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This was fucking awful.

“I have found,” she murmured, “that we are often surprised by the variance in what we think is important in life and what actually matters.” She watched his reaction carefully—a further slump of the shoulders, eyes flicking to her. “Perhaps it is just my experience, but I have spoken to many departed who were not followers of any church and none of them have reported suffering.” This was her favorite kind of lie, one that came easily and was met with eager grace. One that eased hurt and injured no one.

Theodore’s lips lifted to one side, the half-smile an offering. Her pulse skittered near her throat, and she felt her eyes widen.

Absolutely not. A soft spot for fragile men was one thing; being drawn to one merely assured mutual self-destruction.

“What do we do?” His voice had gone quiet, nearly a whisper.

She swallowed and laid her hand on the table, palm up. “Give me your hand.”

Theodore hesitated for a beat, then slid his hand into hers. His palm was soft; fingers calloused. She gripped him tightly, closing her eyes. “I’d like you to picture your wife’s face, if you can. Ask her whatever you need to ask, just as if she were sitting here instead of me.” His fingers squeezed hers briefly, and she ignored the flutter her heart gave.

“I just … ask?”

“Just ask,” she replied. Theodore took a deep breath, releasing as a sigh.

“Sarah,” he began. Stopped. “Sarah, are you here?”

Shame—deep, wretched, acidic shame—crawled into Maggie’s chest. This was not harmless deception. It had been happening more and more, this guilt yanking her down, stabbing into her like iron spikes. She had told Tom and Bridgers that she was thinking about leaving, but they hadn’t seemed to really listen. She was going to have to make them.

Still, she pressed on. “She says she is here.”

Theodore swallowed again. “Is she all right?”

Maggie gave the appropriate moment of silence as she pretended to receive a response. “She says she is well, and that she loves you.”

His smile was a ghost of a thing. “Yes, I love her, too. Where is she?”

Warmth spread across her cheeks, but Maggie shifted her stance, leaning into an arm of the chair. “She says she is in a place of goodness and peace. Her only sorrow is missing you. The child is also well.”

Theodore cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. “The child is well?”

Died giving birth, no? “Your little girl. She is well.”

“Indeed, she’s currently with my sister until I return home.”

Oh, for the love of God. He had only said his wife was dead, not his daughter. She was slipping, which served as further proof that this life no longer fit.

“She was inquiring,” she said with false confidence. The sooner this man left this room, the better. “She says …” Says what, Maggie? What is she saying? “She says that she is sorry your time was so short.”

Theodore drew in a slow breath. “It was,” he said simply. “I am, as well.”

“She cannot linger. Do you have a final question?” Get out, get out.

Theodore paused, absently squeezing Maggie’s hand. Maggie locked her eyes on his face, on a dimple below his left eye that appeared when he scrunched up his face. Secret mark, she thought. Only reveals itself to the worthy.

“Sarah,” he said, and Maggie did not move her eyes from that spot on him, though his dimple was now hiding. “What do I do?”

“What you have to,” Maggie replied, thoughtless. She lifted her gaze to his eyes, finally, where his soft, sad smile was touching. “She says you know what you have to do, and that she trusts you.” The words came easily, and Maggie released his hand, placing hers back into her lap.

She was going to Hell.

Theodore was nodding thoughtfully, a hand going to his pockets when he stood. Another wave of nausea swept over Maggie when he dug around for coins, and she stood with him. “On the house,” she said as cheerfully as she could.

Theodore paused in his movements, one eyebrow raising. “You don’t want me to pay?”

“No need,” she said. “Your wife was very easy to speak to, and …” And what? her conscience asked her, as curious as Theodore. “And … I think you … may owe me a favor someday.” There. That was vague and mysterious enough.