Ah, discovering yourself at the ancient age of twenty-six. They couldn’t be out of their early thirties now. Madeleine said dryly, “These things are relative.”

“Sounds like,” Jeremy said. “Heard you used to be a nun.”

Madeleine raised her eyebrows.

“Harry Duggan stopped by,” he admitted. “Seems you’ve got a story. Things’ll be quiet until the lunch rush.” He tilted his head in invitation.

Apparently a conversation was happening. It should happen. She was long overdue for a conversation like this. “Can I get a cup of coffee first?”

Arjun turned to the cash register. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

Minutes later, they sat at one of the little tables, both men glancing at the door in case a customer came in. Madeleine’s heart remained curiously steady as she recounted her story. It was the expurgated version: she said years ago she’d had an “encounter” with a woman that showed her she needed to leave the Daughters of Grace, but not how or where. She said she’d returned to Jorsay because she’d liked it on the field trip, leaving out the part about seeking answers. And she said she’d met Hæra, and everything had changed, omitting the little fact of Hæra’s supernatural origins. There was such a thing as too much detail.

Becca knew a version of this, but telling it to other gay people felt different: as if she didn’t have to explain or excuse anything. By the end, they were nodding along and making sympathetic sounds.

They understood.

Halfway through her story, Arjun had taken Jeremy’s hand. Madeleine fought not to stare at it. The air on her palm suddenly became lack; Hæra’s hand should be there instead.

The coffee was nearly cool by now, but a sip steadied her. “Anyway, that’s the story of a stranger. Thanks for listening to it.”

“I like these sorts of stories,” Jeremy said. “Reminds me I’m not thick for not figuring myself out during puberty like some people here.”

“Love,” Arjun said gently.

Love, Madeleine thought, and Hæra’s smile flashed in her memory.

“We wondered if you and she would come back. I reckon she’s busy taking care of loads of things.”

Or walking around the farm, or diving into work, or staring off into space. How could Madeleine leave her now? She looked down at the table. “Yes. Lots to do after a death.”

“You’ve been helping her? That’s kind.”

Madeleine moistened her lips. “It’s what people should do for each other.”

Neither replied. When she looked up, they were regarding her with identically raised eyebrows. How long did it take before spouses had the exact same mannerisms?

“Sure,” Arjun said. “Takes a village and all. But you’re leaving? How’s that going to work?”