I am the light of the world:
he that followeth Me shall not walk in darkness,
but shall have the light of life.
I will not throw up … I will not throw up ...
Eighteen-year-old Marceline Murphy set her overnight case on the O’Rourke’s wraparound porch and pressed a quivering finger to the brass doorbell, a battalion of butterflies barnstorming her stomach. The last time she’d been this nervous was at the age of eleven when she’d frozen on the top limb of a massive pine tree in the backyard of her best friend Julie O’Rourke. The memory of Julie’s older brother Sam climbing up to rescue her made her hands sweat even now, his body close behind as he helped her down, limb by limb. At the bottom he’d tugged on her pigtail with that dimpled grin that had always fluttered her pulse. “Best keep your feet on the ground and your nose in a book, Marceline,” he’d whispered in her ear. “You’ll want to stay far away from danger.”