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before in her life.
    But he’d known what she meant.
     
    One Sunday afternoon, a barbecue at Moses’s apartment, up on the roof looking over the Haight-Ashbury.
    “The what?” Hardy had asked. “Get out of here!”
    “Big Brothers,” Frannie telling Hardy.
    It wouldn’t have been like Eddie to mention it. He didn’t preach—he just did. “Hey, it’s one day a week, Diz,” Eddie had said in defense. “Gimme a break. Maybe do some good. Couldn’t hurt, anyway.”
    It sure could, Hardy thought. It could hurt you, you fool. Most likely your “little brother” will wind up taking a chip out of your heart. But he didn’t try to argue with Eddie—there wasn’t much arguing with Eddie on anything.
    But Hardy had said, “You think you can make a real difference, don’t you?”
    The two-hundred-watt smile that wasn’t a put-on. “I doubt it.”
    Except what got to Hardy was that, underneath it all, Eddie didn’t doubt it. He thought everything he did mattered a lot, that he personally really could make a difference. It reminded Hardy of the way he thought he used to be himself. Like Eddie. Long time ago.
     
    Rose stood at the top of the steps by the back door of the rectory. Father Dietrick was crossing the parking lot, head down, returning from bringing Father Cavanaugh the news.
    Bless them both, but it was going to be a hard month. June was always a hard month in San Francisco. It felt like God had given His promise in the spring and then taken it back. This morning Rose had thought it would stay bright and sunny, but already the fog was on them again.
    She wiped her hands on her apron. Her eyes came up to meet the young priest, questioning. He sighed. “Not too well,” he said. “He took off.”
    Though he wasn’t yet thirty, he mounted the stoop like an old man. Rose followed him inside.
    “Just took off?”
    He sat at the kitchen table, his hands folded in front of him. Rose brought over a cup of coffee, three sugars and a drop of cream.
    “You know Father Cavanaugh,” he said, sipping the coffee. “There wasn’t an easy way to say it. He stood there getting out of his vestments and I thought I’d try to make him sit down, but as soon as I asked him to, he knew something had happened. . . .”
    “I’m sure you did what’s best, Father.”
    Father Dietrick sighed. “For a minute it was as though I’d hit him. Then he looked down at his hands, at the vestments, and just ripped the surplice off.”
    Rose made a note to go pick up the surplice. She’d just sew it back up and no one would be the wiser. She pulled up a chair next to Father and ventured a pat on his hand. “You know how he is, Father. He gets upset and it’s like the priest in him gives up for a minute. He has to let something go. It doesn’t mean anything.”
    “I know. But maybe I should have gone with him.”
    Rose knew what Father Dietrick meant. Father Cavanaugh was a bit of a rogue priest. It was, she was sure, why he’d never made monsignor. Not that he’d ever done anything seriously wrong. Shoplifting that one time. Occasionally a little too much whiskey, but sure that was the good man’s weakness.
    “He’ll probably go scream at the ocean,” she said. And Lord, why shouldn’t he, losing someone close enough to be his own son? Father had a temper, but he was still a beautiful man, and a fine priest, all the more human for his faults, she thought. Let him scream at the ocean—he had a right. Jesus himself had a temper. Didn’t He throw the money changers out of the temple?
    But this—Eddie Cochran’s death—would not have loosed his temper. It would have broken his heart.
    “I know where he’s gone,” Rose said suddenly. “Over to see Erin.” The priest acted like he didn’t know who she was talking about. She sighed, exasperated. “Come now, Father, you’ve got to learn to see things. Erin Cochran, Eddie’s mother. He’ll need to be with her.”
    “You think so?”
    Rose bit her tongue and