Chapter 167: Chairty.
The sun had fully risen by the time Lukas pulled up in front of St. Mary’s Chapel, its whitewashed walls glowing under the golden morning light. The church bell hadn’t rung yet, but a small crowd had already gathered, many dressed in modest Sunday attire. Some turned toward the Mercedes as it came to a gentle stop along the gravel shoulder. Curious eyes squinted through the windshield.
When Lukas stepped out and walked around to open the door for Keem, the murmurs began. He did it without hesitation, with practiced grace, like he’d done it a hundred times before—though the calm in his chest felt brand new. Keem stepped out slowly, holding the edge of her dress, her face glowing not with vanity but quiet serenity. Her ivory white gown flowed with the breeze, and her eyes reflected a peace rarely found in people so young.
"Is that... him?" "That’s the boy from the Phillies..." "The pitcher... the hundred-million-dollar guy?"
The hushed voices did not escape Lukas, but he didn’t let it alter his pace. He simply nodded to a few familiar faces and walked side by side with Keem toward the church doors.
Inside, St. Mary’s retained its old charm. The wooden pews were freshly polished, stained glass windows shimmered in multicolored light, and the scent of beeswax candles mingled with the faint aroma of lilies. Soft piano notes played as the organist prepared the morning hymns.
Keem led the way, stopping to greet several of the older women by name, hugging a few, and blessing others. A small group of children seated on the left pews ran up to her and hugged her waist tightly.
"Miss Keem, you came! You came early today!" a little girl with missing front teeth exclaimed.
Keem chuckled and bent down, brushing the girl’s hair softly. "Of course I came, sweet pea. The Lord’s house doesn’t open without its children."
Lukas stood quietly, watching the exchange. There was something luminous about her. Not just in beauty—he’d seen beauty before. But this was different. Keem moved with the type of gentleness that didn’t ask to be noticed. It was simply felt.
She eventually turned to him with a soft smile. "Come, sit with me. We sit in the back row. That way I can keep an eye on the kids."
They found a quiet pew. The children seated in front kept glancing back at Lukas, whispering and giggling. Some recognized him from the television. One even whispered, "That’s the fireball pitcher!"
The sermon began. Father Jonas, an elderly but sharp-voiced man with a silver beard, led the prayer with warmth and vigor. He spoke of humility and service. Of faith not as performance, but as quiet labor in the lives of others.