But, before he could continue, Pat interrupted him, coming forward from the back of the stage where he’d started building the chair part of the stirrups. He was in his after-hours clothes, baggy jeans and a navy crew neck with the sleeves pushed up above his elbows. He set down his power drill carefully – and, pointedly, out of my reach.

‘I had an idea,’ he volunteered. ‘Kind of a … compromise.’

‘By all means, Mr Clarke-McCann,’ Father Hughes said. ‘Let’s hear it.’

‘Oh yes, by all means,’ I echoed mockingly. ‘Katie and I are discussing important and sensitive issues involving women’s health and self-expression so, by all means, let’s step aside so the men can have the floor. What is this, Congress?’

Pat ignored that. ‘Have you guys heard of Thornton Wilder?’

‘No,’ I said irritably, putting one hand on my hip. ‘But if he’s a freakin’ priest I don’t want to hear about him.’

‘He was the playwright who wrote Our Town,’ Pat continued. ‘And, when they performed Our Town for the first time, all they had onstage was, like, a ladder. It was totally minimalist. Basically no props.’

He looked between me and Katie Casey meaningfully. After a second, it sank in.

‘WHAT?’ I burst out. ‘No stirrups? You’re on her side, too? I knew he would be –’ I pointed accusingly at Father Hughes – ‘but you? What, are you hooking up with her, too? Or, like, spooning her and watching Frozen, or whatever her G-rated version of hooking up is?’

Katie Casey looked totally confused, and her little Save Your Hearts were creeping forward from the wings, watching in fascination.

‘Hold on,’ Pat cautioned me. ‘I’m talking about seriously minimalist here. So we get rid of the stirrups …’

I balked, but he held up his hand to stop me and continued: ‘And we also get rid of THAT.’

All our heads turned to the back of the stage, behind the parted red velvet curtains, where there stood, at least seven feet tall, casting its inescapable shadow over the whole stage, a massive wooden cross.

‘No stirrups,’ Pat concluded. ‘And no cross.’

Father Hughes spoke up immediately. ‘That sounds fair enough to me. What do you think, Ms Casey?’

‘Well, I guess no props at all would be easier,’ she admitted hesitantly. ‘I was worried about getting everything done in time.’

Father Hughes looked to me. ‘Ms Heck?’

‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Whatever. I don’t even care anymore.’

But I did care.

Backstage there was a lofted storage room where the theater kids kept all the props and costumes from school shows, and I sat there for a long time on King Arthur’s Round Table, brooding over the event schedule for the Save Your Heart Festival.

Welcome Blessing by Sister Winnifred. That was Katie Casey’s.

Saturday afternoon, group workshop – What Does Purity Mean to You? That was Katie Casey’s.