Elle laughed again.

“God got us into this mess,” Elle said with a tired smile. “He seems in no hurry to get us back out again.”

“Who’s us?” Kyrie asked.

“Stop.” Elle raised her hand in a warning. “You’re getting nothing else out of me tonight. I didn’t come down here to spill my guts. And I’m certainly not in the mood to give anyone my confession.”

“Why did you come here? Tonight, I mean. Is this your usual nine-o’clock hangout?” Kyrie asked.

“I used to work at a bookstore. I like being around books.”

“Me, too. You know my sister was a writer.”

“The one who—”

“Who was murdered?” Kyrie asked. “Yeah, her.”

“What was her name? I’d rather call her by her name than ‘your sister who was murdered,’” Elle said.

Kyrie gave her a strange look. And then a smile.

“You’re the first person who’s asked me her name after I mentioned her.”

“She only spent one day of her life dying. Who was she the rest of the time?”

“Bethany. Although her pen name was Marian Sherwood.”

“Robin Hood fan?”

“It was her favorite story, favorite movie, favorite everything.”

“What did she write?”

“Romance Books. The kind set in the past when everyone dressed better? What are those? The men with the great boots?”

“Regencies?”

“Those. They were good, too. I loved reading her books. She even dedicated one to me.”

“Do you have any with you?” Elle asked, desperate to read anything other than a book of Catholic theology or church history.

“I wasn’t allowed to bring them with me,” Kyrie said. “But they’re up here.” She pointed at her head.

“I’m really sorry about what happened to her.”

“It was on the news, you know. National news. Young mother and bestselling writer murdered by her husband. Well, it was on the news for one day and then something else more important happened. Some celebrity got divorced or something.”

“Nothing’s more important than losing someone you love.”

“I thought so.” Kyrie sighed heavily. “It’s crazy that a romance writer would get killed by her husband. You’d never imagine a woman who wrote about true love for a living would be in such a bad marriage.”

“The face you show the world isn’t always your real face,” Elle said. “You can look at someone and think you know everything about them...but you don’t. We all have masks on. Or veils.” She looked pointedly at Kyrie. “I know someone who lives a double life. Actually...almost everyone I knew back home did.” Kingsley, Søren...all of them.

“So what are you reading?” Kyrie asked, clearly ready to stop talking about her sister. “Anything good?”

“Bulfinch’s Mythology. I’m trying to figure out what Sisyphus did to deserve his rock and rolling for all eternity punishment.”

“Nothing,” Kyrie said, taking the book off Elle’s lap. “Nothing anyone could do merits eternal suffering.”

“You sure about that? What about rape?”

“Nope.”

“Murder?”

“No.”

“Child molestation?”

“Not even that. I mean, think about it. Eternity, Elle. Forever and ever without end. Infinite time. No crime causes infinite suffering. At some point the victim dies, goes to Heaven and lives in bliss. If the victim’s suffering isn’t eternal, how can the punishment for a crime be eternal?”

“Hell is in the Bible.”

“So are talking donkeys. You see a talking donkey anywhere?” Kyrie asked.

“I know a few talking asses.”

Kyrie glared at her. “Hell is where we put people we don’t want to think about. Like my ex-brother-in-law who killed Bethany. I mean, he...” Kyrie paused and closed her fingers into a fist. “He slammed her head against the wall until she died, Elle. But you know what? Bethany’s in Heaven. She’s with God, and she’s happy and rejoicing for all eternity. And he, Jake...Jake was abused by his father so badly when he was a kid that at age thirty-five he still wets the bed when he hears loud noises at night because he thinks it’s his dad coming to his bedroom again.”

“That’s horrible.” Elle winced. “I know a man who was sexually abused by his own sister when he was eleven. But he never used that as an excuse to harm other people. We all have free will.”

“I’m not saying Jake shouldn’t be punished. But it’s like the maze we were talking about,” Kyrie said. “A person’s heart is a maze. When you’re in the maze, you can’t see your way to the center of it. Only if you’re above the maze can you look down and really see what’s happening. I think that’s how God looks at us. That way he can see the entire maze at once, can see where the twists and turns are, and where the center is. Jake was a victim, too. Do I love him? No. Do I hate him? Yes. But I want to forgive him. God says to forgive him. And if God expects fallible human me to forgive him, why shouldn’t I expect perfect, infallible God to forgive him?”

“You want to put a sign on the front doors of Hell that says Going Out of Business.”

“Good,” Kyrie said. “Hell is a fun concept. Hell is where you damn the guy who cuts you off in traffic or the girl who breaks your heart or the lady at the customer service counter at Sears who refuses to give you a refund on your underwear even though they fell apart after only one washing and of course you don’t have the tags still on it because who would wear their underwear with the tags on it?”