Constance sniffed, running her sleeve under her nose. “I don’t want to be tricked, Monty. But…But I’d do anything to feel that again. I don’t think I can stop myself.”
“When I went into the hollow earlier,” Constance explained quietly, “I was fumin’ so bad that I’ll bet there was smoke coming out my ears. I don’t know what I was planning. I was looking at the statue-thing and remembering how you had—you had started trying to pray to her. She looks so calm and graceful, standing there. And suddenly I hated her.”
Constance heard that her voice was trembling. Lamont was looking fixedly at her now, his expression one of open curiosity.
“I don’t know what I was thinking exactly. I had in mind that maybe I could break her open, topple her, find out what was inside or underneath. I put my hands on her and…” Constance hesitated, shaking her head.
“And what?” Lamont asked.
“And suddenly, it was gone. I felt like a little kid who was all wound up, expectin’ a scrap or a whippin’. But what I got was like big, warm arms wrapped around me. A feeling of forgiveness. More than forgiveness. Compassion. Understanding. Like—like she knew everything. And loved everything.”
Constance realized suddenly that there were hot tears rolling down her cheeks. She balled up her fist in the sleeve of her oversized coverall and wiped her face aggressively. “God,” she muttered.
“Or something,” Lamont agreed.
Constance looked up at him. He was leaning closer to her now, close enough that she could smell the lingering scent of his cigarette, mixed with aftershave. In his expression, she saw curiosity, empathy, uncertainty.
“I felt the same thing,” he admitted quietly. “Infinite compassion. As if everything that had seemed so cold and heartless before was revealed to be totally good. Absolutely safe.” He paused. “Full of grace.”
Constance sniffed, running her sleeve under her nose. “I don’t want to be tricked, Monty. But…But I’d do anything to feel that again. I don’t think I can stop myself. I want to believe…”
She hesitated, and Lamont finished her thought. “You want to believe that you don’t have to.”
Constance nodded weakly.
Unexpectedly, Lamont stood to his feet, cursing emphatically. “I’ve been moping about when there’s work to be done. We’re never going to know the truth if we stay here.”
“Where do you want to go?” Constance asked, her heart jumping at the sudden change in his tone.
“From here, there’s only one way to go,” Lamont smiled thinly, adjusting his suspenders. “And that’s down.”
“I’m glad you’ve decided to quit faffin’ about,” Rosemary said from where she was standing nearby. “But unfortunately you’re out of time.”