"I understand your pain, my son. It's hard to let go." Father Bucky Beaumont squinted his watery eyes shut and let his head droop. He'd heard the same story many times before, but that didn't lessen his compassion for the man. To be in love, and have the object of one's affection snatched away like that...on the other hand, there was that twist to it this time...

 The man on the other side of the grille didn't answer. It had taken a lot of soul-searching for him to even come. It had been a month since Rosie's death, and so many things had changed for the others...yet nothing had changed within him. He had tried to come to terms with the new situation on his own, but it had proven just too much for him to handle alone. He couldn't talk to Avril, God knows, even if she were the person in town he was closest to. She was at the eye of this entire tornado. Most of the townspeople he didn't know well enough, at least not in that capacity. He needed a priest, someone who would be impartial yet sympathetic. That ruled Father MacAnally out. He finally settled on talking to Father Beaumont, although he didn't really know him at all except by hearsay. It wasn't actually a confession that he was after, but it had seemed the least painful way to go about getting an appoinment. And this way he didn't have to look the older man in the eye.

 "What do you think that God desires of you?" Father Beaumont prompted gently.

 He leaned his head back against the dark varnished wood and looked up at the angle where the ceiling met the inside wall of the confessional. He knew what God wanted. That wasn't the problem. The problem wasn't even really what he himself wanted; in a way he was relieved that the decision had been taken out of his hands. The problem was the alcohol.

 "My son, if you don't talk to me, I can't figure out how to help you," Father Beaumont said with a hint of impatience. It was like pulling teeth with this one!

 "I'm an alcoholic, Father," Vincent said flatly. There. It did feel better to have said it. If he'd told everyone in the first place, he might have avoided this whole new mess he'd gotten into. But no, he had wanted to start with a clean slate, what a fine upstanding young man that new priest is, he's got a good head on his shoulders, he's so capable... What a bloody load of blarney!

 Ah so, Bucky thought. This was getting complicated. A fellow-priest, suffering a broken heart, far away from his homeland, and now an alcoholic on top of it all. The chap needed a friend. "Yesss..." he stalled while he polished his glasses with the end of the stole draped over his shoulders, "well do you know about AA?"

 He couldn't possibly go back there. He was known there, known as Vince who'd been off the bottle for over a year, and she'd likely be there, too. He was too ashamed. "It's too late, Father, I've..." he swallowed over the dryness in his throat, "...already started drinking again." He didn't even remember coming up with the idea, but he had suddenly found himself sitting down at the bar and asking Paul for a pint of Harp. Paul had been a little surprised, as he couldn't remember Vincent ever having ordered such a thing before, but the surprise had been more of the pleasant sort that a dental technician would feel upon discovering that a retirement community was being built next door to his practice. That first sip had been so consummately satiating, answering to every conceivable emptiness within him, from his stomach to the pleasure receptors in his brain, from his loneliness to his guilt, that he wondered why he had ever felt the need to do without it. A nice long drink, a little happiness, how could that possibly do anyone any harm? After all, alcohol was one of the few little mortal indulgences that wasn't forbidden him. But of course his emotions were still there when he woke up the next morning, and he had waited impatiently until the lunch service had started up and he felt he could in all dignity have another one. And now he was firmly back in its seductive embrace.

 Father Beaumont clucked his tongue and made a sour face. "Och now, it's never too late," he said comfortingly. "As they say, simply admitting you have a problem is the first step toward recovery."

 He had to move out. A relapsed alcoholic living over a bar...well, you can see where that would lead. A diabetic in a sweets shop, a mouse in a cheese factory, take any analogy you like, it was bad news. But where could he go? He wondered whether Garrett would be willing to let him stay at the cottage next to St. Joseph's. It was all too embarrassing. How could he go begging to the man who had stolen his...well, who had taken over his...erm, what exactly was it that Garrett had done?

 Vincent hadn't realized how very attached he had become to Avril until her crisis following Rosie's death. Or rather, he had realized it, but it hadn't been a problem for him, since she had been willing to play along. But then Garrett had come charging back into her life, and she had apparently fallen for him all over again. They had been practically inseparable ever since that day when Garrett had succeeded in breaking through Avril's wall of silence. Why had she opened up to him when Vincent had been the one who was there for her day after day? Garrett had just shown up, at Vincent's behest no less, and effortlessly taken over the role of the hero. That's what it must be like when you're born with a silver spoon in your mouth. Vincent had visited her once soon after that, but Garrett had been there, too, and Avril had been rather awkward and formal. There had been none of the openness and comfort that had hallmarked their relationship up to that point. He had tried later on several times to talk to Avril alone, but she had always put him off with excuses of being busy or tired. She had seemed genuinely regretful about not having time for him, but she obviously had time for Garrett.

 Vincent did feel as if Garrett had stolen Avril from him. But that was ridiculous, since she had never been "his". If they had really just been good friends, then the fact that she was back together with her ex-husband shouldn't change anything between them. He should be happy for her! So why did he feel so miserable?

 "Father Sheahan, a word!" Frankie shouted after Vincent as he jogged past at full speed.

 "Not now, Frankie!" Vincent called over his shoulder. He only had fifteen minutes before Óonagh opened the pub, and he meant to shower, change, and get the hell out of there before then. Out of sight, out of mind. Sometimes running away was quite useful.

 Frankie followed Vincent through the hotel entrance, but he had already disappeared. She put her hands on her hips and looked up the stairs, trying to decide whether to follow him. It was even harder to pin him down now than it had been when he spent all his time at Avril's place. But this time it was important. She had business to discuss.

 "What'd he do, Guard?" Dermot asked from behind the desk with an impish grin. "Serving wine to minors?"

 Frankie narrowed her eyes and pointed at him. "I wouldn't joke about that if I were you, young man. I remember what happened at the last parish fete!"

 Dermot lowered his eyes in instant obedience and whispered, "Yes, ma'am," but his smile was still visible.

 Frankie removed her hat, plopped down on a chair and crossed her arms. She could wait--she checked her watch--for a while at least.

 Avril scraped the mud out from inside The Cat's hoof. It was clumping up heavily today, dragging on the animals' feet. But she had to keep pushing them, keep up the momentum that she had finally gotten going around here. She had been much too lax during the period before Rosie's death, taking time for joyrides, lounging around, taking religious instruction--had she really done that? God, she must have been far gone!--and then the rain had really put a dent in her training programs.

 And the party...she didn't like to think of the party, for lots of reasons. First and foremost, that had been the last time that she had seen Rosie, dead or alive, and she hadn't exactly been welcoming to her. Then of course it had been a complete waste of time, for her at least. She had had to cut the day short in order to give Vincent, Liam and Dónal time to get the yard cleaned up and ready for the evening, and then instead of holing herself up in front of her computer and working out feed ratios, she had actually let herself get caught up in the excitement and hung around on the steps chatting with them while they worked. Foolish, really. And what had happened afterwards...well it was impossible. She didn't want to think about it any more. That was all over with now.

 Avril looked across at Garrett, putting Steely through his paces on the field. He had been a real godsend. She didn't know what would have happened to her if he hadn't been there. Maybe God had really sent him? No, if God had sent anyone, it was Vincent, and Vincent had brought Garrett. But she hadn't been able to face Vincent, not in the state she'd been in. He had done so much for her, and she knew how disappointed he'd be to find out that she had had a relapse. Oh sure, he'd probably be all understanding and non-judgmental, 'I know how hard it must have been for you, don't worry you're not a failure, we'll work on it together, blah blah blah,' but underneath it all he'd be thinking what a weakling she was and how he would never let such a thing happen to him.

 She had to hand it to Garrett, though, he was really sticking it out this time. Maybe he was trying to make up for having copped out of their marriage, maybe he was trying to 'save' her when he couldn't save Rosie, maybe he just didn't want to go back to Dublin alone, but whatever his motivations he was truly doing her a world of good. Under his vigilant eye, she had made it through the agonizing first couple of weeks of being dry again, and now she was finally beginning to regain a feeling of joy at being alive. She smiled wryly to herself. At least she knew her body wasn't dead.

 Vincent came down the stairs two at a time, his backpack flopping against his back.

 "The usual, Father?" Paul called hopefully from behind the bar, where he was opening up the taps.

 The usual sounded fantastic. "Thanks Paul, not today!" Vincent forced himself to say cheerfully as he strode to the door.

 "On the run again, Father Sheahan?" Frankie said pointedly as she stood, smoothing her uniform.

 "What?" Vincent, caught off guard, paused with his hand against the door.

 Frankie approached Vincent, her hat in her hands. "No law against standing still for a moment, you know," she said in all seriousness.

 "Frankie, I really can't--"

 She reached behind him and pushed the door open. "I know, gotta keep on the heels of sin," she sighed, gesturing for him to go out first.

 Outside, they both squinted against the rare glare of the sun. Frankie adjusted her hat and tilted her head to look up at Vincent from under the brim. "Mind if I walk with you?" she asked.

 Vincent smiled gratefully. "That'd be great. Just gotta grab a couple of things," he said, pointing across the road at Hendley's.

 While Vincent completed his purchases, Frankie went around the corner and leaned against the railing separating the street from the little riverfront park. She scrutinized the Angel, now running benignly past, for any sign of the disaster which had occurred a month earlier. The brownish waters glittering with reflected sunlight did not betray any memory of having swallowed a human life. A spray of flowers tied to the fence at the far corner of the park was the only witness to her memory. It had been a sombre time for everyone in town, and of course especially for Avril and Garrett Burridge as her next of kin. Father Sheahan seemed to be taking it awfully hard as well, but Frankie suspected that might not be entirely due to Rosie Burke's death. It hadn't escaped anyone's attention that Garrett and Avril were an item again.

 "Doesn't seem real." Vincent was standing right behind Frankie, but his voice sounded as if it were coming from much farther away.

 "No," Frankie agreed. "Shame."

 "Yeah it is," Vincent replied quietly.

 They stood there for a few minutes, each sunk in their own thoughts, until Vincent cleared his throat. "Um, you had something you wanted to discuss?"

 Frankie turned suddenly to the priest. She hadn't seen him this close up in a long time. He looked to have lost some weight. She frowned. "How are you, Father Sheahan?"

 Vincent paused, unsure for a moment how she meant that. "Ahm, I'm fine Frankie," he said cautiously.

 Liar, she thought. "You don't look it," she said.

 "Couple of rough nights, that's all," he said with his most convincing smile.

 "Suit yourself," she said. She wasn't his confessor. They started walking up toward St. Joseph's and Frankie explained her business.

 Avril gently removed Garrett's arm from where it lay across her shoulder. He rolled over and went back to sleep. She felt guilty. Not that there was anything wrong with their relationship; according to the Catholic church, they were still married, if she cared what the Catholic church thought, which she didn't. Not at all, no sirree. There was just that little slip of the tongue she had made the first time, a week ago...it had given Garrett pause of course, but well-bred gentleman that he was, he had let it go. Ever since then, she had been extremely careful, but it was difficult to give herself completely to Garrett whilst concentrating on not saying another man's name in the process.

 Being together with Garrett was familiar and safe, and certainly pleasant, yet it didn't feel quite right. There was the whole thing with Rosie, of course; were they being disrespectful of her by sleeping with each other, especially so soon after her death? Avril didn't know how Garrett felt about it, but for her part that was certainly an aspect. She still felt deeply betrayed by Rosie, and this was in a way her revenge. Then in addition it had been all of three and a half years (three years six months and twenty-four days, she had counted it up) since she had last...well, there had been no one since Garrett had left her. She hadn't been able to let anyone get anywhere near her, emotionally or physically, until Vincent. And what a fine choice that had turned out to be. A Roman Catholic priest. Just asking for it, that's what she had been doing.

 So she was using Garrett. Maybe he was using her as well. Oh yes, there were murmured avowals of love, regret-filled half-apologies, but with Garrett you never really knew whether he was being utterly sincere. He'd be the perfect hit man, if only he were criminally inclined, she had often thought, since he'd be able to pass any lie detector test and fool any judge or jury with both hands tied behind his back.

 Avril turned onto her side and snuggled up against Garrett's bare back, wrapping her arm around his chest. She sighed. At least he really had given her the support and the willpower to get off the bottle again. It was frightening how easy it had been to get caught up in it again.

 Vincent opened the side door at the Unitarian church and slipped inside as quietly as possible. The meeting should have begun twenty minutes ago, and he wanted to surreptitiously scope out the participants from the back before he joined in. He was just not ready to reveal his relapse to Avril yet.

 The poorly-lit room was full of cigarette smoke and an unpleasant stuffy smell. Someone he didn't recognize was standing and recounting in a halting monotone how he had recently lost his job. He scanned the crowd for dark-haired women. Avril liked to sit near the back, and there was a brunette in the last row, but she was too heavy-set. Finally satisfied that his anonymity was secure, he took a seat next to the aisle in the second-to-last row and tried to listen with one ear while he rehearsed what he wanted to say.

 A few minutes later, the unemployed man was winding down his story and Vincent was bracing himself to stand and say, 'Hi, I'm Vince, and I'm an alcoholic--' when he felt the stale air stir from behind. He turned around to see who had opened the door, and his heart leapt into his throat. It was Avril. She saw him, too, in that second when she stuck her head in, so was committed to joining the meeting. She closed the door quietly behind her and smiled awkwardly at Vincent. He moved over one seat and patted the empty chair next to him in an encouraging manner. Oh well, there went his chance to come clean with the group.

 Oh God, just what she needed, she cringed inwardly. Here she had finally gathered up enough courage to come down here again, for the first time in months, and he had to be here, Mr. I'm-In-Control-Of-My-Emotions, looking all spiffy and gorgeous in that black turtleneck, with his hair hanging thick and clean over the collar of his leather jacket. Avril slid half-way onto the folding chair, keeping well away from possible body contact, and brushed at her scruffy jeans self-consciously. She was still dusty from the stables; she hadn't taken the time to clean up before driving down, arriving late as it was. This was the first time that Garrett had allowed her to go out without him, the first time that she trusted herself to go out without him and not head straight for a liquor store, but they had agreed that it was important for her to take this step and go to an AA meeting of her own volition.

 Avril was studiously avoiding looking at Vincent, but she couldn't help noticing that he was jiggling his heels up and down nervously. She allowed herself to cast her eyes in his direction and saw that he was clenching his hands over his knees until his knuckles turned white. She snuck a glance at his face. He was keeping his gaze politely directed toward the middle-aged woman talking about the problems she was having with her teenaged son, but Avril was surprised to notice the dark circles under his eyes. And he looked quite pale. He must have felt her eyes on him, since he turned at that moment and gave her a crooked smile.

 Avril felt her heart soften. He looked stressed and sad, yet she couldn't mistake the love in his look either. She had mistreated him by putting him off. He deserved the truth. It was just so hard for her. She didn't want him to think less of her. He looked as if he'd been having a tough time of it as well. Was he suffering because of her? Or was there some church business that had been worrying him? Sitting next to him now, she realized how much she missed him, his friendship, his smile, his voice. They had been so close, and now so much more than his vows separated them. He looked like he had something he wanted to say. She wanted to talk to him now, too, but then they would have to leave the meeting and... Dammit, she had come here with a purpose and she wouldn't be put off by any one. She had half-way reckoned with his being here anyway. She knew once he had heard what she was about to say, he'd set aside whatever was on his mind and want to talk to her about her relapse, but she couldn't bear to hear his pity. Better to get it over with quickly and beat a hasty retreat. Barely even before the other woman sat down to her round of applause, Avril popped up out of her seat and started talking.

 "Hi everyone, I'm Avril and I'm an alcoholic," the words tumbled out. There was no going back now.

 "Hi, Avril," the crowd mumbled politely.

 Avril pushed her loose hair back behind her ears and tried not to notice how many familiar faces there were around her. She focused on the circular bald spot on the crown of a man's head a couple of rows in front of her. "Some of you who recognize me might wonder why I haven't been around in a while. A lot of things have happened, but I reckon to make a long story short, I haven't taken a drink in thirty-five days."

 This was received with polite applause as well as several sympathetic sounds from people who remembered when she had spoken of being dry for more than three years.

 Vincent felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. Her, too! He could hardly hear what she was saying. Thirty-five days...so she had been drinking during her dark period following Rosie's death. Oh, Avril! Why didn't you tell me? If anyone could have understood... So why hadn't he told her about his own struggles? Touché. He did understand, and only too well. The shame, the fear of being pitied, the guilt, the feeling of failure. And to think she'd kept it all to herself...no, wait, she hadn't. She had let Garrett in. Was that before or after she had decided to quit drinking again? Vincent didn't believe that Garrett was just giving her moral support, either. There weren't any vows of celibacy to stop Garrett and Avril from...well, from doing whatever it was that Vincent was pretty sure that they were doing. It was all none of his concern, of course, if she didn't want him around...Now she was talking about Garrett.

 "...well my ex-husband, I know it sounds strange, but he was the one that forced me to get rid of all my alcohol and he watched me like a hawk until now I feel secure enough to get through a couple of hours on my own. So I've been relying on him, but from now on I'm going to rely on myself."

 She sat down to her own round of applause and crossed her arms and legs defiantly. Her face was hot and her heart was pounding, but she had done it. Now she had something to prove to herself and to everyone here tonight. She was going to rely on herself from now on.

 As soon as the meeting adjourned, Avril dashed for the door. But Vincent didn't have yard-long legs for nothing. He caught up with her just outside.

 "Hey, Avril, wait up."

 Avril headed straight for her car, not slackening her pace. "I do not need to hear your opinion right now," she said, chopping at the air threateningly.

 Vincent kept stride with her and said reasonably, "Maybe not. I just--" He wanted to tell her how much he admired what she had done, he wanted to tell her that she wasn't alone with her problem, that he...but then it hit home that she really didn't need to hear his opinion. She was an independent spirit, standing on her own two feet. She had fought this fight before, on her own, and she would do it again, with or without him or Garrett. "...Maybe not," he repeated, more to himself, and slowed down, letting Avril pull away.