“We have these here to give our parishioners another way to pray. Especially in fall and winter, fire feels hopeful.” He had a Nigerian accent that made the words feel like a melody.

The priest pointed to a painting hanging up on the other side of the vestibule. It was clearly an amateur’s work. In it, a woman in a light blue robe, a halo around her, was skating alone on a pond. The landscape was firs and angels and crosses. The priest explained it was a parishioner’s rendition of Saint Lidwina, the patron saint of ice skaters. She was a woman who’d had a tragic ice-skating incident, became briefly paralyzed, then because she embraced God, never had to eat or sleep again. Her body parts could help others. A flake of skin or a lock of hair given to another could destroy a lingering ailment. Ayanna could not figure out where he was going with this. The priest kept smiling. “Even in the depths of great suffering, you can give of yourself.”

He handed her the lighter. If he had not been a priest, if she had not been in his church, Ayanna felt certain she would have been more annoyed; a woman can’t even be paralyzed from a tragic ice-skating accident without having to figure out how to be responsible for other people. But she had come here freely. Ayanna turned the lighter over in her hands. She was tempted to treat it like a birthday candle, make a wish for herself, but instead thought, Olivia, Olivia. She lit one of the candles in the red holders. Olivia preferred red to blue. The night before, Ayanna had dreamed they were together again in the meadows. Olivia was showing her a bush, the leaves aqua, and the fruit growing off it were clearly strawberries, but Olivia kept calling them a word that sounded like zeezle. Every time Ayanna tried to ask questions, all either sister heard was a sound like gargling. It used to feel profound when she dreamed of Olivia, but lately, it had only seemed like proof of how guilty Ayanna still felt. Olivia, Olivia, Olivia, Ayanna thought again.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Ayanna.”

The priest leaned over and lit another candle. “This is for you. I will keep you in my prayers.”

Ayanna smiled. “Thank you.”

Outside, Jane said he was the most conventionally attractive priest she had ever seen.

“My sister would have been so uncomfortable if he had been her priest,” Ayanna said. “She would have had to find a new church.”

Jane paused. Her eyes were wide and Ayanna could see what looked like a mix of curiosity and, maybe, pity. “You never told me you had a sister.”

“We’re not close,” Ayanna said. “Olivia’s been away for a long time.”