Today was his first communion, a day his grandmother had spoken of as a "joining."
When his turn came, Elias stepped into the aisle. The floorboards creaked under his polished shoes. As he reached the front, the light from a high stained-glass window caught a grain of dust, making it look like a floating spark of gold. "The Body of Christ," Father O’Shea whispered. "Amen," Elias replied, his voice small but steady. Communion
The air in the small stone chapel smelled of beeswax and old rain. Elias sat in the third pew, his hands resting on knees that still felt too bony for his twelve years. Outside, the Irish coast was a blur of grey mist and crashing Atlantic waves, but inside, the world was held in a hushed, golden suspension. Today was his first communion, a day his