One of the great faults of Pathsong was how often it flip-flopped on the idea of an afterlife. One church elder’s writings was about her hypothesis that the doors themselves were made of souls. Finally, enough intelligent people had died and had sort of Voltroned their remaining spirit energy into making these gateways. Another had said, pragmatically, “If we want the church to survive, we have to believe in paradise.” He had proposed that heaven was a great golden castle, large and immense for everyone, filled with beautiful art, and finally a chance to rest and think. The golden path if followed for days would take you there. You had to pray and reflect and acknowledge the complications of your inner self to have the castle’s gates open for you. “We want people to have something to yearn for,” he had said.

“We should get back on topic.” Ayanna went to one of the questions she thought would calm him down. “What does it feel like to help people?”

“It’s the greatest gift of my life. And a responsibility. I heal.”

Matthias uncrossed his arms. He rumpled his hair with his hand.

“What do you think the golden path is?”

“Sometimes, heaven. Sometimes, hell. Sometimes . . .” He scratched at his hairline. “What’s the word for the place between them? All my brain keeps coming up with is ‘pavement.’ ”

“Purgatory?”

“Yes.”

“Are you saying you think it’s all of these places at once? Or are you saying you’re not sure?”

Her voice was steady again. Ayanna was still holding herself very tight, shoulders toward ears, but couldn’t help it. She wanted to snatch the cake pop he’d discarded and eat it in one big, ugly bite.

“I am unsure. Sometimes, I think it could be whatever you deserve. Sometimes, I think we’ll never know.”

He continued: “I have a question for you.”

“Okay.”

“May I touch your hand?”

“Why?”

“I think it could help you understand.”

“I’m healthy. I don’t need anything. Thanks.” She had never said the word thanks so tersely.

“No, you’re not.”

Ayanna crossed her arms.

“Please don’t touch me.”

“I know who needs me because I have two ways of looking.” Matthias smiled.

He was looking into the distance as if behind Ayanna was an audience who loved and admired him, not a couple arguing about “what it means to be in love.”