Fr. Joseph Cocucci, whose letters and discussions on theology with me have been inspiring and truly great.

The Redemptorist Fathers, the priests of my parish in New Orleans, whose sermons have sustained me, and whose example has been a shining light. I leave them with regret. My father’s education in the Redemptorist Seminary at Kirkwood, Missouri, no doubt changed the course of his life. My debt to the Redemptorists can never be paid.

Fr. Dean Robins and Fr. Curtis Thomas of the Nativity of Our Lord Parish, who have been welcoming to me as a new parishioner. I leave them with regret.

Br. Becket Ghioto, whose letters have been patient, wise, and full of wonderful insights and answers.

And last, but hardly least, Amy Troxler, my friend and companion, who has answered so many fundamental questions for me, and listened to my endless ravings, who has been with me to Mass, and brought me Communion when I couldn’t go, who has been more of a help to me than I can ever say. It was Amy who was there for me on the afternoon in 1998 when I asked if she knew a priest who could hear my confession, who could help me go back to the Church. It was Amy who found the priest and took me to see him. It was Amy’s example during those early months of attending the Mass in English that helped me so much to adjust to a liturgy that was wholly different from that which I’d left behind. I leave Amy as I leave New Orleans with the deepest regret.

My beloved staff, my dearest friends, my editor Vicky Wilson who read and commented on this manuscript much to its benefit, my family, I thank them all. I live in the environment of their nourishing love. I am blessed.

As for my son, this novel is dedicated to him. That says it all.

6 a.m., February 24, 2005