My sister called last Tuesday night. I was already in my nightgown when the phone rang.

She did not even say hello first. She just said Linda found the guest book from 2011.

I sat down on the edge of the bed because my knees went funny.

Twenty years of signing that book and I never once thought she would look at it.

Back when Linda was little we went to the same Baptist church every Sunday. She sat right beside me and we shared a hymnal. Her little finger would follow the words while I sang. That was our thing.

When she called me in 2004 and said she was trying out the Methodist church across town I laughed at first. Then she said she liked it and wanted to stay. I told her she was breaking her mother’s heart. She said Mama is the one who told me to go. I hung up the phone and that was that.

We did not speak for a year. Not one word. Christmas came and I stayed home with the television on. My sister kept asking if I wanted to know what Linda was doing. I told her I did not.

The next December I drove past the Methodist church on a Thursday night and saw all the cars. I parked two blocks away and walked. I slipped into the balcony before the lights went down. Same seat every year after that. Back row on the left. I signed the guest book because it felt wrong not to.

I never stayed for the cookies after. I left while they were still singing the last song.

My sister was the only one who knew. She would call me the next day and say Linda looked happy up there directing the choir.

I would tell her to stop talking about it and then I would ask one more question anyway.

The years started stacking up. I kept telling myself this was the last time I would go. Then December would roll around and I would find myself driving that same route. One year I almost got caught. Linda turned around right at the end and looked up toward the balcony. I ducked so fast my back hurt for two days.

I do not even know why I kept it a secret so long. Pride I guess. And fear that if I said something she would tell me not to come anymore.

Last Tuesday my sister said Linda had been flipping through the old guest books for some church history project. She saw my name twenty times. Same handwriting. Same seat number every year.

My sister said Linda left something for me in that balcony pew. She told me to go look before anyone else found it.

I went the next morning when the church was empty. The janitor let me in because he knows me from all the years. I climbed those stairs slow. My legs felt heavy.