Peach. Rose. Lemon yellow. For years after her father died, even for routine Sunday services, Bea only wore black in church. Then, she slowly progressed to other sober shades like rust or forest green. Now, for some reason, a rebirth. Jessica wondered if Bea’s bright new look had anything to do with Randall Gaines, the retired optometrist who sang the male lead in the choir and always managed to glance at Bea during his slightly off-key solos. After church, they stood in the parking lot in the hot sun talking for twenty minutes at a time as the crowd melted around them and worshipers waved goodbye before running to the air-conditioned sanctuary of their cars. Today, standing beside her mother with a polite smile as she listened to them one-up each other in conversation, Jessica was surprised to learn they’d been having regular meetings at Bea’s house to discuss the Founder’s Day program. They were also both on the community health committee. How cozy, Jessica thought. Mr. Gaines was tall, like her father had been, with thinning salt-and-pepper hair and a West Indian accent.
