"I guess it's been a few years, Christopher", says Chuck, looking at me with rather the same tenderness he betrayed just before he left the house twenty-five years ago. We did not hug, or touch each other as he stood by the open door, apparently not sure just how he should leave me. And now, touching, even the most fraternal and platonic caress on the wrist, would still seem at the very least highly inappropriate between us. Age has changed him, and it is also changing me. The fire is gone, not even a little residual ember, but there remains something...something indefinable.
"Can you tell me a bit more about this ministry you are part of?"
"It's a multi church network: principally Catholic, Anglican and United Church. I come from the Catholic end of things."
"I didn't know you were Catholic."
"I was raised in the faith, but left it when I was still in high school, then ended up wandering the world, which brought me here to Canada where we met each other. I stayed here about three years, first time."
"Would you happen to know Cynthia?"
"Vancoevorden? Supports survial sex workers?"
" Just this past Monday we had coffee with her here. She is related to Carl, they are distant cousins..."
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