Excerpt

Audrey’s boots leave a trail of dark holes in the snow-covered sidewalk as she stumbles through the biting polar air parked over Montreal. “God damn it, late again,” she curses, and turns onto a well shoveled path that leads to a modest beige brick building. Flat roof, no spire or crucifix, the inconspicuous Unitarian Church sign is the only hint that something larger might live there. Audrey uses both hands to pull open the heavy oak door and breathes in the familiar scent of ageing hymnbooks and bibles.

“May not look like a church from the outside, but sure smells like one on the inside,” Benoit once said to Audrey. He had insisted that the new beige brick building inherited its ancient aroma from the grand Tudor gothic predecessor destroyed by fire in 1987. Montreal church burnt to the ground. City mourns two firefighters. The tragedy had made headline news. A cornerstone recovered from the charred rubble was displayed in the new beige brick church as a memorial for the two firemen. On her wedding day, Audrey had silently touched the engraved names on the stone before walking down the aisle.