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We don’t want for happiness here We take e have and find happiness in it This applies to all facets of life, and also love

Am I sinful that I couldn’t do that? That I can’t be happy with ht of him before he arrived Before I even knew his face, I wrote him letters, sealed them up in bottles, tossed them to the sea It was all quite pitiful I knew that Silly

I suppose I wanted to escape That was the narrative I knew Prince Declan I smile down at ht I saw him I was furious—less so with him, more so with my foolish self And then…

And then

After mass, I chat with Uncle Ollie for a bit, and then with Mrs Petunia White I find, by chance, I wasn’t wrong about the weather We’re due two days of driving rain, starting this evening

Father Russo comes to stand by Mrs White as she asks after Baby “How is that sweet love?”

“She’s doing wonderfully I haven’t put her with the others yet, but it’s in her future Unless she says she doesn’t want to leave me”

Mrs White chortles Father Russo’s gray-black eyebrows scrunch, as if he’s never heard a conversation like ours Then he s—comically so He puts his hand on Mrs White’s shoulder, but his eyes meet and hold mine

“Finley How are you feeling?” Father Russo’s voice is like a bird’s: nasally and so high-pitched it sounds like chirping when he speaks

“No complaints, sir How are you?”

“I would be better if I understood why you ceased attending weekday masses”

My face blazes I can scarcely fore

“Did I do so to offend?”

“Oh, heavens no I’m sorry to cause…questions, sir Father,” I correct “It’s just that without Doctor, I’m more occupied with clinic duties All of that…it takes up quite a bit of time”

“Is that so?” His eyes and enuinely curious He’s such an odd duck, I can’t tell if he’s just being odd, or if he’s actually unhappy with me