The folding chairs in Luther Hogan’s meeting hall were arranged in a half-moon, the scent of burnt coffee and old pine boards lingering in the air. A ceiling fan hummed lazily overhead, stirring the August heat just enough to keep the room from going still. Luther—broad-shouldered, sun-lined face, and the kind of eyes that could size up a man’s soul in one look—shifted his weight against the lectern.
“Welcome back, everyone. And a special welcome to our new visitor, Anna.” He turned toward the woman on the far end. “Anna, would you mind sharing what brought you here today?”
The middle-aged woman cleared her throat, voice tight as barbed wire. “Hi. I’m Anna. I lost my husband to prostate cancer two months ago. It’s been… really hard.”
Luther gave a slow nod, like a cowboy tipping his hat
