Becca looked worried. Or maybe that was just the yellowish lighting from the lamp that hung dangerously low over the table. “I know, but that’s the reason you’re going, right? The ‘pickle’ from last time, whatever it was.”

Madeleine had never told anyone the entire truth about her angel. The closest she’d come was with Becca, who was also a faithful Catholic, if more prone to left-wing sentiments than anyone Madeleine had known in her previous life. It was a year before she’d told her roommate that she’d had an “extraordinary experience” in Orkney that “hadn’t quite seemed of this world” and had taken it as a sign “for a new beginning.” Becca had been fascinated, but as the date for Madeleine’s return to Orkney approached, that fascination had morphed into apprehension.

“I’ll be as careful as I can be, but we weren’t given a spirit of fear,” Madeleine reminded her.

“No, but we were given common sense. You’ve got plenty except when it comes to this, so I thought a last-minute reminder wouldn’t hurt. Especially if you really are messing with supernatural stuff.” Becca narrowed her eyes. “And you can’t poke a ghost in the eye with a needle.”

Madeleine smiled. With an abundance of time after leaving Sacred Heart, she’d needed a hobby. Embroidery had been her choice. She’d told herself she was stitching her life back together with every threaded flower petal and Bible verse. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You better. Want to order the mozzarella sticks?”

Madeleine hid a grimace. She’d rather arrive at the Philadelphia airport with a peacefully settled stomach. “Pass.”

Silence fell for a moment while she and Becca looked at each other. For the first time in a while, words seemed hard to come by. Becca ran a hand through her curly salt-and-pepper hair and laughed awkwardly. “So…if there was ever a moment for you to tell me about what exactly happened there last time…”

“I can’t.” Madeleine’s hand clenched on her margarita glass. “I told you, you’d think I was crazy.”

“I doubt it. I think you’re dealing with something that really happened. And I’m your friend.”

Becca reached across the table and took Madeleine’s hand. Suddenly, Madeleine was back in Sacred Heart, watching Mother Gertrude take Sister Catherine’s hand in just the same way. In comfort, an appeal to sisterhood.

She wasn’t going to tear up. That’d just be pitiful. “I know you are. One of the best friends I’ve ever had.”

“Is that why it’s hard to tell me?”

That was the problem with good friends: they could see through you. Madeleine sighed, “Maybe.”