I’m growing weary of “Crying in the Chapel.” But there isn’t much to do but wait and hope. I bought an assortment of sodas for everyone at a nearby general store, along with cookies and chips, and brought them back to the chapel. It’s given me something useful to do. But now it gives me something to hang onto while we wait. Ben paces the floor. Rae tinkers at the piano. I sit in a pew, wondering and thinking through the surprising things I’ve learned about my friends and family over the past two days. What next? “What are you doing?” Rae asks, looking at my hand. I realize I’m tapping on the top of my Coke can, way over the three-time requirement. “Sorry.” “Why do you do that? The tapping thing?” she asks. “It’s supposed to keep it from spewing Coke all over the place.” Ben stops his pacing and looks at me. “It works,” I say, defensive. “Who told you that?” he asks. “Stu. He said it diffused—” “Figures.” Is the tapping another practical joke courtesy of Stu?
