The weather is mild for mid-December, and the noon sun feels wonderful on my face, the way it must have felt for Lazarus.
Around me, the snow shines so brightly I have to squint to keep from being blinded. I’ve been living in a tomb of doubt. I walk slowly, taking my time, letting the fresh air cleanse my dark thoughts out. I’ve been so consumed with worry in the last week, perpetually obsessing over Alistair’s mental state, that I’ve neglected everything else. I did force myself to work a little, but between my reading up on psychiatry and dissociation disorders, I find myself sitting on my bed for hours, staring out into space, immersed in our past.
And I’ve been thinking about booze again. A lot. But I won’t bend. I can do this.
When I reach the presbytery, I stop to look at it. I ne
