It wasn’t fast. I was still drawing and writing the stories. Each time I finished a painting, Andy would ask me to tell the story. I was becoming mo...e comfortable with the storytelling. There was a difference between writing a story and walking through the chapel and telling a story. I tried to maintain painting a panel twice a week.Even though the chapel wasn’t officially finished or dedicated, the Jesuit brothers began holding a kind of evening service there and I could listen to them. How dare you makeaccusations! You're hardly here two seconds and already you're jumpingto conclusions."My father folded his arms and bunched his hands into fists as he stoodfully upright and puffed out his chest. As thin as he had gotten, hestill somehow managed to fill the room. "All I did was ask a question,Irene."A tear rolled down her right cheek as she squeezed her eyes shut. I wasbarely able to understand her as she growled through clenched teeth."That sounded more like an accusation." I. More

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