They walked slowly up toward Fifth Avenue, glowing from the cold, and feeling the exercise, but they were both relaxed and at peace. And as they stood on the corner, looking for a cab, Faith looked up at St. Patrick's Cathedral and had an idea.

“Do you want to go in and light a candle for Jack?” she asked solemnly, and the look in her eyes nearly broke his heart. She lit candles for him at mass several times a week.

“Sure.” He hadn't been to church in years, although he had gone to church with her and Jack and their mother when they were all kids. He was Episcopalian, but he liked the pomp and ceremony of the Catholic Church, and had taken communion with them once or twice to see what it was like in a Catholic church, and was surprised to find it was no different than in his. The Catholic Church had always seemed more mysterious and impressive to him. And Jack dared him to go to confession once, and he was surprised by how kind the priest had been.

There was a lot about Catholicism that had always appealed to him, although he had drifted away from his own church too in recent years. Faith still went to church regularly, but Alex wasn't religious, and resisted it energetically, and she had never been able to sell it to her kids. It was something she did on her own, but she had gone more frequently ever since her brother died. Instead of once or twice, she now went several times a week. It gave her a sense of communion with him, and of peace. It was the only way she had found consolation from his death. Brad didn't say anything as he followed her across the street to the church.

It was just after ten o'clock, and the doors were still open. There were beautiful Christmas decorations and poinsettias everywhere, and the church was spectacularly lit. It was an impressive sight, as they walked in, and just stood there, looking around.

There were altars to individual saints all along the sides, and banks of candles in front of them, and the main altar stood at the end of the central aisle, straight ahead. She made the sign of the cross, and side by side, they walked to the front of the church. It was almost as though she could feel Jack walking with them.

They slipped quietly into a pew, and sat there for a while, and she knelt and prayed, for Jack and her mother, and Charles, and her daughters finally, and then, still on her knees, she turned to smile at Brad. He had never seen her look more beautiful. It was almost as though there were an aura of peace around her, and a look of great tenderness in her eyes.

“I feel him here, with us,” she whispered. They both knew who she was talking about, and Brad nodded, with tears in his eyes, and then knelt next to her.

“Me too.” And then he bowed his head and closed his eyes.

It was just like the old days, skating together, and going to church. The only one missing was Jack, but it didn't really seem as though he was.

It was a while before they both looked up, and then walked past the main altar, to the smaller ones in honor of the saints. Faith genuflected down to one knee as they crossed the center of the church. And he followed her to the altar of Saint Jude. He had always been her favorite saint.

She slipped a five-dollar bill into the slot, lit a candle for Jack, and then held the burning stick toward Brad so he could light one himself. It had always seemed magical to him, as though something as powerful as that could only result in good things, and they stood side by side for a moment, thinking of her brother, in silent prayer. And then he took her hand, and they walked slowly away. They stopped just before they left the church, and Faith dipped her fingers in the holy water, made the sign of the cross, and smiled up at him.

“Thank you for coming here with me,” she whispered. She'd been to church earlier that week, but it meant more to her now, because he was here, as though their combined prayers were more powerful, as though it meant more to pray for Jack with him.

Brad was silent as he followed her outside, deeply moved. It had been years since he'd been to church, and he was surprised by how much it had just meant to him, or maybe it was just going with her, and the memories it stirred, of the three of them.

“Do you still have your rosary?” he asked, as they walked down the steps of St. Patrick's hand in hand. He felt even closer to her than he had in a long time, as though she were his sister now too, his blood, and not simply his friend.

“Yes.”

“Do you still say them?” He had always been fascinated by it when she was a young girl. He liked the rituals and the pageantry. Jack used to tease him about it and say he should convert and become a priest.

“Sometimes. More in the last few years, because of Jack. Sometimes I just stop in at church and pray for him.” Brad nodded, not wanting to ask her why, or just what exactly she thought it did. For him, it was enough that she wanted to, and that it made sense to her. It always had. She had even said once or twice as a little girl that she wanted to be a nun. But Jack hated the idea and told her to forget about it. And as time went on, and she grew up, she was far more interested in having babies and getting married, which seemed healthier to him.

“Do you and Pam ever go to church?” she asked as they stood on Fifth Avenue. It was time to take her home, but he hated to leave.

He smiled at her question. “Pam is a confirmed atheist, or agnostic, I'm never sure which. She firmly believes there is no God.” He said it simply, without judging her. It was just who she was, and what she believed. His own beliefs had always been a little vague as to their form, but he did believe in God.

“How sad,” Faith said, and Brad smiled down at her. There was something so pure about Faith sometimes, he loved that in her, and had when she was a little girl. “What about the boys?”

“I don't think they're sure, or care much either way. I haven't exactly taken their religious life in hand. I just figured they'd do what they want one day. I haven't been in church in years. Do you and Alex go to church?”

“He's Episcopalian like you, and never goes. I don't think he's an atheist. He just hates going to church and thinks it's a waste of time. He thinks it's something women do. And the girls never want to go, except to light a candle for someone once in a while.”

“I always thought that was magical, when we were kids. Like making a wish. I always believed all prayers were answered. I think your mother told me that they were.” She had been a deeply religious woman, which had gotten her through a lot of her unhappiness being married to Charles in the early years, and her first husband before that, although she never admitted to being unhappy in either case. There had been a lot of secrets and denial in Faith's family in those days.

“I used to think all prayers were answered too,” Faith said sadly. Other people's, if not her own.

“And now?” Brad looked at her intently.

“Sometimes I'm not so sure.”

“Because of Jack?” he asked softly, looking into her eyes in the crisp December night, as their breath shot out plumes of frost in the cold air. She nodded in answer. “You know, it's funny. I'm not religious. I never have been. I never really went to church, except with you two and your mom, when we were kids. But I still believe what she told me, about all prayers being answered.”

Faith looked sober as she pondered what he'd said. “I wish I were as sure.” Life was no longer as simple as it had seemed then. Even in the worst moments of her life, she had relied on her faith.

“I still think they are.” There was a lump in his throat as he said it, and she couldn't tell if the tears in his eyes were from the cold or something else. “And I think Jack would think so too.”

Faith didn't answer him, she only nodded. She tucked a hand in his arm then, and they walked slowly up Fifth Avenue, not saying a word.





10


BRAD LEFT NEW YORK ON FRIDAY AFTERNOON, THE DAY after they'd gone skating. He called her in the morning to tell her how stiff and achy he was, and how he could hardly get out of bed in his hotel. But he had never had a better time. He wanted to stop by the house and say good-bye to her, but as it turned out, he didn't have time, and had to rush to make his plane. He called her from the airport instead.

“I wanted to give you a hug and wish you a Merry Christmas, Fred,” he said sadly. He was disappointed not to see her one last time. “I had such a good time last night. The best ever. We'll have to do it again the next time I come to town,” but he had no plans. And he seldom came to New York anymore, except for conferences like the one he'd attended. When he worked for his father-in-law's firm, he had come all the time.

“I had a great time too,” she said, feeling nostalgic. It had been so wonderful seeing him, and now that he was going back to California, it was like saying good-bye to part of Jack again. “I'm glad we went to St. Patrick's.”

“So am I. Maybe I'll go light a candle for him sometime in San Francisco. I believe in that. It still seems special.”

“I know,” she nodded. “I'll light one for you at midnight mass on Christmas Eve. Usually I can get Zoe to come to that with me.” It made Brad think he should do that instead of Pam's Christmas dinner. But on Christmas Eve they didn't do much. They usually had dinner at her father's, and then came home and went to bed. With the boys away, they had decided not to have a Christmas tree that year.

“When is Zoe coming home?” He had forgotten, but he knew it was in the next few days. And Alex was due home the next day. Brad had come into the house the night before for a few minutes, when he dropped her off. And Faith had shown him the study where she kept her computer and wrote him e-mails. It was a small cozy room full of photographs and what she called sentimental debris. But he liked seeing where she wrote to him. He could visualize her that way.