There was nothing special about Belleek, Ireland save for the bridge crossing the river Erne. And Michael liked it that way. He walked with the urgency of anybody tramping home after a night at the pub. He and Lolsy had spent the early evening listening to Mick Mc Loughlin strumming and singing of old things in a modern way. His gravel voice giving his guitar a soul that was deep and expansive. He watched the way Lolsy swayed to the music with her ale. Operations like this were the few times she escaped the convent to be in the world. She cloistered herself in prayer between operations to keep her soul pure, to seek forgiveness from God for the sins she had committed on his behalf, and to reenergize.

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