She stared at him.
Once.
Twice.
Isaiah?
Then he laughed, but it sounded as if he was about to break down.
After the pantry closed and the last child left with a paper bag and a cookie, they sat facing each other in the multipurpose room with two cups of weak church coffee.
For a while they did nothing but watch.
The recognition had its own gravity.
Disbelief too.
Victoria was thirty-one years old.
Life had not been easy for her.
Her father had died when she was fourteen years old.
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