The woman’s arms wrapped me up. Yes, her smile was familiar. I knew her. I’d first met her many years ago when life was hard. Well, hard for her and sad. Now it appeared she was on the upward swing. Several years back, I’d noticed the bright red coat around someone, a person who sat on a curb near the bridge where the church is held on Saturdays for the homeless community.

The music played under the bridge by Swampoodle Creek. The people sang, and a man strummed his guitar, but my eyes land...