Marie-Claude's knees hurt as she knelt in the centuries-old church. She glanced at her watch. Seven and a half minutes to go..."Hail Mary full of . . ." don't let my mind wander "...full of grace..."
A man walked down the aisle . .. "blessed art thou . . ." He looked
like Jean-Paul, her non-dearly departed husband ". . .among women . . ."
Where was she? . . . "The Lord is with . . . "
Damn. She thinks, damn doesn't belong in the middle of her rosary. ". . .
Where was she again? Oh yes, ". . .thee. And blessed be the fruit of
thy womb . . ." Jesus. Not Jesus as in "blessed be the fruit of thy
womb, Jesus" but in Jesus she had a cramp in her leg and it hurt like
She refused to stand and walk on the leg. Her penance for hating
Jean-Paul and for hastening his death was to go go church every day and
say 15 minutes of rosary.
"Holy Mary, Mother . . ." Damn that leg hurt. Probably Jean-Paul, buried
outside the church was cursing her ". . .Mother of God. Pray for us
sinners . . ."
Marie-Claude looked at her watch. Time was up. Tomorrow, same time, same place.
She limped from the church.