Heretics Anonymous

by Katie Henry

I flip through, and sure enough, on nearly every page are annotations in red pen, carefully written out in Lucy’s perfect, loopy handwriting. And I understand, then. I’m not holding a Bible. Not really. I’m holding a little part of Lucy, something she wants me to see.

“I don’t have a God,” I continue, “and I don’t have a religion. But I do have a church. I do have a place that makes me safe and protected and known, like you said about Easter Mass when you were a kid. I have a place I feel known.”

“It’s you,” I finish. “You’re my church.”