A little silence falls. Hands still buried in his pockets Ivan casts his eyes up at the church. You believe in God? he asks. Oh, says Peter. I’m not sure, I don’t know. I suppose I would say, I try to. Ivan looks back at him calmly, somehow wisely. Same, he says. That I try to. Although it doesn’t always work, but I do my best. In his chest a sweet stirring pain like a hand catching holding tight. Mm, he says. Me too.
