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IT WAS NOTHING TO FEEL guilty about. She was glad that it was Sunday, glad that Greg was already awake and most likely over at the church office by the time her brain snapped her out of whatever fantasy she’d dived into in her sleep.
It’s not like she had conscious power over her thoughts while she slept. How can you be accountable for something you can’t even control?
If Greg were here, he’d know. She could never face him when she felt guilty. That’s why she’d been so quick to go to bed last night, even to the point of swallowing down her pride and apologizing for leaving rehearsal early just so they could get to the part where they stopped talking about it.
Stopped thinking about it.
Which is exactly what Katrina needed to do right now. Sunday school would start in a little over an hour. After the embarrassing disaster last week, she’d made a commitment to make the house at least somewhat presentable every Sunday morning just in case her husband invited someone over. But with as bad of a mood as he’d been in last night after that phone call with the elders, maybe he wouldn’t be feeling particularly sociable today.
It was worth hoping for.
Was it bad for her to secretly rejoice when Greg got stressed at work? Maybe then he’d finally realize what a lousy job this was. They should have known from the start. How many pastors had come to serve at Orchard Grove in the past decade? From what she could recall, none of them had made it a full calendar year.
Now that she’d been here, it was obvious why.
She jumped in the shower, ready to wake up her brain, which was still longing to crawl back to bed even though that’s the last thing she needed right now. She’d read about some women having dreams like that but had never experienced one herself.
She had to get it out of her mind. Mental bleach. Why couldn’t that be a real thing? If she had time, she’d play her violin. But what if that only reminded her of him?
So no violin. There had to be a new plan. Shower, clean, and pray. Pray hard. Pray for God to forgive her for whatever sinful thoughts had crept into her head, with or without her permission last night. Pray that her husband would never find out about her mental meanderings, pray that the man from her dream would get called mysteriously off to someplace far away and preferably in a different time zone, and most importantly, pray that God would erase the memory of that dream, that touch, that perfect bliss, from her mind completely.
Was that so much to ask?