Ryan's povI prayed until my knees ached.Two full days. Morning Mass, evening prayer, the long silent hours in between on the prie-dieu in the rectory chapel. I forced every memory of his mouth, his voice, the way he had looked up at me from the floor, into the shape of a confession and then begged to be scrubbed clean of it."Forgive the weakness. Forgive the sound I made. Forgive the way I held his hair. Erase him from me."It almost worked.By the second afternoon the sharpest edges of the memory had dulled. I could walk through the church without feeling the ghost of his tongue and slept without waking hard and furious at myself. When I looked at the empty space near the stone wall across the street and found no dark-haired stranger leaning there with a cigarette, something in my chest loosened with relief.He was gone.Thank God.I told myself that over and over while I wiped down the pews, while I replaced the candles, while I locked the side door at dusk. Good that he had take
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