Then, a week after we’re back in Ireland, Mal announces he’s ready to go busking again. He needs to unclutter his mind, he says.

“You can tag along. Take pictures of Dublin.”

“I think I’m good.” I give him the thumbs-up.

I finally have a plan. I managed to track down Father Doherty’s new address in an old-school phone book—the kind of fat, yellow thing grandparents usually use to stop doors or as a makeshift coaster. Father Doherty lives bang in the middle of the village, and it’s time to pay him a visit, have him shed some light on my situation.

Mal, of course, can see through me. We haven’t spent an entire month together the whole time we’ve known each other, yet he can somehow read me better than anyone else.

“You sure?” He furrows his brows.

I nod. “Positive.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“Nothing has been positive about you these last days, so I find your choice of words somewhat alarming.”

“It’s been a rough week.” I saunter over to him, linking my arms around his shoulders. “One wedding and an upcoming funeral. I just want some me-time. Maybe I’ll finally call my mother back and catch up with her.”

Mal’s face twists at the mention of my mother, but he nods and kisses my forehead. I don’t know why he acts like he has an open beef with Debbie Jenkins, but if he’s flinching every time I mention her out of solidarity, he’s doing a fine job being empathetic.

“Want to talk tonight?” He skims his lips along my temple.

“About what?” My heart speeds up with hope.

“About everything.”

“Will you finally tell me what’s going on?”

He bends his head down, closing his eyes. “Yes,” he croaks. “God, I don’t want to, but yes.”

I walk Mal to the door, kiss him goodbye again, and wave him off, the Stepford wife that I am not. As soon as I see his car racing down the graveled path, I slip into my Toms, grab my army jacket, and run down to the village on foot.

The weather is crisp and chilly, but no longer freezing, and I’m high on adrenaline from knowing how close I am to the truth. I can feel it at my fingertips, tingling, waiting for me to grab it.

This time, I’m going to corner Father Doherty until he relents. He must. A man who serves God for a living can’t lie, can he?

Besides, I have the perfect thing to lure him into telling me the truth.

It’s simple, really.

My mother is holding out on me.

Father Doherty is holding out on me.

They’re keeping the same secret, obviously.

If Doherty thinks I already know something I don’t, he’ll open up.