“Him too.”
“You may need diocesan permission.”
“I have spent half my life asking permission to do what conscience already required.”
Paloma almost smiled.
“Mother Inés used to say the same.”
Mother Caridad looked back at her sharply.
“She also left us a maze of secrets.”
“She believed secrets could protect people.”
“They can,” Mother Caridad said. “For a time. Then they begin protecting themselves.”
That afternoon, Esperanza asked to see the old guest parlor.
Mother Caridad unlocked the passage and went with her.
The room had not been used in years. Dust lay across the table, and the air smelled of dry wood and lavender sachets. Blue curtains framed the single window.
Esperanza touched the fabric.
The color matched the thread on the tape.
“Do you remember this place?” Mother Caridad asked.
Esperanza walked slowly toward the table.
“A little.”
“What do you see?”
“Elena sitting there.”
She pointed to the chair near the window.
“She wore a yellow dress. Not bright yellow. The color of old sunlight.”
Mother Caridad said nothing.
