“Considerate of you,” she said. “Wearing your cross inside your shirt when you were with Rav Schulman. Especially considerate to be thinking of him at this time in your life.”

“Yes, I’ve grown up.” He was reflective. “I don’t know why Rav Schulman put up with me way back when. Such a cocky kid. Cocky, abrasive, argumentative, rude, irritating…a veritable thesaurus of unpleasantness.”

“You’re turning your grief inward,” Rina stated. “Don’t. It doesn’t help.”

Bram was silent. Then he said, “Thanks for calling last night.”

“I wouldn’t think of doing otherwise. After everything you did for…” Rina’s eyes started to water. She hid her face in her hands. “I’m sorry.”

Bram gave her a packet of tissues. Rina dabbed away tears, tried to compose herself. “Was Rav Schulman helpful?”

“Always. The man’s a stone genius.” The priest pushed the Toyota into fourth gear. “I wish he had known my dad well enough to eulogize him. I wish he were speaking instead of me.”

“I’m sure your father wouldn’t have wanted anyone else but you.”

“Flaws and all.” Bram’s voice held a bitter tinge. “I suppose you’re right. At least it will be from the heart. You’ve been okay, Rina?”

“Very well. I had a baby about three years ago—a daughter.”

Bram’s happiness seemed genuine. “That’s wonderful! You got your little girl. And what a lucky little girl she is to have a mother like you. I hope she looks like you.” He let out a gentle laugh. “No offense to your husband.”

“None taken. And you’ve been well?”

“Chugging along. I can’t believe I’ve lasted this long as a parish priest. But it’s a good place. We’ve grown tremendously. At the moment, we’re just about five hundred families.”

“Big congregation.”

“Very. Goes in cycles. Right now, church is in.”

“As if you’ve had nothing to do with it.”

“Not much. We’re practically the only Catholic show in town.” Bram turned onto Foothill Boulevard and headed toward the freeway. “I know several guys from Loyola—went to seminary with them in the States. They’re great about picking up slack during my absences.”

“Then you’re still traveling to Rome.”

“Yes, the Pontiff and I are very tight.”

“It’s a simple statement. You’re allowed to impress me without doing penance.”

Bram smiled. “The Vatican needs people fluent in ancient languages. It’s for their twenty-first—century synod.”

“What are you doing?”

“Comparing the simultaneous writings of various ancient accounts and events—holy or otherwise. I’m attempting to date some recently discovered texts that have shown up over the last ten-plus years. Most of the works are in Aramaic, Hebrew or Latin. Some are in Greek…Phoenician.”

He paused.

“I think several were in Ugaritic.”

“What?”