whole lives, who had put their Christmas on hold for this man and his nephew, whom they obviously loved. But I had no right to be here.

I stepped backward, intent on slipping away.

My phone rang.

The prayer circle fell silent. Watery eyes popped open and heads swiveled.

Horrified, I yanked the phone from my pocket and fumbled to shut off the ringer.

In my shaking rush, I accidentally accepted the call.

A tinny little voice cut through the silence. “Earth to Captain Scott—are you there, Captain?”