"Jean Pierre didn't show up in the library or surprise us at lunch for a couple of weeks. We began to feel almost certain that our bickering had frightened him off, and we prayed together frequently in agonized repentance for providing such a disgraceful Christian witness to one of Christ's honoured guests. We almost conveniently forgot about his evasiveness, about the desecration of the granite cross, and the mysterious car that took him way from us. "Really, " Maureen continues, "We were just being like three women desperate for a man."
"Speak for yourselves", says Sarah, cracking another wicked little grin.
Maureen ignores the jibe. "We were all collectively yearning for him, and to be instrumental to his personal healing and the recovery of his life into Christ, for we knew that he must have fallen into the hands of something evil and malevolent. We were being archetypal angels, out to save the lost and heal the damaged, not knowing what absolute asses we three were making of our selves."
"Guilty", says Sarah, smiling while raising her hand.
"But the fighting from that night had left a wound, and we were being very delicate with one another, for fear of reopening it again. All of us dancing on eggshells, we were so neurotic, and no one could really blame us."
"Late one morning, Jean Pierre reappeared in the library. I was at the collections desk, He came right over to me. He looked anxious and frightened, and didn't appear to have slept well..."
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