“Our Lord gives us free will,” she sighs. “We are not responsible for the sins of men.”

“But do you know how to close it?” I prompt.

She wipes away the residual blood from Finn’s arm and shakes her head. “I do not. The abbess may, but like all sisters here, she has taken a vow of silence.”

“You haven’t yet?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Not yet. When I take my full vows next year, I will.”

I try to picture a life of silence. The sister is certainly stronger than I am.

“Thank you for helping us,” I say.

She places clean white gauze over Finn’s wound and begins to wrap it around and around. “Finn asked me to make sure you were safe.” She looks at him with such reverence. I wonder if she’s a little in love with him too, and suddenly I pity her. “I try to keep my promises.”

Once Finn is bandaged, Sister Marguerite leads us downstairs and through the back entrance of the cathedral, bidding us goodbye at the door.

I memorize the back route she takes us through. I don’t think I’ll get any more information from her today, and I’m shaky and bruised and eager to return home, but if the nuns have answers, I must come back soon and demand to learn more.

We cut a path across the street, both limping a little. Finn’s arm must hurt like the devil. His knuckles are busted open, and it aches every time I try to take a full breath.

Finn sits me down on a park bench and kneels down in front of me, placing both his hands steady on my knees.

Shaken from the fight and the thought of more death, I begin to cry. Sobs rack my whole body.

“Breathe, Frances, Jesus, you need to breathe.”

But I still can’t stop the tears. I wish I knew how to explain, but I don’t expect Finn, of all people, to understand. “I meant what I said. I’d rather be dead than kill someone again. I wouldn’t survive it this time. I’m barely surviving it now,” I admit.

Finn’s eyes are big and wide as he absorbs what I’ve just said. This is the closest I’ve been to him since we once shared a bed. I’d once memorized this face out of love. It is odd that the face didn’t change even when the love did.

He’s looking at me like he loves me now. It only adds to the guilt.

“I need to know it haunts you, too.” My voice breaks. “I see Mrs. Vykotsky’s face every night before I go to sleep. I can’t see water without picturing the commissioner’s hands floating just below the surface. I even feel bad about goddamn Mr. Hues.”