“Sad. Scared.”

“Probably scared of being caught,” Daniel said.

Waaboo shook his head. “Scared different. I don’t know how exactly.”

“When we catch him, we’ll find out,” Daniel said. “I’ll grill him like meat over a fire.”

“If I were you,” Meloux said, “I would be like Prophet.”

“How’s that?” Daniel asked.

“Speak less and listen more.”

“I can’t believe the wedding’s only six weeks away,” Rainy said. “With everything that’s going on, I feel like we’ve abandoned it. The trouble at Spirit Crossing, the dead girls, the shootings. We should be in the mood to celebrate. Instead, it feels like we’re in a war.”

“We’ll celebrate when the time comes,” Cork tried to assure her. “The Anishinaabeg have always been good at finding the seed of joy in a field of sorrow.”

“Did you come up with that?”

“Actually, I read it in one of Daniel’s poems.”

“Which he doesn’t write anymore.”

“At the moment. Doesn’t mean he won’t write again.”

They lay in bed, the window opened to the soft music of the night and a view of the stars. A breeze came through the screen, cooling after the heat of that July day.

“Jenny married her father,” Rainy said.

“What?”

“Daniel’s like you in a lot of ways,”

“I never wrote poetry. And God forbid that I should ever play the accordion.”

“He’s really good at both.”

“My point exactly. Me, I have no talent whatsoever.”

Rainy turned in bed and ran her hand along his chest. “I wouldn’t say that,” she whispered coyly. “I have a suggestion.”

“What?”

“I think right now I could use a little seed of joy. And that’s something you’re quite talented at.”

Cork smiled. For a while after that, in Rainy’s arms, he let his love for her cleanse all the sullied places in his heart.

They often read to one another at night, each taking a book of poetry and sharing favorites. That night, Annie read from a collection by Ted Kooser, a Nebraska poet whose work had always affected her deeply because of its honesty and simplicity and humanity. Maria read from a collection by Billy Collins because, she said, “He is whimsical and not afraid to be silly.”

Annie ended with a poem titled “This Paper Boat.” It was brief and poignant, a poem about love and its remembrance. And it made Maria cry.

“I could have lost you today,” she said, holding Annie’s head in her hands and looking deeply into her eyes. “I promise you, I will cherish every moment we have together.”

“A hard promise to keep. We still have a lot of moments ahead of us. And isn’t every day filled with so much that’s mundane?”

“Not lately,” Maria said, and it made Annie laugh.

They prepared for bed and lay together in a long, comfortable silence. Then Maria said, “We should pray for them.”

“Who?”

“The young women. And also for the man who was killed today.”

“Why for him?”

“It would do our hearts good, I think, to ask God for kindness for a soul who must have suffered in this life.”

“Your heart is more forgiving than mine. Don’t forget that the man who helped him kill those women is still out there. Maybe he’ll kill more. I’ll save my prayers for those souls.”

“These are not the words of the Annie O’Connor I fell in love with. She who wanted to be a bride of Christ.”

“That Annie is dead.”

“I do not think so. Lost maybe.” She was quiet a moment. “Do you know what I pray for?”

Annie didn’t answer. For some reason, she was afraid of what she might hear.

“I pray for forgiveness and understanding.”

“Why? For what?”

“I am sometimes so angry with God. I pray that he will forgive me for that. And I pray that he will help me understand why he is taking you from me.”

“It’s not God. It’s cancer.”

“You once believed that God was at the heart of everything.”

“I was young and naïve. And not dying.”

“Dying has made you more precious to me than ever. I am thankful that bullet today did not take you from me suddenly. And maybe this is part of the grace of God. That I will be with you as you walk to the place of your crossing over.”

“I like the image that Ted Kooser poem has given me. I’ll just float away like a paper boat.”

“And when it is my time to follow, you will be there waiting?”

“I will be there.” She kissed Maria. “I promise.”

CHAPTER 36