“Søren,” she said, wishing she’d never mentioned Zach and Fionn and Doctor-fucking-Who. He took a long breath, then met her eyes, and from the look he wore on his face, she knew the subject was closed. For now.

She swallowed a lump in her throat. “So why the therapist then, if you’re not going back?”

“As much as I loathe the very thought of seeing a therapist, I thought it might help. Us.”

“Us?”

“Me,” he said with finality.

“I think we should both go. Can Catholic priests go into couples counseling?”

At least that got a smile out of him.

“So…dare I ask what the bad news is?” he said. “Or are you giving me my other two gifts first?”

The cat jumped off his lap and started exploring her new surroundings. She hopped onto the camelback love seat and started grooming, already at home.

“Bad news. Then more gifts. Fair?”

“Fair enough.”

“Before I tell you, you need to know I didn’t make this decision lightly.”

“What decision?”

“Whether or not you go back to the Jesuits, I’m not going back,” Nora said, “to the Church.”

“What?” He looked at her sharply.

“I’m leaving the Church. The Catholic Church. For good.”

“Eleanor—”

“Just listen. I can’t be around men playing God anymore. I can’t give an organization that won’t ordain women as priests any more of my time or money while they play shuffleboard with sexual predators. The punishment for a raped woman having an abortion is more severe than for a priest who molests a child.”

“Is this because I tried to talk you out of calling the papers? I was wrong, I admit it. That was fear talking, fear of you getting named in a scandal like this. And I couldn’t take my own advice. I told Cyrus to assume the worst, and then I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

“It’s not that,” she said. “You made very good points. Under other circumstances, you might have been right. That’s not why I’m leaving. I’m leaving because I want to.”

Søren rose from the piano bench and walked to the window. He rested his hand on the sill, one hand on his hip, the very picture of deepest contemplation.

“Don’t do this to me,” he said softly.

“I’m not doing it to you. I’m doing it for me.”

“How is leaving our church good for you? The Catholic Church is its people, its sacraments, not its priests.”

“I’ll miss the sacraments, too. But sacredness is everywhere. I’m going to look for it, and I’m going to find it.”

“Is this because you’re angry at me? Or angry at God?”

“Neither. It has nothing to do with you.” Nora had to make him understand. “I love her, you know.”

“Who? Your new witch friend?”

“God.”

He turned, met her eyes.

“Even you, the most liberal Catholic priest I know,” she said, “can’t wrap your mind around God being a ‘her.’”

“That is incredibly unfair, Eleanor.”

“Tell it to all the women throughout history who have been treated like second-class citizens in the Church, all because it was ‘Our Father.’ All because Jesus had a dick. The Church only likes Mary because she was a virgin.” Nora braced herself, then delivered her knock-out blow. “How many Catholic women we know would have made a better priest than Father Murran? Most of them?”