As Marci flipped through the small closet in her cottage, trying to decide what to wear to church, she was having serious second thoughts about agreeing to attend. She didn’t belong in a house of God. On the other hand, she did want to meet the minister. Christopher had said the man was enthusiastic about the elder-assistance idea, and if she was going to pull anything together in the short time she had left on the island, she needed a lot of help. And the sooner the better. The Lord would just have to put up with her for one day. Pulling a beige skirt and a cotton madras blouse off their hangars, she tossed them on the bed as a knock sounded at the door. Her pulse took a leap, and she checked her watch. Christopher was twenty minutes early. And she wasn’t anywhere close to ready! “Marci?” Another, more persistent knock. “You there?” She sagged against the wall. J.C. Relieved, she padded over to the door and pulled it open. Her brother grinned as he eyed her baggy sleep shirt, tousled curls and bare feet.
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