Lead Me Home by Stacy Hawkins Adams

chest. How she hated hospitals. Always had since that horrible day years ago. Her procedure hadn’t taken place in a full-fledged hospital; still, most medical facilities, with their sterile whiteness and antiseptic smells, took her back in time.
    Randy walked a few paces ahead of her as they entered the foyer. Shiloh took several deep breaths and shifted her focus to the cute toddler a woman walking in front of her bounced in her arms. The boy’s big brown eyes followed Shiloh until the woman stepped into an elevator and the doors closed behind them.
    “You coming?”
    Randy was waiting at a first-floor intersection. She pursed her lips and decided not to react to his impatience. Clearly neither of them had felt like leaving home this late in the evening, but his mood didn’t need to be contagious.
    Randy’s regular visits to church members in the hospital made him an excellent navigator. He strode the hallways with confidence. Shiloh kept pace with him, and within minutes, they turned a corner together and found Deacon Wray standing outside of what must be his wife’s hospital room. His eyes were closed and his chin was touching his chest.
    Shiloh’s heart sank. Were they too late? Was he praying or grieving?
    Deacon Wray lifted his eyes. “Pastor, you came. Mrs. Griffin, thank you for coming, too.” He shook Randy’s hand before spreading his arms to give Shiloh a hug. The elderly man clung to her in what felt like a combination of fear and frailness. When Deacon Wray finally pulled away, Randy rested a hand on his shoulder, and Shiloh knew he was waiting for Deacon Wray to share his wife’s status before speaking and possibly uttering something inappropriate. Shiloh had seen her husband in this position many times over the years, and she still marveled at how masterfully he communicated compassion to his worried or grief-stricken members.
    “She’s going to be okay, the doctors say.” Tears flooded Deacon Wray’s eyes as he whispered that news. “Thank God, thank God. She had me scared.”
    “I can imagine.” Randy matched his tone to Deacon Wray’s. “Thank God.”
    Deacon Wray lowered his head into his hands and sobbed. “I thought I’d lost her, Pastor,” he said when he had composed himself. “What would I have done?”
    He was five to six inches shorter than Randy, and he leaned intoRandy until Randy embraced him and let him cry. This was the first time Shiloh had seen the stoic Deacon Wray show such deep emotion. It was obvious he’d been terrified to witness the stroke. Shiloh approached him and rubbed his arm.
    “It’s going to be okay.”
    She looked up to make eye contact with Randy, just as Vic and Jade emerged from Sister Wray’s room, hand in hand.
    Shiloh glanced at her husband as surprise clouded his expression for a split second. She wished for the thousandth time she were half as good at masking her emotions. Jade and Vic could probably read all over her face her curiosity about why and how they had finagled some private time with Sister Wray.
    “What a surprise.”
    Randy’s tone conveyed Shiloh’s sentiments.
    “Brothers in the pulpit, brothers in service,” Vic said.
    He produced one of those megawatt smiles that routinely left female worshippers at St. Stephens Baptist weak-kneed. When Randy didn’t return the Colgate offering, Vic’s grin faded, and he cleared his throat.
    “Well, Deacon Wray called us right after talking to you, and I figured it would be appropriate for us to come down. This sounded serious. Jade and I were in there praying over Sister Wray as she slept. I figured you’d do the same when you arrived. The more prayers, the better.”
    Randy’s smile was fixed. “I see. Well, you’re right about that—the more the better.” He turned to Deacon Wray. “Is it okay if I go in?”
    Deacon Wray nodded, and seemed oblivious to the exchange that had taken place between the two ministers.
    Randy glanced at Vic but didn’t make eye contact. “You