Father McKenzie Eats Ice Cream

“You call this counseling?” Norah smiled as she caught the drip of ice cream on her chin. She was only teasing, but my stomach flipped. I vowed to pray all night to make up for this. “We have to get reacquainted; besides, non-traditional counseling works best sometimes. Your husband? He is not a…” I struggled to find the words.
“He’s… not a happy man. Nothing makes him happy. It’s like something—or someone— has stolen his joy and I can’t help but feel responsible.” Norah shivered. “Silly, right?”
“Don’t blame yourself for someone else’s unhappiness. Only your own.”
“Father—Ben, are you happy? I mean, really happy?”
I jumped a little.
“Why would you ask me that? It’s a ridiculous… question.”
Norah stared at me and pursed her lips. After a minute, she turned back to her ice cream cone, and we continued walking.

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