The breeze seemed to hold its breath, and even the endless racket of tree frogs and bugs fell silent.But of course, nothing hushed. The hush was internal, as she absorbed what Brendan had just told her. Finally, out of disbelief as much as anything, she asked, “How was it your fault?”He sighed and looked up at the heavens, where a few stars managed to gleam through the perennial glow of city lights. “I failed to realize how close to the edge he was. I failed to insist that he get medical help immediately. I failed to insist he go to the emergency room.”“You know, mind reading isn't required, even of a priest.”“Maybe not. But something more than trite, reassuring, it'll-all-be-okay counseling is required. I failed that young man. I was wrong.”“Perhaps.” She wasn't going to argue with his conscience; that was between him and God and his spiritual advisor. “But that doesn't make you responsible. And I don't see how a suicide can be connected with what happened to Steve King, or even why anyone should consider it mysterious.”He sighed.
