He cupped my face in his long fingers. “Vic, look at me. You set an impossibly high bar for yourself to jump. When you run into it, you bruise yourself and then blame yourself for the injury. You have to live in the world. It’s the unfortunate reality of being alive. Even a monk who abjures the world and the flesh gets his clothes and food provided by someone who’s willing to do the dirty work for him.
“You can’t save everyone or fix every broken part of this planet. But you do more than most. If Lacey’s money comes in part from sweatshops, you still brought some relief to women in prison here in Illinois. And that bastard Hartigan, who kicked you—he’s likely to go to prison himself. Even if it’s not for the murder of Nicola Aguinaldo, there’s a measure of justice there. It’s true Trant and Baladine are walking around, but Trant lost his marriage and it looks as though the studio is demoting him in a serious way. You said Lacey told you they’re sending him to Chile.
“And look at Robbie Baladine following Father Lou around like a duckling. Share some of his joy in life. You’ve earned it, you brought it to him. Okay?”
“Okay,” I whispered.
I spent that night with him and a number of nights after. And if my sleep was still disturbed, if the images of terror still sometimes woke me, at least I had the comfort of a friend to share my journey.