'Or not have it.'

'But you can't prove a negative.'

'But,' she pointed a finger at him, 'there's no reason to prove it. It's personal.'

'Well, of course, I know. But… it sets me apart, a bit, from my peers. It's old fashioned, fuddy-duddy

'Come on. It is not. Not on you.'

He pointed back at her. 'Says you.'

'Yes,' she said, 'says me.'

'Okay, I guess that settles it. So what about you?'

'What about me and what?'

'Faith. Belief. Why you've got ashes on your forehead here at…' he checked his watch '… seven o'clock of a rather inclement Wednesday morning?'

She glanced down at her food, cut into her waffle, wiped it in syrup. She did not bring the fork to her mouth.

'Evasive action,' Dooher said.

Still looking down, she nodded. 'A little, I suppose.'

'I'm sorry. I don't mean to push you.'

She took in a breath, raised her head. Her eyes had a shine in them. 'Penance, too, mostly. Figuring things out.'

Dooher waited. 'This isn't turning into the most modern of conversations, is it? Faith and penance. Sounds like the Middle Ages, or me and Wes on one of our retreats.'

She seemed grateful for the reprieve. 'Wes?'

'Wes Farrell, my best friend.'

'Best friends, another not-so-modern concept.'

Dooher studied her face – something was troubling her, hurting her. He kept up the patter to give her a chance to let the moment pass if that's what she wanted. 'Well, that's me and Wes, a couple of throwbacks. We go on retreats, we call 'em, replenish the soul, talk about the big picture, get reconnected.'

'You're lucky, a friend like that.' A pause, adding, 'Still believing in connecting.'

He took a beat, making sure. She didn't want to avoid it after all, didn't want to be protected, insulated from whatever it was. Not today, not now. She had decided to get it out, and this was an invitation to him, to ask.