[That wasn't quite what she wanted. She wanted him to tell her. Not these questions. But she can answer, even though it makes her think of her mother, whom she misses even though she's been eclipsed by the echoes of her father's ghost.]

I - a little bit. We always went to church on Sunday until I was twelve or so, and then kind of stopped. But it was nice. It was . . . quiet. I could just think.

I don't know if I believe in God, but it would be nice to believe in something.

[Something other than the wicked wrongness of people. Something good. But she never will.]