"Tell me about her," Vincent said sympathetically.

 Garrett sat across from him in the renovated former curate's house. Both of his arms lay limply on the table top, an untouched cup of black coffee between them. "She was..." he whispered hoarsely. He couldn't muster the energy to focus his thoughts. He couldn't get beyond the 'was'. Past tense. Gone.

 Vincent waited patiently for the other man to continue. He knew what desolation, what emptiness he was confronting. He couldn't believe she was gone either. One minute she had been standing there, not five meters away from him, and the next she had been in the water, recognizable in the dashing torrent only by her yellow rain slicker. She had been thrown against the bridge, where she must have hit her head; the autopsy had revealed that she had lost consciousness before she had drowned.

 "Alive," he said, imbuing the word with much more meaning than simply a state of being. "She was alive. Full of life. Energy. Ideas," Garrett spoke disconsolately. He sunk his head.

 Vincent's heart went out to him. He had obviously loved her very much. Vincent wondered what it must be like to share one's life so intimately with another, married or not.

 Garrett clenched his fists. "I should have gone in after her." He raised his head and glared at Vincent with red-rimmed eyes. "Why didn't you let me go in after her?"

 They had been through this already. Vincent's first impulse, once his brain had begun to process what was happening, had also been to dive into the raging waters, but he had been able to maintain a cool enough head to realize that he would have been just as helpless as she against the forces of nature. Besides, she had gone under in a matter of seconds. It would have been impossible to locate her. Garrett had in all likelihood realized it as well, and his first move had been to run up to the bridge, then clamber over the sandbags which were already in place and lean over, screaming her name. Then in his desperation he had started to climb over the side of the bridge; Vincent didn't know whether he was trying to save her or join her, but he had reached Garrett by that time and was able to pull him back.

 "It's not your fault," Vincent repeated.

 "Whose then?" Garrett challenged him angrily. "God's?"

 Vincent clenched his jaw. "I can't answer that," he said in a monotone. Who knew God's mind? Vincent knew that in cases like this, where a beautiful young person lost their life, seemingly senselessly, whether by means of an accident or illness, many people's faith in a benevolent deity was shaken, even irreparably damaged. He didn't know much about Garrett's faith, but he wanted to help him find the solace that God could offer.

 "If you can't, who can?" Garrett spat at him bitterly.

 Vincent looked down at his hands folded in his lap and picked distractedly at a hangnail. "Nobody on earth can explain these things," he mumbled consolingly. "Why do babies die? Why do the innocent suffer?"

 "To hell with your God!" Garrett's ears were red with anger as he challenged the priest.

 Vincent exhaled forcibly through his nose. He understood Garrett's anger. It arose from the immense helplessness and thus frustration which humans felt when confronted with the enormity of natural forces, laws, and cycles. Vincent had found comfort in the eternal, solace in God's love which surpasses all earthly shades. It didn't make him less sad at her passing, but it made him more accepting.

 She had been buried in the family plot in St. Joseph's cemetery, with Father MacAnally officiating over the funeral. Her parents knew Father Mac from the many years back when he had been the curate there. That had been when they were still together. Vincent was a complete stranger to them, Avril had apparently never mentioned him to them, and so he understood when they went straight to Father Mac. He had introduced himself to them, though, explaining how he had known their daughter, and offering his support. They were polite yet reserved toward him, and obviously overcome with grief, especially Mrs. Burke. Garrett had been more of a comfort to her than anyone; it appeared that the elder Burkes's divorce had not been amicable. But playing the supportive son-in-law while being the grieving widower (as it were) had taken its toll on Garrett, and Vincent was whom he had taken it out on.

 "You're not the first one to think that, mate. But blaming it on God won't make her death any less real. He is there for you whenever you're ready."

 Vincent drove through the gate into the gravel-covered yard. He sat silently in his car and looked around. Of course work was continuing at the stables, but things were subdued, quieter. It was like everyone was walking on eggshells. Eoin passed by, leading Pilgrim's Progress, with Fire At Will trotting along next to her. He glanced through the windscreen at Vincent, but the priest couldn't read the other man's expression.

 After several minutes, the green door leading into Avril's office and living quarters opened. Vincent felt a stab of love and compassion mixed with pain. She looked so pale and brittle. Her dark hair was pulled severely back from her face into a strict pony tail at the base of her neck. She wore a tight black sweater that emphasized the sharp angles of her body. She had her arms crossed over her chest and she looked lost for a moment as she stared empty-eyed at the low, oppressive clouds. Even from his vantage point across the yard, Vincent could see the lifelessness that pervaded her entire being. When she lowered her eyes, her gaze fell on Vincent's car and she appeared to shiver. Then she turned around, without haste, and went back inside, closing the door behind her.

 It had been three days since the funeral, and Avril was still refusing to talk to anyone. It was as if she, along with her sister, had ceased to exist. Or perhaps as if, with Rosie's death, the rest of the world had died as well. She was living in her own world, peopled only by ghosts. Or maybe she was the ghost.

 She was neglecting her business and avoiding people, yet without going to any great lengths to do so. She was simply there, without being there. She had driven into town the day before the funeral and bought some necessities at Hendley's shop. Kathleen said the ten minutes during which Avril had been in the store had been like a haunting. She still crossed herself when speaking of it. The day of the funeral, which she had not attended, she had been gone from the yard for a good two hours, destination unknown, and returned with a shopping bag, contents unknown. She emerged periodically from her hermitage to study the sky, as if searching for a sign, or trying to see past the veil into the heavens, then returned as stealthily as she had appeared, without acknowledging the presence either of the horses or the other humans around her.

 Vincent had tried at first to talk to her, rung her up, written notes and slid them under the door, pounded on the door, peered through the windows, waited for hours on her doorstep for one of her brief appearances, even grabbed her arm then in desperation, both to get her attention and to reassure himself that it was in fact the other sister who had died. But it had been no use. She had absent-mindedly removed her arm from his grasp and wordlessly returned to her strange solitude. Or maybe it had been of some use; Vincent had felt her stiffen at his touch and he had heard a sound, a little squeak that came from the back of her throat, and then she had held her breath until she was inside again. Maybe he had succeeded in making contact after all.

 Dr. Ryan had come out once to see her, or rather catch a glimpse of her, at Vincent's urging. He had agreed that Avril looked to be in a poor state, but that she seemed generally clean and healthy, apparently was taking at least a minimum of care for herself, and that as long as she wasn't putting herself in any physical danger through neglect or intentional abuse, there was nothing that anyone could do, other than just to let her know that her friends were there for her.

 Vincent drove back into town. The stable hands knew to call him if they should observe any change. He felt the most nervous about leaving her alone all night, but it wouldn't help anything to camp out on her doorstep. How was she spending her hours alone in the apartment? Was she doing something productive, investing all her energy into a personal project? Was she sitting and staring at the wall? Watching TV? Or, what Vincent feared was most likely, was she drinking again?

 He knew he couldn't spend all his time worrying about Avril; there were others who needed his attention as well. He was committed to giving Carrie Kelly and Joe O'Shea pre-marriage counseling; fourteen-year-old Maura had been caught shoplifting, and her parents wanted Vincent to talk to her; Mrs. Collins was teetering on the edge of death, and Vincent expected her daughter to ring him at any moment to administer the Last Rites. Once again, the words of St. Paul echoed in his mind: "He that is unmarried careth for the things that belong to the Lord...But he that is married careth for the things that are of the world, how he may please his wife." This was the Lord's wisdom.

 And of course there was Garrett. Why was he still in town? The former curate's house wasn't home to him by any stretch of the imagination. Although this had been the site of his lover's death, he seemed loath to leave. What was keeping him here? Hardly fond memories of Rosie; she had only been down with him once or twice. Vincent felt he would be flattering himself by imagining that Garrett was sticking around for their conversations, although Vincent was perhaps the only one to whom Garrett could talk so openly. He had the advantage of being neither a very close friend nor a stranger; he had known all of the parties involved, so Garrett didn't need to do a lot of explaining, and at the same time Garrett didn't need to protect either himself or Rosie's memory by putting on a brave face to Vincent, as he had to do for Mrs. Burke. They hadn't actually talked about Avril yet, and Vincent determined that it was perhaps time to broach the subject.

 "Maybe if you went to see her," Vincent suggested, spreading his hands in a plaintive gesture.
 
 Garrett shook his head abruptly. "Not a good idea."

 "It can hardly get any worse than it is now," Vincent pointed out. "She won't talk to anyone as it is."

 "I've only ever succeeded in upsetting her."

 "Maybe that's just what she needs."

 "We all have to deal with this in our own way," Garrett said harshly.

 "But she's not dealing with it."

 "And I am?" Garrett raised his eyebrows incredulously.

 "At least you're here, mate, at least you're talking to me."

 "Shouting is more like it," he muttered, looking down at his hands, then sighed. "Look, I'm sorry, I know it's not your fault."

 Vincent dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand. "Don't give it a second thought. I'd be glad if she'd yell, throw things, hit me, anything. Then at least I'd know she was still in there. The way she is now...it's just not Avril."

 Garrett looked at Vincent calmly for several seconds, then said, "You care about her, don't you."

 Vincent hesitated before responding, "She's putting her soul in jeopardy." True, yet evasive.

 Garrett's blue eyes pierced Vincent's brown ones. "No, I mean...you really care about her, don't you."

 Vincent held Garrett's gaze for several seconds, then looked down.

 Garrett nodded. "Me, too. I loved both of them. I love both of them. How could I not?"

 "So you'll go and see her?" Vincent asked hopefully.

 "I'll try."

 Vincent and Garrett stood outside Avril's door. They had knocked and called out to her, but she hadn't answered. Not that they had expected her to. The dark grey clouds proceeded majestically across the sky, oblivious to the lives of the scrabbling, scurrying creatures below them. Was God a force of nature, as some believed? thought Garrett. If so, did He care more for man than the clouds did? Vincent sat down on the top step and hunched down in his leather jacket. The late autumn wind buzzed in his ears.

 Garrett wandered down to the stables and leaned on Mr. Tibbs's door. His old polo pony stepped forward to see who was there, then snorted and shook his head in greeting. Garrett reached up and patted the horse's nose. He was a good friend.

 Vincent heard a noise at the door behind him and stood up. Avril stepped out and looked over Vincent's head at the sky.

 "Avril," Vincent said gently.

 Avril blinked and breathed in deeply.

 "Avril, there's someone here who wants to see you." Vincent nodded toward Garrett, who was by now approaching from the direction of the stables.

 Avril wrapped her arms around her chest, seemingly against the chill in the air, but did not show any sign of having heard him.

 Garrett walked slowly up the steps, as if Avril were a wild bird who would fly away at the slightest sudden movement.

 Avril looked around without any particular interest, until her gaze fell as if by accident on Garrett. He stopped moving. Their eyes locked.

 Avril couldn't look away. His eyes mirrored her anguish. If anyone knew what she was going through, it was him. Her parents' pain was different; they had lost a child. She couldn't look to them for comfort when they were so wrapped up in their own completely separate experiences, any more than she could hope to offer them anything. She barely even knew them anymore. Her rebellious teenage years, followed by her marriage, which they had never understood, and then her alcoholism had turned her into a stranger to them.

 And then there was Vincent. He was still there, always there. She knew he wanted to help her, but she couldn't even look at him. She hadn't been prepared for Garrett, though, and she had looked at him, and seen his torment. And his love.

 "She's gone," she finally whispered hoarsely, halfway between a question and a statement.

 "Yes," Garrett confirmed stolidly, holding her gaze steady.

 Avril felt her carefully constructed barrier around her emotions start to crumble. "Oh God," she said as her voice broke.

 Garrett ascended the final step to stand directly before Avril. "I know," he said.

 As Vincent watched this exchange, he felt very much the outsider. It hurt. Here were two people who had a long history together, who understood each other at a level that Vincent had only recently begun to touch on.

 Avril closed her eyes and swayed to one side, reaching out blindly for support. Vincent stretched out his hand toward her, but it was Garrett who she made contact with first. She grabbed onto his arm and dug her fingers in. Garrett put his other arm around her shoulder and she leaned into him as the tears started flowing.

 "I know," Garrett repeated. "Come on." He gently led her back inside and closed the door.