Becca sighed. “Maybe your next trip will take you somewhere sunny. When you get back, let’s talk about a Caribbean cruise next year, okay? There are some good deals.” Becca rested her chin in her hand and gave Madeleine a knowing look. “Unless you change your mind about dating when you get back and have something else to do. No, no, don’t give me that look—just, if this trip is about examining your priorities, then maybe you’ll examine all of them.”

Madeleine wasn’t going to squirm. “I don’t know how many times I have to say that not everyone is meant to be partnered. I’m fine. Don’t aim at the speck in my eye until you’ve pulled out the log in your own.”

Becca shrugged. “I date. It’s not my fault the pickings are slim, especially at my age.”

“Then what makes you think it’ll be different for me? I’m forty-one years old. Not exactly a spring chicken.”

“There’s a difference between forty-one and fifty-three. If you don’t know that now, then you will. Besides…” Becca appeared to hesitate. “You and I might be looking for different things. And nothing’s wrong with that.”

Madeleine’s stomach went cold. She’d never told Becca about her feelings for women. Becca might have guessed, though. Madeleine had refused to date since leaving the order but declined to say why. And Becca would never judge—she’d once made a point of saying gay people deserved to be as happy as anybody else. Madeleine, her face burning, had changed the subject as soon as possible.

There were Catholic believers and theologians who didn’t condemn homosexuality. In fact, when she was a trembling teen, Madeleine had said as much to her father, but he had replied, firmly, that there were no “cafeteria Catholics” in their family: so-called believers who picked and chose the doctrines they wanted to follow. It was all true, or none of it was.

Now her father was dead, along with the rest of her family, and that conversation was over forever, along with every other conversation. Her parents sat eternally in their disappointment, because now they knew everything. Her brother, David, would never grow up, give her a hug, and say he loved her no matter what. It never stopped hurting.

“Well, that’s all I’ve got to say about that,” Becca said, jolting Madeleine out of her abrupt melancholy. “Did you check in for your flight?”

The cold in Madeleine’s stomach warmed a little. She should look to the future, not dwell in the past. “Yes. A few hours ago.”

Becca grinned. “That’s my girl.”

It was a sweet phrase, but for some reason, Madeleine got a shiver up and down her spine. She imagined a low-pitched, feminine voice whispering in her ear, You’re not her girl. You’re mine.