Father Clifford looked down the cloister walk. "You're a sight for sore eyes," he managed, his face easing into a weary smile. "Everyone's done, more or less."

"Back to their telly, no doubt," Father Randall nodded. "I appreciate the help. Timing was bad but it was urgent."

Now Peter frowned. "Oh?"

"I had to go see a woman about a dog."

Peter felt his reservoir of patience spring a new leak. "What, a drink?!"

"Wish I'd thought of that on a day like this. But no." He paused, looking at the office door for what seemed too long a time. Finally he pounded a jittery fist on it and turned back to face his subordinate. "Outside."

Outside, Assumpta was beginning to wonder if the parish priest had played her for a sucker. Absently she coiled the lead around her wrist, watching Fionn have yet another snooze beside her on the bench. Were dogs allowed on the bench?

She reminded herself that she didn't care.

"You came," said a familiar voice behind her.

She jumped. Turning to look, she tried to look calm again, forced a smile. "Did you ever doubt I would?" She rose to her feet, beckoning Fionn to alight as well.

Peter's eyes bulged, incredulous. "How many more times will this happen?"

Assumpta shook her head, then glanced rapidly about. "I don't understand."

"Shall I uproot my entire life once again for you? Or will you be gone again in few more days?!"

She glanced at the street behind her. A group of teenagers passed by, some gawping and others laughing. Now she looked back at him, her neck and ears going red-hot. "I told you I'd be back, Peter. I had a lease to break. A job to quit. Police reports to file when an obsessed theatregoer decided to break into my flat. Forgive me if I didn't ring every night to sing you asleep!"

The rage on his face turned quickly to alarm.

She did not pause to hear his concern. "You still can't trust me," she said, deflating. "You'll never be able to trust me." Shaking her head, she reached into her purse and drew out an envelope. "This is from Edso Foley." She handed it to him, then turned and tugged on Fionn's lead, moving for the carpark.

Peter cursed himself and took off after her.

BALLYKISSANGEL

Vincent took the pulpit before his motley assembly of parishioners, then frowned and shook his head. Beckoning them to concentrate themselves in the first few pews, he backed away from the lectern and sat on the chancel steps.

Kathleen Hendley looked horrified.

It didn't pass unnoticed. "We are a church of dialogue," Father Sheehan said softly. "So let us have a dialogue. And, on this admittedly strange Tuesday evening, let's be a bit strange as well. Let's ask questions. Let's deviate from the script."

Brendan Kearney was rocking a sleepy-eyed Aisling on his lap. "If this was done, once again, in the name of faith..." he trailed off.

Father Mac's eyes bulged and darted to Vincent; his mouth drew tight in warning.

Vincent saw two baits cast before him. He took the better of them: "Then as people of faith we must take great care in how we respond."

Niamh slipped in at the back now, Kieran in tow. Pausing to revere the cross, she tried to move unobtrusively toward the action. Spotting Ambrose and Frankie seated together, she permitted her nostrils to flare as she took her own seat across the aisle.

Vincent went on. "We must be careful to react with humility that any believers could be so badly misled - not pride, as though none of our own stripe ever did any harm." He caught the parish priest's eye now: "We know better than that. We mustn't forget now.

"We also have to make other choices. Does Christian love have room in it for wrath, when that wrath is over terrible injustice? Does our duty as followers of Christ to forgive - does that have room in it for people who died without repenting of the pain they caused?"

"What else does forgiveness have to cover, for that matter?" Niamh blurted out, startling everyone. "When does a well run dry, in spite of itself?"

Vincent nodded. "I'm glad you brought that up. This town has had some shocks of its own in recent weeks. Secrets came to light that left many people feeling blessed and betrayed, all at once. Tonight we are reminded to keep perspective of our own tragedies, especially those that seemed to change shape and size as the truth was revealed. The miracle of learning a loved one is still among us. The heartache of knowing we were deceived."

At the back of the church he saw movement now. Avril was trying to be invisible. Grainne Dooley was holding her hand.

"We're also reminded of what the pain of grief can do to someone. Many among us, faced with a loss, go scrambling for a painkiller in one form or another. This is where our deadly sins come into view. Gluttony? The bottle?"

Avril dropped her eyes.

Vincent nodded. "Envy? A bit of gossip?"

Kathleen blinked.

"Even lust," Vincent said. "So much adultery has grief and mourning right behind it."

Niamh looked up without lifting her chin, then squeezed her eyes shut.

"We all sin against God and one another. We are hurt, and we hurt one another," the curate said. "Christ calls us to do a very difficult thing. We will fall short. All of us. Over and over.

"May we remember that everyone we meet has a broken heart, every day. May we sow love, more than we could ever hope to reap it."

"Amen," Ambrose whispered.

Little did Ambrose know that outside, and not far away, Liam and Donal were exhuming his grave.

Donal paused to rest his chin on the handle of his shovel. "What'll they do with the marker, d'you reckon?" He nodded toward the upturned tablet, a fraud set in stone. "Can't very well grind off the old death date, can they?"

Liam rolled his eyes. "Sure it'll do fine for a paperweight."

MANCHESTER

Assumpta pulled over, feeling every bit a sucker for following Peter's directions. "This is where you grew up?" she murmured, glancing out the window.

His answer was mostly breath: "Yeah."

He loosed his seatbelt, but made no move for the door.

She nodded - too long. "Right. Well. Good to see you. Better be on my way, now."

He sighed, and reached for the latch.

When she turned the ignition, he shook his head and buckled back in.

She slammed a palm against the steering wheel. "Go," she warned under her breath.

He screwed up his mouth and looked around. "I don't think so."

Her voice grew louder. "You want me to go into your stupid house."

He nodded.

Louder still, now. "So you can give me another sermon about how I've wronged you."

He touched his nose, further infuriating her.

She turned off the engine again. "You're unbelievable."

She bolted from her seat and sprinted, making a point of reaching the door before him.

Moments later, she heard him calling her name from the next one over. "It's this one."

Once in the sitting room, Peter watched Assumpta take in her surroundings. Her eyes scanned the suncatchers in the windows, the pewter cross above the door, the inoffensive seascape painting over the mantel.

Finally her gaze came to rest on the family photographs along the base of the stairway, the wedding picture of the two Cliffords she would never meet.

For the moment, this was enough. "I'll make some tea," he muttered, slipping away into the kitchen. Starting the kettle, he listened for the creak of the floorboards to betray Assumpta's retreat, but this did not happen. When tea was ready, he found her still fixed in that spot, still fixated on George and Mary Margaret.

"Younger then than we are now," he said softly.

This got a jittery nod. "They're gorgeous."

He handed her a mug: off-white, with a blue goose painted on the front. She could not have known it had sat untouched three years. She could not have guessed whose regular cup it had been. He told himself not to read too much into the sober gratitude in her eyes, but then they looked, again, at the bride in the picture...and then back at him.

"The biggest thing to happen to us both — to really happen," he began in a shaky voice, "we never spoke about."

"No," she agreed, barely a whisper. "We were going to, and then I...Peter, I'm sorry." Her eyes were shining, now, and pointing upward; she kept swallowing, and her neck had gone pink. He'd only seen this in the light once before, but he remembered well enough. Tears weren't far behind.

"I'd say it's high time."

She met his gaze, nodding, tears spilling over. "Okay."

Thanks for your patience and kind thoughts, everyone. Mom was a big fan of the show, so let's dedicate this installment to her.