“Like what?”

“So…masculine.”

Her gaze bore into Tilly’s. Tilly stared back, unblinking. There was something there in her gaze, something unveiled, unguarded. Whatever it was, it seemed to be able to understand Kate better than seventeen-year-old Tilly ever had. Kate swallowed. She had questions, so many questions, and the desire to voice them showed no sign of waning any time soon. “Why do you dress so feminine?” she whispered.

“Matilda?”

At the raised whisper, they both swivelled. Sister Mary Monica had moved into the aisle, standing a couple of pews behind. She fixed her stare on Tilly. “Father is ready for you after Claudia,” she murmured.

“Oh,” Tilly said. “Thank you, Sister.”

Sister Mary Monica’s gaze darted between them. “Would you like me to let Father know that you’ll also be seeking penance, Kate?”

Kate hadn’t been to confession in months. When she had, it had only been to keep up appearances and she hadn’t shared anything true. If she needed forgiveness, she’d ask the heavens for it while she was out on a run, not Father Rodney. Tilly shifted against the seat. Their knees brushed. “No thanks, Sister,” Kate whispered.

Sister Mary Monica nodded shortly and moved along. Kate ran her tongue along her teeth as she watched her go. Why did she suddenly feel sixteen again, burning under the calculating eye of Sister Mary Monica? She turned her head. Tilly was looking past her, up to the stained-glass window above their pew. “I love the way the light comes in of an afternoon,” Tilly said, her voice barely a whisper. “The way it plays across the altar…the tabernacle…”

Kate could feel Tilly’s gaze on the side of her face as she stared up at the window of Joan of Arc in complete armour. “That one was always our favourite,” Tilly whispered, “remember?”

She nodded. “I remember.”

They sat in silence. For the first time since Tilly had been back, the moment felt heavy, like all of their truths were spilling into the silence between them. Kate gripped the edge of the wooden pew and fixed her gaze on pools of emerald. “I missed you, Tilly.”

Tilly’s lips parted. Kate watched the pulse jump in her neck. “I missed you too, Kate. I can’t tell you how often I thought of you…”

Across the church, Claudia, a Year Eight student, exited the confessional. Sister Mary Monica looked across the church, and in an instant, Tilly stood. “See you later,” she whispered.

Kate’s heart pounded a hard, steady beat against her chest. “See you.”

As she watched Tilly walk down the aisle, Kate prickled with anticipation of their first dinner together that night. For the first time, they’d be alone in the cottage and really get to talk. Just the two of them. Alone.

Tilly genuflected before the small altar, her long dress gathering across the back of her calf. As she stepped inside the confessional and closed the wooden door behind her, Kate watched her expression crease with…distress?

Kate gathered the contents of her small toolbox and headed out the doors of St. Joan of Arc. What on earth would Tilly Wattle have to seek absolution for?