“I looked into the fire, sighed from somewhere old inside. ‘I can’t believe in a God that loves us. Not after all I’ve seen. But I believe this: My friends are the hill I die on. I forgot that lesson for a while. But I vow it now, never again. So if your path is San Michon, I’ll walk it with you.’ I squeezed her hand again, hard as I dared. ‘I won’t leave you.’ “She smiled. ‘We’re friends, then?’ “‘The strangest sort. But oui. Friends.’
