Page 63 of Order

“You did today.”

“But I didn’t do enough.”

“The only way I can reconcile it is to think that eviljust is.It’s not from or of God, and prevention of it doesn’t seem to be God’s job. But some people make more of it, and they are evil to their core and deserve to be damned to Hell on Earth and in the world to come. I could go on and on about who they are and what the Church should be doing about them, too. And some people love and heal the world, who try to make the world have less evil in it. They’re good. They’re wonderful. They’re God on Earth. They’re angels.”

“Why the Hell aren’t there any ofthemaround?” Dree hiccupped.

“You’re an angel, Dree. You made the world so much better today. That woman with cancer knew she was dying. You talked to her with kindness and grace. The woman whose son had Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy doubtlessly had a brother or two who died of it because she must be a carrier. She knew what she was seeing. You told her the truth, but you did it with love and empathy. There is evil in the world, but the world is what we make it.”

And we could be making the world so much better, if only the Church and good people dared to do it,he thought.

A tiny sound like a rip squeaked in the small tent.

When he glanced over, he saw that Dree had unzipped her sleeping bag near her neck, and her fingers extruded from the small opening.

Her eyes were closed.

Asking, but not demanding.

Surely, this wasn’t a sin. She was an angel in need of comfort because she’d seen too much of the world’s evil.

Maxence extended his hand and tangled his fingers in hers.

She gripped his hand, and her eyes creased.

He held on.

He held on for hours, until her breathing smoothed and her eyes and mouth relaxed into sleep.

And still, he held on.

Chapter Twelve

Tattoo

Dree

Dree didn’t know how long she’d slept before she realized her hand was freezing and water was splashing inside the tent.

She did the most obvious thing first. She pulled her hand inside her sleeping bag, zipped it up, and crammed her cold fingers under her armpit, thus solving that problem.

But, for the other, it was too cold for rain.

Any rain would be snow.

Snow and ice.

And she wasn’t wet.

So, it couldn’t be some kind of a snowmelt flood, and if the tent were leaking rain, she would be wet.

Also, the air inside the tent didn’t have the wet-dirt scent of petrichor.

Citrus, balsam, and lavender hung in the air.

It smelled really good.

Reallygood.