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that way. That’s why she hadn’t even considered counseling or the crisis-marriage retreat Carl had begged her to try. “The vows state until death, not a decade plus. If he’d intended to stay faithful to me for our whole marriage, he sure didn’t try very hard.”
    “You’ve told me he was remorseful afterward. And he confessed without provocation. That would imply it was something that happened without prior forethought. A mistake he deeply regretted. Had he never intended to stay faithful, why would he feel such strong regret?”
    In a strange way, Carl’s willing confession was something she resented. She didn’t understand why he couldn’t have gone on living with the guilt of his nasty secret instead of burdening her with it. “Well, the regret obviously hit too late. He probably didn’t realize how horrible it would feel to look at his kids and kiss his wife afterward. That doesn’t mean that on our wedding day he didn’t fully expect that one day he’d stray into another field when his own pasture wasn’t looking so green anymore.”
    Father Tom stayed silent and watched her. She knew he was waiting for her to work it out for herself.
    “I wasn’t exactly happy in our marriage at the time either. I know I wasn’t the model wife, but I never considered going to someone else’s bed, and I just don’t see how he could’ve done it so easily—not unless he’d always kept it in mind as an option.” She shook her head and swiped at an angry tear. She hated how much pain she still felt at her husband’s betrayal. “I’m sorry, Father.”
    “There’s no need to apologize. But I think you see how this process will reopen old wounds. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”
    “Obviously not.”
    “Well, when and if you decide you are, I’d be happy to speak with Carl about it, if you like.”
    “Okay. Thanks.” The priest smiled kindly at her, and she suddenly felt very selfish. “How are you doing? With all the changes going on around here?”
    He separated his hands and waved one to brush away the question. “I’m doing just fine. It’s all part of the territory—once you get too comfortable, something comes along to wiggle the rug a little.” He picked up his glass and swirled it, staring at the turbulent motion within.
    “He’ll be gone next month, and then that rug will stop wiggling.”
    He lifted his gaze to her. “This too shall pass, eh? Well, I suppose you should be getting home to those children of yours.”
    Maggie took the cue that he wanted to be alone and said good night. When she turned to pull the door to a gentle close, she saw that he was again contemplating the thick, red drink.

    Alone in her bedroom that night, Maggie let her thoughts turn toward the angel. Had she been imagining things at the garden? The guy had been masked by branches and shadow; her mind could’ve easily morphed his features into those of her angel. Then she remembered the almost hypnotic power of the urn, the way it had called to her, and wondered exactly what kind of herbs were in that Mexican food she’d had for lunch.
    Even still, she couldn’t shake the conviction that the angel was more than a dream. With determination, she propped herself up against a stack of pillows, lifted the novel from her nightstand, and settled in for some late night reading. This time if he visited, she’d know that it happened while she was lucid.
    A few hours later she awoke with the light bulb blaring and a horrible crick in her neck from the way it had bent after she’d slipped half way down her pillow mountain. She flicked off the light and pulled on her eye mask, calling off the hunt.

Chapter 4
    “T HE D EVIL’S N OT R EAL ,” Kirsten said from the passenger seat.
    Maggie kept her eyes on the road but jerked her head back. “What makes you say that?”
    “Nothing makes me say it. It’s just what I believe. I think the devil is just a made up thing that God lets people believe to keep them in