Brandy was in pain. Father Trevelyan heard it when she called and could see it now, ironically, by what he couldn"t see. The feisty American girl was wrapped in a long winter coat, though the autumn air was only just too cool for shirt sleeves, wore a wide-brimmed hat, and hid the windows to her soul with dark glasses. Ray, it was obvious, hurt as badly. With his open indifference to the church, his mere presence spoke volumes.
The priest suggested neutral ground; the church being a too formal reminder of their troubles, and their hotel room a too vacant reminder of the same. An admission that neither she nor Ray had eaten settled it. Trevelyan insisted they had to eat. So, at a café small enough to soothe Ray"s dislike for crowds, in a corner secluded enough for Trevelyan to encourage ta
