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I fell back in my chair and peered into my empty glass. “Is that why I didn’t see you last week?”
She nodded vigorously, beaming.
“Or the week before or the week before that?”
Again a wild nodding agreement, plus a burst of laughter.
“This Father Kelly—”
“Reilly.”
“Reilly, Father. Where did you meet him?”
“I didn’t exactly meet him.” She glanced at the ceiling. I looked up to see what was there. She saw me looking and glanced back down.
“Well, bumped into him, then,” I inquired.
“I—well, hell. I made an appointment.”
“A fallen-away-long-time-ago Cork-energized Baptist maid?”
“Don’t get in an uproar.”
“This is not an uproar. It’s a former lover trying to comprehend …”
“You’re not a former lover!”
She reached out to touch my shoulder. I looked at her hand and it fell away.
“What am I, then? An almost former?”
“Don’t say that.”
“Maybe I should let you say it. I can see it in your mouth.”
She licked her lips as if to erase the look.
“How long ago did you meet, bump, make an appointment with Reilly?”
“Father Reilly. I dunno.”
“Yes, you do. An appointment like that is a day that will live in infamy, or that’s how I see it.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions.”
“No jumps. Just hopping mad. Or will be if you don’t come clean.”
“Is this supposed to be my second confession of the day?” She blinked.
“My God,” I said, feeling an invisible stomach punch. “So that’s it! You came plunging out of the confessional an hour ago and the first person you called with the lunatic news—”
“I didn’t plunge out!”
“No, I suppose not. How long were you cooped up in there?”
“Not long.”
“How long?”
