“What’s wrong, Mary?” Baby John asks. We still call him Baby John, even though he’s already five. He lies flat in the bunk across the room. Gabriel, his stuffed lion, stands guard on his chest. My tossing must have woken him. Matty, my older brother by 10 months, snores from the bunk above him. “Nothing,” I say. “Go back to sleep.” Nothing’s a lie. I can’t sleep because my soul’s going straight to hell on account I’ve blasphemed the Holy Spirit. Blaspheming the Holy Spirit is the one unforgivable sin. And I did it on accident. I’ve sinned lots and lots of times before but those were the forgivable kind. Like the time back when I was six and forgot to shut the screen door. Chip, our doggie, let himself right out. By the time we’d realized he’d made a break, he was all gone. We piled in the station…
