Now darkness had set in, and the water was already starting to creep over the low wall of sandbags that had been erected. Óonagh and Gráinne were keeping up a steady stream of coffee and bread-and-butter for the workers. They had been a bit perplexed when a small group of volunteers from near Dublin had turned down the coffee, and even tea, with the explanation that such drinks were "against their religion." Gráinne had finally tracked down some watery instant cocoa at Hendley's Shop, though, which they accepted graciously. Strange religion.

 By midnight, many of the workers had fallen prey to cold and exhaustion and sought refuge in the lounges and spare rooms of the grateful residents of Ballykissangel. It was apparent, though, that with those few who were left, they would only just be able to keep pace with the rising water, at best, and the authorities were predicting that the river wouldn't crest until sometime in the course of the following morning.

 Vincent shouldered another sandbag which Liam handed down from the flatbed, staggered over to the bulwark on leaden legs, and dropped it heavily into place. The rain had mercifully stopped earlier that afternoon, so at least this load of sand was not sopping wet. He exchanged a grim look with Brendan as the headmaster dropped his bag next to Vincent's. They knew that there was no way they would be able to last through the night and keep the river back. Unless a miracle happened... Yet no one was ready to admit defeat. Almost no one.

 Paul stood still for a moment and pressed both hands against his aching lower back. He wasn't cut out for this kind of work. But his livelihood and his home were at stake. He could see how anxious Óonagh was, standing in the open doorway of the pub, her arms wrapped around her chest. Dermot was all bravado and swagger, full of a child's faith that nothing bad would ever really happen, and a man's desire to protect what was his. But Gráinne had picked up on the tense atmosphere, and her youthful face mirrored her mother's.

 "Doesn't look good, does it, Father," Paul murmured to Vincent.

 "Never say never, Paul," Vincent said, as encouragingly as he could. He walked back to the truck to get another sandbag.

 Paul trotted along behind him. "I don't mean to be a naysayer, but that river's coming over its banks tonight, am I right?"

 "Only if we let it," Vincent answered him, hinting that if Paul would do more and talk less, they might just beat the river back.

 "Right," Paul said, a little discomfited. He knew he hadn't been as industrious with throwing around the sandbags as Vincent had, but hey, he had a good ten years on the man.

 Paul went over to where Óonagh and Gráinne were tensely watching their efforts. "Why don't you go on upstairs, sweetheart," Paul said fondly, stroking Gráinne's pigtails. "It's too cold down here for a princess."

 "Is there really going to be a flood, Daddy?" Gráinne asked with wide eyes.

 "Not if we can help it, sweetheart," Paul reassured her, but he looked at Óonagh with raised eyebrows that expressed his unspoken fear. "Go on, now." He gave Gráinne a pat on the back to direct her toward the stairs.

 Óonagh watched her go, then turned back to Paul. "Is there going to be a flood, Paul?" she asked him in low tones.

 Paul looked back outside at the handful of tired men and women still manning the lines. "I'm afraid so," he admitted. "I think we should pack up and evacuate."

 "Tonight?" Óonagh asked with wide eyes that looked so much like her daughter's.

 "Tomorrow there may not be anything left to pack," Paul said grimly and headed for the interior of the pub, urgently yelling, "Dermot!" over his shoulder.

 Avril awoke the next morning to the sound of her alarm going off. She rolled over and whacked the snooze button, then lay there, one arm dangling over the side of the bed, and listened. It was quiet. Avril raised her head off the pillow in order to listen with both ears. It was definitely quiet. No thrumming of rain on the roof, no splashes from the yard, no patter of drops against the windows. She turned her head toward the window and squinted at the dawn. It did seem slightly lighter than in the past couple of days. She got up and pulled the curtain back. It was still gray, but it was most certainly not raining. There were even dry patches visible. Hallelujah! she thought jubilantly. If she were a religious person anyway, she quickly added. Speaking of religious people...

 Avril quickly pulled on some clothes and went into the kitchen to get her cell phone. She was anxious to find out how the sandbagging had gone. She had already punched in his number when she remembered how early it was...Ah well, he's an early riser, too, she consoled herself as the connection clicked through. No answer, though, after several rings. Still sleeping? Left his phone in his car again? Who knows, she shrugged, and went about her morning routine. If the rain had stopped, there might be a chance of the track at Hollywood being dry enough for the afternoon's races. King Ransom and The Cat were both itching to get their hooves onto the hard-packed dirt and let fly. If she got there early enough, there might even be enough time for a couple of practice runs to loosen them up.

 That evening, Avril was going over some orders. She had had a fantastic day: it had turned sunny in the afternoon, The Cat had won, and an owner from Rathdrum had spoken to her about the possibility of stabling and training one of his racers at her yard. She had tried to call Vincent to tell him the good news after Vespers, but there still hadn't been any answer on his number, nor at Fitzgerald's. She chalked it up to problems with the telephone system as an aftermath of the heavy rains. Maybe a switching station had gone out or something. She'd drive into town tomorrow morning and catch him after he was finished with Mass. She was a little surprised to hear a knock at the door. Who could be stopping by at this time?

 "Is there room at the inn?" Vincent looked at Avril with a tired yet hopeful smile.

 Avril's heart beat faster, as usual, at the sight of Vincent on her doorstep, but those feelings were overridden by a more urgent concern for his well-being. She had never seen him looking so strained. He had shadows under his eyes, which made them look sunken, and his face was pale and drawn. His shoulders were stooped, and his arms hung limply at his sides. His clothes were stained and stiff with dried mud, and he smelled of damp.

 "Of course," Avril urged, first glancing outside for his car but not seeing it, then stepping back so that he could enter. "Come in, God, Vincent, what happened?" Had he walked all the way from town again? Avril was getting a bad feeling. What in the world could have happened to put him in such a state? Vincent came in and stood unsteadily before her. Avril closed the door behind her and frowned in worry at this apparition. "Come here, you're about to keel over," she said, guiding him to a chair. "What can I get you?"

 Vincent sat down at the table, leaned his head on his hands, and closed his eyes. He felt like he might never open them again. "Don't worry about me, any old hedge will do."

 Avril hovered around, not sure what to do. It looked like he needed sleep, a lot of it, and fast. "What happened?" she asked again.

 "We lost," he answered flatly without opening his eyes. "River broke through and flooded the street. That row of houses backed up to the Angel, including Kathleen's place, all their back gardens washed away. Basements full, unsafe for habitation. Fitzgerald's and the other low-lying buildings are a lost cause. They're swimming."

 Avril's heart sunk. "Oh God, Vincent, I'm sorry. I had no idea. I've been gone all day..." Her happiness at The Cat's win vanished in the face of this catastrophe. "Well what about-- Is everyone--" She didn't want to voice her fear that anyone might have been hurt, or worse.

 Vincent raised his head and opened his bleary eyes. "Everyone's fine," he said. "Got out in time." He knew that Avril would want to hear more details, but right now all he wanted was a place to lay his head. The Dooleys were camped out in Frankie's lounge, Kathleen and Brigid O'Toole were in the sacristy, and Siobhan and Aisling were at Brendan's. "Look, would it be all right--" he began wearily.

 Avril understood right away what Vincent wanted. "Of course, hey, say no more, you go ahead and get cleaned up, I'll clear out the spare room."

 Avril hurried through the living room, turning on lights as she went, and quickly cleared off the spare bed. She heard Vincent go into the bathroom and turn on the water. Poor man! He looked exhausted, physically and emotionally. Knowing how tenacious he was, throwing himself completely into a project, Avril imagined that he must have worked to his breaking point, maybe beyond, and then to have it all go to naught...what a blow. To say nothing of the consequences for the town. What would happen now?

 Vincent took a quick shower, just to rinse off the grungy feeling and the smell of the river. His muscles were beyond hurting. They were simply refusing to respond anymore. He couldn't even raise his arms up to wash his hair. It was only by sheer willpower that his legs were still holding him up. He dried himself off half-heartedly and realized he didn't have any other clothes with him. He hadn't taken the time to pack up any of his things from his room last night, as the Dooleys had done, and so for the time being he had nothing but the clothes on his back. Or rather the clothes in a smelly heap on the floor. He doubted very much that anything of Avril's would fit him; it would be ridiculous even to try. He was too tired to care any more, he just wanted to get into bed, so he wrapped the largest towel in the bathroom around his waist and went into his old room.

 Avril had gone back to the kitchen to fetch Vincent a snack. She brought a banana and a mug of tea with plenty of sugar into the spare room and set them down on the night stand. She was about to leave again when she heard the bathroom door open and Vincent appeared, wearing nothing but a bath towel wrapped around his waist. Once she had gotten over her first embarrassment at seeing him like that, she realized that he hadn't brought his backpack or anything else with him. He must not have anything to change into. "Oh, erm... sorry, I--" she stammered.

 Vincent noticed Avril's momentary surprise, registered where her eyes wandered to, and staggered straight to the bed. "Don't worry, I'm not going to try anything," he mumbled and let himself fall headlong onto the coverlet. Now that he was lying down, he never wanted to move again. In fact, he didn't think he could move.

 Avril looked at his prone figure stretched out face-down on the bed. His broad back was covered with little droplets of water, interspersed with several dark freckles. The two little dimples above his buttocks were just visible before the towel began. Avril swallowed and tried to focus. "Right, no, I know, no, it's just... you should eat something before you go to sleep."

 "Can't move," Vincent mumbled into the pillow. He knew she was right, though. The last he had eaten was breakfast at the pub this morning, when they had thought that the sandbag dam would hold. An hour later, the dam had collapsed at a weak point just above the bridge, and there had been nothing more they could do but make sure everyone was out of the way of the water. Once the river had found its new course, he had spent the rest of the day helping the affected townspeople to save pets and precious memorabilia out of their homes. The water wasn't actually that deep in the houses, only about up to his knees, so he and a couple of other men had waded back and forth, holding onto ropes to steady themselves against the current, until everybody was satisfied that they had everything that could be saved.
 
 Avril stood and watched Vincent's form silently. What would she do if there weren't this invisible barrier between them? What if he were her...boyfriend? (Although she was a little scared to allow herself such a thought, even hypothetically.) When Garrett would come back from a particularly nasty game, his arm sore from wielding the stick or his back stiff from reaching down for the ball, Avril used to give him a massage. She remembered sitting astraddle Garrett's bare back, using the flat side of her thumbs to work her way down his spine, pressing on the freckle-covered skin of his shoulderblades with the heels of her hands, leaning forward until the ends of her hair brushed his back and then nuzzling--

 "What," Vincent turned his head slightly to the side and looked at Avril through one eye slit.

 Avril was jolted back to the present. She cleared her throat. "You're going to get cold like that," she said. "Here, why don't you just--" she lifted the edge of the cover he was lying on and flipped it over on top of him, "roll over-- no, no! I mean, slide over. Sliding is better. Don't roll!" For heaven's sake, don't turn over, she pleaded. She didn't know how tightly that towel was wrapped.

 Vincent was already half asleep. He caught the gist that Avril was trying to cover him up, which he appreciated, since he was getting chilly. He grunted and moved over as best he could, and Avril pulled more of the cover up and over him. She tugged and prodded and tucked the comforter around him until she was satisfied that he wouldn't catch a draft.

 "There's a drink and a banana here next to you, in case you want something during the night," she said softly.

 "Kay," Vincent said without opening his eyes or moving his lips.

 "OK," Avril echoed. She didn't have any reason to stay any longer. She turned off the lamp and went to the door.

 Vincent heard her footsteps receding. He felt a great disappointment. It had been so nice to have her hovering around him and to feel her hands patting him, even if through the blanket. It would be so lovely if only she would-- "Stay," he murmured.

 Avril froze in the doorway. What had he said? Had he really said, 'Stay'? Or had he just said, 'OK' again? She hesitated. Should she-- "What?" she whispered through the tightness in her throat, then again, a little louder, "What?"

 Had he said that out loud? Vincent wondered. Yeah, why not. "Stay," he repeated, a little more clearly.

 Avril's heart was thudding in her chest. Surely he didn't mean-- No, of course not. She walked carefully back across the darkened room and knelt down next to the bed. "What is it?" she whispered.

 What is it? I'm dispirited and saddened, I feel like I bear the burden of what happened out there today, as well as the responsiblity to uplift the entire community, give them hope, and show them the path to their future. I draw my inspiration and guidance from God, but your presence and support comforts me, gives me strength and energy. I need you. All this was unspoken, but implicit in the words he uttered, "Please just stay."

 Avril placed one hand on Vincent's back and rested her cheek on the edge of the mattress. He exhaled unsteadily a couple of times, then his breathing became slower and more even. He drifted in the half-consciousness between sleep and wakefulness, the pleasant scent of Avril's presence in his nostrils. He snuggled down under the comforter. What a lovely sensation that was, those warm fingers on his neck, sliding up into his hair, then down across his shoulders. "Nghng," he grunted in acknowledgement. Now the fingers were smoothing the spikes of damp hair off his forehead, now caressing his cheek.

 Avril watched Vincent's face in the grayish light which fell through the open door. She could see his eyes moving beneath the lids, maybe he was dreaming already. Avril respected the work he did, even if she thought he was crazy to accept the rules he had to operate under. But those were his choices, not hers. She touched his lips with the tips of her first two fingers. Why was she so drawn to them, to him? Was it just the attraction of the unattainable? On the other hand, was he really out of reach? He had certainly shown on more than one occasion that he felt more than merely a platonic love for her. She leaned closer and held her face just next to his, close enough to feel his breath and smell his skin, yet not quite touching him. He didn't move. Not knowing if he was even aware of her presence anymore, she closed the gap between their lips and was instantly rewarded with a flood of relaxation and excitement. She backed away slightly and thought she saw a fleeting smile at the corners of Vincent's eyes and mouth. She kissed him again, willing him to kiss her back. Then she felt him move.

 Vincent pulled one hand out from under the cover and felt for Avril's cheek without opening his eyes. He put his thumb on her mouth, as if to ascertain where it was, then kissed her slowly and lazily before letting his hand fall loosely back onto the mattress.

 "Vincent, good morning," Avril's voice lilted softly as she stroked his hair. "Wakey wakey."

 Vincent groaned. He realized someone was trying to wake him up, but his brain was still deep in sleep mode and he just wanted that pesky someone to go away. He frowned and waved his hand around as if to shoo a fly away.

 Avril picked up the cup of freshly-brewed coffee from the night stand where she had put it down and held it under Vincent's nose. "Vincent, it's Sunday morning. Don't you have to go to church?"

 That registered. Vincent opened one eye and beheld Avril smiling at him, her tousled hair forming a dark nimbus around her head. So this is what it was like to wake up next to her. In a manner of speaking, anyway. He didn't think she had slept here, but he had to admit that the last thing he vaguely remembered was her hand on his bare back, sending warmth throughout his body. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked sleepily around. Avril was kneeling next to the bed, dressed in jeans and an oversized grey sweater, and holding a cup of coffee. "What time is it?" he yawned.

 "Just after six. I thought you have Mass at eight, but I didn't know how much time you might need to prepare."

 "Thanks." He turned toward her and sat up a bit more, pulling the comforter up over his naked chest. It was kind of cold in here without any clothes on, he thought. Wait a second. Something about that thought seemed like it needed to be reviewed, so he replayed it in his head. Oops. He wrapped the blanket around his backside as well. "Ahm, you wouldn't happen to know where my clothes are? I think I left them--"

 "Not to worry," Avril reassured him with an amused smile as she replaced the coffee cup on its saucer. He hadn't been this modest last night. She hoped this wasn't a reaction to what she had done the night before; come to think of it, she hoped he didn't even remember what she had done. She had left the room right after they had kissed, but her conscience wasn't giving her a rest yet. She pointed at the neat pile of clothes lying at the foot of the bed. "I washed them after you fell asleep last night. I would have burned them, but ..."

 "Yeah, I might have gotten a few stares on my way back into town," Vincent grinned.

 They both broke out in nervous laughter at the thought of Vincent walking back to town in the nude.

 "Pleasant dreams?" Avril asked nonchalantly.

 "Erm...yeah, reckon so," Vincent answered gamely. He didn't recall anything specifically, but he knew he wanted to continue with whatever he had been dreaming.

 Avril didn't think that Vincent had any recollection of how she had so brazenly taken advantage of him. Although she was relieved, she was also a little disappointed. "So," she said, standing up, "you go ahead and get dressed and enjoy your coffee. Can you stay for breakfast?"

 Vincent considered that he would have to walk all the way back into town and set up the church. On the other hand, he hadn't eaten in nearly 24 hours. "Just a quick bite," he assented, then explained, "I'm here on foot."

 Avril crossed her arms and said firmly, "Vincent. Don't be silly. Of course you'll take my car."

 "Oh, OK," Vincent readily accepted. Who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? "In that case, make mine a full Irish breakfast."

 "You'll eat scrambled eggs and toast and like it," Avril said, pretending to be stern.

 "Yes, I will," he agreed, ducking his head.

 Over breakfast, Vincent filled Avril in on the details of what had happened the previous day. He knew that it wasn't really his fault, but he did feel a certain degree of responsibility. After all, he had taken over the role of community leader during their efforts, even though he had never done anything like building a levee out of sandbags before. Of course he had taken his directions at first from the civil defense engineer who had come to town along with the sandbags, but as the afternoon wore on and many of their original workers had begun dropping out, he had become the de facto commander of the operation. Possibly he hadn't taken enough care to check the stability of that part of the wall. Everyone had assured him that they didn't consider him in any way to blame for the flood, but still. He wanted to get right back and help with the clean-up.

 The good night's sleep had done wonders for his body anyway; although everything was stiff and sore, he was at least able to move his arms and legs freely. As he drove Avril's four-wheel towards town, he considered, not for the first time, how nice it would be to have someone wash his clothes and make him breakfast every day. The part about getting tucked in at night hadn't been half bad, either. And there was something else...bits of a dream started coming back to him: Avril running her fingers through his hair...no, wait, she had done that this morning when she woke him up. Hadn't she? If so, that had been a pretty familiar gesture. And what about that kiss...it was coming back to him now. Was that just a memory of when he had kissed her after the party? A dream? He put the thoughts out of his mind, as he always did when they wandered in that direction.

 He drove as far as he could, then parked and walked around the flooded town center and up to the church. It actually looked like the flood line was somewhat lower than it had been the previous night, which somewhat relieved his mind.

 When Vincent arrived at the church, he found that Kathleen and Brigid had already readied everything that they could, which meant that he only had to prepare himself and the communion. He was so grateful to them. It was inspiring how people pulled together in the face of common trials. The extra time that he gained through their good deed would be put to good use in preparing his homily. Vincent usually sketched out his sermon on Saturday evening, but he had had more pressing things to attend to then. He said a quick prayer for inspiration, picked up his dog-eared Bible, and the ideas began flowing.

 There was a huge turn-out that morning. These people were looking for direction, guidance, and hope. For the first time since he had arrived in Ballykissangel, Vincent experienced how important the church was to the local people as a rallying point and a beacon, and not just as a social institution. He felt vindicated, like he was playing a real role in the town, not just acting out the part of a puppet.

 After the service, Brendan and Siobhan invited Vincent to Brendan's house for lunch. Siobhan and Aisling had moved to Brendan's place the day that the mudslide had blocked the road, and they hadn't left yet, even though the road had been clear for three days now. They said they didn't want to risk getting stranded again, and look what a wise decision that was, in light of the flood. It was more convenient to town, of course, but Vincent noticed how comfortable the three of them looked together, how tenderly and carefully Brendan put his arm around Siobhan's shoulder and how relaxed and happy Siobhan was. One might even say she was glowing.

 Vincent had already accepted their invitation and gone back into the church to put away his robes when he remembered Avril's car parked on the other side of town. He had left his cell phone up in his room at Fitzgerald's, so was about to use the church phone to call Avril when it rang. Perfect timing, he thought, but was a little annoyed to hear Father Mac on the other end.

 "Father Sheahan, where have you been?" he demanded.

 "Well I've been holding a worship service," Vincent explained patiently. "That is part of my job description, isn't it?"

 "I don't mean this morning," Father Mac scolded. "I mean last night! The flood was all over the news reports, and I couldn't get through on your number or at... Fitzgerald's..." He pronounced the name of the pub with barely disguised distaste.

 "Well I'm very touched by your concern, Father. But aside from a few sore muscles, I'm fine."

 Father Mac ignored this good news and continued on his own agenda. "I called the church and Kathleen answered. Said you had taken off on foot."

 "Well I couldn't very well stay at Fitzgerald's, it's flooded."

 Father Mac started to lose his patience. "I understand that, but I am concerned about where you did spend the night."

 "I spent the night at the house of a friend," Vincent said stiffly.

 "Brendan Kearney?" Father Mac's voice held a trace of hope.

 "Look, Father, if you don't know, no one else does, either, and isn't that what you're really worried about? What other people will think? You know very well that nothing happened last night that you need to worry about." Although Father MacAnally would have been plenty worried to have seen Avril standing next to a naked Father Sheahan, towel or no towel, to say nothing of what Vincent was by now pretty sure had occurred afterwards. But that hadn't been entirely his fault, he reasoned.

 "Do I?" Father Mac asked archly.

 "You should," Vincent muttered darkly. The man wouldn't be satisfied until he sicked a 24-hour chaperone on Vincent. That or an electronic tracer. Vincent was tired of the constant distrust. "Ah, look at the time," he said with exaggerated regret, "I'm sorry, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got a luncheon date. At a friend's," he added with a broad grin. Let the man chew on that!

 Vincent very much enjoyed his visit with Brendan, Siobhan, and Aisling. He wasn't much of a fan of little kids in general, but he could see that Aisling was definitely going to be a heartbreaker. She already had the pout to twist men around her little finger, which is exactly where she had Brendan.

 At one point, when Vincent asked how Siobhan had gotten interested in animals, she responded that she had been an only child, and had turned to animals for companionship. Vincent was surprised when she let the remark fall that she hoped Aisling would be spared the same loneliness she had felt. Brendan made no comment, and Vincent didn't follow up, but he wondered if they were thinking of having another child, on purpose this time.

 They hadn't asked his opinion, so he didn't offer one, but he thought it would only be right, if they were thinking along those lines, that they would get married first. He understood their not having gotten married with Aisling, the whole thing had been unintentional, they were just friends, etc. etc. Father Mac would certainly censure him if he were to preach it, but he thought they had made the right decision by not getting married. They were intelligent, responsible adults (aside from the drinking, but Siobhan especially seemed to have gotten her alcohol consumption under control since that incident), and they must have felt that a marriage purely for the sake of propriety would have been a mistake. Vincent could only congratulate them on having had the courage to stand by such a decision in a town like this. But now, if they really wanted to be a family, if they felt enough of a commitment, respect, and love for one another to consciously consider inviting another human being into their lives, they were both good Catholics, there was nothing standing in the way of them entering into the Holy Sacrament of Matrimony.

 "Your boss was here today," Avril said casually as soon as Vincent walked in the door that evening.

 That had come out of the blue. He tried to put a name to the label. "My...?"

 A smile played on Avril's lips as she clarified, "Not God. The other one."

 Now he knew what she meant, but he teased her a little more. "John Paul?"

 Avril rolled her eyes. "Father MacAnally."

 "I'm sorry," Vincent said as he sat down at the table opposite Avril.

 "No, he was here to see me," Avril said smugly.

 "Then I'm really sorry," he said contritely. "You? What for?"

 "Bet you can guess."

 He could, but he didn't like it. "No!" he exclaimed fretfully. It was bad enough that Father MacAnally was constantly checking up on Vincent. But he was going too far by dragging Avril into this.

 "Yes," Avril confirmed with a nod.

 "I'll talk to him," Vincent promised.

 "No don't, I mean, I already did."

 Vincent chuckled, having been on the receiving end of Avril's sharp tongue more than once. "Maybe it's him I should feel sorry for."

 "I think he just has your best interests at heart--"

 "Oh has he got one of those?"

 "He just doesn't know how to make it come out any way other than harsh."

 Vincent frowned and leaned back. "What did that man say to you? It almost sounds like you're on his side."

 "Well I am in a way," Avril admitted.

 "You are?" Vincent raised his eyebrows in surprise.

 "Not like that, I mean, he's just trying to protect you."

 "More like the suit," he said dryly.

 "Well it's not made of asbestos, you know."

 Vincent leaned forward, pointed his finger at Avril and looked her in the eye. "Hey. I've a long way to go before those flames start licking at my heels." Now might be a good time to bring up last night, if he had felt inclined to bring it up, which he didn't. As long as she didn't say anything, he wouldn't either. "Speaking of flames," he continued, deftly changing the subject, "what's for dinner? Smells great." He rubbed his hands in anticipation and looked around at the pot simmering on the back of the stove.

 Avril nodded at the pot. "That'd be the vanilla and cinnamon potpourri."

 "Shall I set the table?" he offered, rather generously, he thought.

 Avril laughed, "You don't eat it, Vincent, you just smell it."

 "Oh," he said uncertainly, not seeing the point in that.

 "I just had a salad, there's some endive and sprouts left if you want, but you'll have to make your own dressing."

 "OK, will do," he said, trying to hide his disappointment. Endive? Yuck. Sprouts? Double yuck. Maybe there was some bread left somewhere.

 He looked so pitiful that Avril had to feel sorry for him, even if he was being a bit presumptuous. After all, she had done her share of presumption. "I'm sorry Vincent, if I'd known you wanted to eat here, I would've waited for you."

 "No, no problem, I'll just have a rummage in the larder if you don't mind?"

 "Be my guest, just don't go near the turnips, those are a special treat for Mr Tibbs, he's wild for them, don't ask."

 "No worries," Vincent assured her. Not in a million years would he think of touching the turnips.

 Vincent sat on the edge of the guest bed with his black priest's shirt in his hand. There was a greasy smear on the sleeve. He must have set his arm down in something during lunch at Brendan's, or maybe Aisling had grabbed him with her grubby little hands. Little kids were always so messy, why couldn't their parents keep them clean? Nine times out of ten, whenever he had to interact with a child, they had wet fingers or sticky cheeks or a snotty nose. If there was one thing he certainly did not regret, it was that Catholic priests did not, as a rule, have children in their households.

 He still hadn't been able to get access to his own things from Fitzgerald's, so he had had enough foresight to borrow a couple of things from Brendan for the night. He didn't want to put himself, or Avril, in the same position that they had found themselves in yesterday. But of course Brendan hadn't had any extra black shirts with priest collars lying around, so he was stuck with this one. And it was dirty. He was about to resort to trying to wash it in the bathroom sink when he seized upon an even better idea and went into the kitchen, where Avril was still working at her desk.

 "Still hard at work?"

 "Never anything but," she answered cheerfully, swivelling in her chair to face him. In his black T-shirt, black trousers, and five o'clock shadow, he looked like a fashion photographer. Or the model himself.

 Vincent smiled at Avril charmingly. "Look, I was wondering...I really appreciate how you took care of things yesterday. Would you be able to do it again?" he asked hopefully.

 Avril stared at Vincent, struck dumb. No words formed in her mouth, as no answer occurred to her. Here he was, straightforwardly and calmly asking her to...what? To tuck him in? To give him a good-night kiss? More? She had heard that Australians were known for their brashness, but she would never have thought that--

 "I--" Avril finally brought forth, but the rest of the sentence wouldn't follow.

 Vincent didn't understand Avril's reaction. Why was she so shocked? "It's just that I only have the one shirt," he explained, holding the offending piece up for her inspection.

 Avril frowned and looked at the shirt, not seeing it properly in her confusion, then back at Vincent. This was making less and less sense. "And you want me to...?" she asked skeptically.

 "Wash it...?" he said with a nervous little laugh. This was somehow seeming like less and less of a good idea.

 Avril gave a short laugh of her own, half contemptuous and half relieved. Not a mistress, but a washerwoman.

 "What," Vincent said uncertainly, trying to maintain his hopeful look.

 Avril stood and marched past Vincent to the pantry, flung open the door, and pointed triumphantly to the mini front-loading washing machine nestled cunningly beneath a shelf. "Machine," she stated, then tapped a box on the shelf. "Detergent."

 "Oh," he said, crestfallen, yet putting on a brave face. He managed a weak "Thanks," and set about trying to figure out the various dials and knobs while Avril returned to her papers. Would have been easier to do it in the sink after all, he grumbled to himself, but he couldn't back out now without looking the fool. No dinner and no laundry. Well at least he could see where this was heading. No nighttime dalliances either, which was a good thing, a good thing, Vince!
 

  Vincent awoke of his own accord the next morning, feeling well-rested and much less sore, although his thighs were still stiff. He definitely slept better here than he did over the pub. It also smelled so good here, of fresh air and...what had Avril said that was? Vanilla? It wasn't cigarette butts and stale whiskey at any rate. Vincent stretched and wandered out of his room. He had no idea what time it was. Did he have any appointments today? He didn't think so, but what day was it anyway? Monday? He hoped Avril had some coffee ready, he couldn't think straight without it.

 After a detour to the bathroom, he shuffled into the kitchen. He should have borrowed some houseshoes from Brendan in addition to the pyjamas. These flagstones were cold! There was no sign of Avril, and the coffee maker stood forlorn and empty. He looked at the clock. 7:15. Maybe she wasn't up yet. He set about getting the machine up and running and had just triumphantly pushed the 'on' button when a knock sounded at the door. Vincent glanced out the window and saw Garrett's silver Range Rover.

 "Hi," Vincent greeted Garrett with a friendly smile as he opened the door.

 Garrett took in the sight of Father Sheahan, dressed in plaid flannel pyjamas about two inches short in the arms and legs, the hair on the left side of his head standing straight up and the rest looking like he had had a run-in with an evil fairy hairdresser. He didn't know whether he should laugh or punch him square in that plastic grin, so he smiled tightly and said, "Good morning, Vincent, is Avril ready yet?"

 Vincent scratched his head and looked around in case Avril had appeared. "Ahm...dunno, mate, haven't seen her yet this morning."

 Garrett consulted his Patek Philippe. "We were going to take the polo ponies out for a ride at half seven. Reckon I'm a little early." He pointed toward the interior, indicating that he'd like to enter. "Do you mind?"

 Vincent stepped back from the door. If they had a date, who was he to stand in the way? "No, mate, not at all, come on in."

 Garrett slid past Vincent into the kitchen. The two men stood there, sizing each other up. Vincent saw how Garrett was looking slightly disapprovingly at his get-up. He tugged at the cuffs of the pyjama top and explained with a self-deprecating smile, "They're not mine."

 Garrett merely raised his eyebrows. They didn't look like they'd be Avril's, either: not her style and much too big.

 "All my things are still at Fitzgerald's," Vincent continued, in an attempt to justify himself. Garrett did have a way of disarming one with those superior looks of his.

 "Would you mind checking on her?" Garrett asked, glossing over Vincent's discomfiture. Much as he disliked acknowledging it, Vincent was apparently in the position of the host here; it wouldn't be seemly for him to barge in. Plus, he didn't know where Avril's room was, but he'd lay a bet that Vincent did.

 "Sure, no problem," Vincent said and beat a hasty retreat toward Avril's room. For some reason, he felt very self-conscious. What was it about Garrett? It's not like he had anything to be ashamed of...did he? He knocked quietly on Avril's door, which was slightly ajar, and called her name. No answer. He pushed the door open a little more and stuck his head in. She wasn't there, at least not physically, but her imprint was in the room, detectable in the air, in the way the furniture was arranged, in the twist of the sheets on the unmade bed. Vincent felt the now-familiar longing to make this all a part of his life, too. He backed away and pulled the door shut.

 "Sorry, mate, she's not here," Vincent said helplessly upon re-entering the kitchen, where Garrett was standing with his hands behind his back, inspecting the ribbons and trophies on the wall. "Coffee?" Vincent offered, pointing to the machine, which was now ready.

 "No thanks," Garrett said, shaking his head. He watched as Vincent poured himself a cup and sat down at the table. He certainly looked to be at home. Garrett didn't think this was the first night he had spent here. He was burning with curiosity. First the religious instruction, then the party, which he had found out later had been organized by the priest, and now the man was sleeping here. He didn't know a whole lot about the intricacies of the Roman Catholic religion, but he did know that priests were supposed to be celibate. It was none of his business, and he never stuck his nose where it didn't belong, but this was really quite an interesting situation. However, Vincent didn't seem to be too embarrassed about being caught like this. He seemed to be more concerned about his attire. Maybe there was nothing to it.

 Both men turned expectantly toward the door as it swung open. Avril entered and stopped short at seeing them both in the kitchen.

 "Good morning the two of you! I was just getting Steely and Mr Tibbs saddled up." She gestured over her shoulder toward the stables. "They're ready whenever you are," she said to Garrett. She looked at Vincent more closely and her face took on a look of amused disbelief. "What are you wearing?"

 "G'day to you too!" Vincent said cheerfully, raising his cup in her direction.

 "Go take a shower," she responded with a laugh. "Your hair looks a sight! You can take my car again, I'll be running practice sessions here all morning."

 "Thanks, Avril, you're a pal!"

 "I know!" she said, pleased at the compliment.

 Garrett watched this exchange with ever more certainty. There was definitely something going on between these two.

 "They're looking fine," Garrett said, leaning forward to pat Steely's neck.

 "Pardon?" Avril had been lost in thought. Vincent had looked adorable in those ridiculous pyjamas with his hair like a bird's nest.

 "These two," Garrett said, indicating the horses they were riding. "Doesn't look like all that rain got to them."

 "Ah no, we kept them nice and dry," Avril assured him.

 "Sure you did," Garrett agreed. They rode on in silence for a minute or so. Garrett looked sideways at Avril and saw that she was smiling to herself. She was certainly a lot more relaxed than she had been at the party a week ago. Garrett just had to ask, but he needed to put it in a non-threatening way. He couldn't come right out and ask if she were having an affair with the priest. "So you taking in boarders now, are you?" As soon as he said it, he realized that it might be just that. Maybe she was in such a bind for cash that she was renting out rooms. He immediately felt bad for having brought it up.

 "What?" Avril was startled out of her reverie again. "No," she laughed nervously, "no I'm not." What did he mean by that?

 "It's just--" Garrett tried to think of a way out of the corner, but couldn't. "Nothing, never mind."

 But now Avril understood what Garrett had been getting at. "Oh, you mean Vincent? No, I'm just doing him a favor, since the flood in town..." Was it possible that Garrett didn't know about the flood?

 "Of course." Of course. The road had been under a few inches of water when he had driven through town this morning, but it hadn't been anything his Range Rover couldn't handle. Possibly it had gone down since yesterday, though. "Was it very bad?"

 "Bad enough. No one was hurt, thank God, but there was quite a lot of damage to property, and everyone by the river had to evacuate."

 Including Fitzgerald's, Garrett thought. He hadn't paid that close attention, but now that he thought about it, it was possible that the water had been deep enough to enter the houses. Now it all became clear. Vincent's presence in Avril's house, the borrowed clothes; everything except why Vincent had come here, of all places...and how he and Avril had become so obviously close. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply--"

 "What?" Avril interrupted sharply.

 Garrett had meant to allude to possible money problems, but Avril's reaction was more in tune with his first idea. He decided to plunge ahead after all.

 "I know your personal life is none of my business any more, but I do still care about what happens to you, and I just..." How to put it?

 "What," Avril prompted him through her teeth, both enjoying seeing him squirm and priming herself for a ferocious comeback. She knew he was about to ask about her and Vincent.

 Garrett reined Steely in and Avril stopped her horse, too. "I don't have a good feeling about Vincent," Garrett stated directly.

 That wasn't exactly what Avril had expected. Had he said or done something before she had shown up this morning? "What do you mean?" she asked with cold curiosity.

 "I don't know, I just...I mean, are you sure his intentions are honorable?"

 Honorable! That Garrett should speak of honor was a laugh in and of itself. "You're one to talk," Avril retorted.

 Garrett directed his pale grey eyes toward the distant hills, a dark hazy mass hunched at the bottom of the dirty white sky. They had never discussed his leaving, not while she had been sober at any rate, and the subject of his current partnership was taboo. That was what enabled them to maintain their precarious truce, he was certain. But it was true, he couldn't very well expect her to talk about her love life without opening up his own for discussion.

 "This has nothing to do with me--" he began.

 "Oh doesn't it?" Avril replied venemously. "You just can't stand the thought that I might be better off without you! When did you ever make me as happy as I am now? When we were together, hardly a day went by when I didn't have to take a drink to give me the grips to take it up with your snooty friends, to say nothing of our dear old Lady Asherton!"

 Garrett tried again. "I never expected--" but Avril cut him off again and he turned his face as if she had slapped him.

 "You can go to hell with your expectations! Of course it was my choice, I always had the choice, didn't I? Well I have the choice now, too! Vincent is a friend. A friend! Do you even know what that means? It means he doesn't judge me, it means I always know I can count on him, it means he respects what I do and who I am, and when were you ever any of those things to me?"

 They stared at each other, Avril heaving with fury and Garrett as cold and stiff as a steel blade. "If that's how it is, then I'm sorry I said anything," he replied with great restraint.

 Avril couldn't stand the mustering of those fair eyes. She dug her heels into Mr Tibbs's sides and took off across the moor, the sound of of the horse's hoofs beating on the ground mixing with the thumping of the blood in her ears.
 
 
 

AN: The flood scenario is not entirely far-fetched. In 1986, the familiar bridge in Avoca was entirely washed away by a flood. Arklow, at the mouth of the Avoca River, is routinely plagued by flooding.