As I was about to shake Father Aubrey Scott's hand while I was going out the door, he said, "Could you stay for a minute? I'd like to have a few words."

"Sure," I said. I'd always been fond of Aubrey. In fact, I'd dated him for many months. Then I'd met Martin and he'd met Emily, and we'd parted amiably. The warmth of a pleasant companionship remained. I rummaged through my mind for any recent hot topics in the congregation that he'd need to discuss with me, but I couldn't come up with a one.

With a sense of mild expectation, I settled on a bench in the quiet churchyard while the other congregants got in their cars and switched on their headlights in the gathering dusk. Soon we'd have the time change. We'd be leaving in the full dark. Through the lighted windows I could see Aubrey's wife, Emily, blond and suburban, moving around the church. She was raising kneelers that had been left down, picking up programs discarded in the pews, and turning out lights. Elizabeth, Emily's daughter by her deceased first husband, hadn't been in church that night. She'd probably used homework to wriggle out of coming; Elizabeth, now ten, was quite a handful. But Aubrey never regretted adopting Elizabeth; he doted on her.

Having divested himself of his robe, Aubrey came to sit beside me in the half-darkness. Aubrey was a lot grayer than he'd been when he'd first come to Lawrenceton to take the helm of St. Stephen's. Was Aubrey thirty-nine? Or closer to forty-two? I caught myself frowning: I was thinking about age far too often these days.

"I have something I need to ask you," Aubrey said, sounding very grave.

"Ask ahead," I told him. From the open church door came a thwack! as Emily raised the fourth kneeler from the back on the left, which was a little noisier than the others.

"Would it offend you if the movie company filmed some scenes here at the church?" he asked.

Whatever I'd expected, it wasn't this request. I was glad of the darkness, since I had no idea what my face looked like. I couldn't think of what to say.

"The vestry met with the film company representative last night. The thing is," he continued, after a pause to offer me a chance to comment, "they're offering enough in compensation to get a new roof put on St. Stephen's— both the parish hall and the church. But if you have the slightest objection, we'll forego the money. It won't be worth it. You're one of ours. The vote on that was unanimous."

So many comments came to my lips that I compressed them together to lock the words inside. There was only one answer I could possibly give. "Of course," I said. "For a new roof, you have to say yes." I knew my voice was much cooler than I wanted it to be, and I knew my words weren't exactly enthusiastic or even very civil, but that was the best I could do.

"You don't sound okay about it," Aubrey said after a hesitation. "You sound like you want me to go play in traffic."

I smiled a little, a very little, but he couldn't see that.

"St. Stephen's is beautiful. I'm not surprised they'd like to use it as a set. Nothing will be changed?"

"He promised not. He said everything would look just the same or better, since the film company will paint the sign on the corner for us."

"Then you'd better do it." It crossed my mind that I could pay for the new church roof, all by myself, and then the film company could go whistle. But that would draw even more attention to me, and that was the one thing I didn't want. I made sure to exchange another comment or two with Aubrey, so he wouldn't think I was leaving angry. He'd given me a choice and I'd picked, so I couldn't take the result of my decision out on him.

By the time Emily locked the door of the church, I was on my way to my car.

Madeleine was waiting at the kitchen door when I got home. Madeleine, golden and fat and increasingly slow, was the living part of the legacy an old friend had left me. Jane had left me the cat and a pot of money. Guess which I liked best? Madeleine was known and feared by every vet in the Lawrenceton area. Fortunately, except for the effects of old age, the cat had always been healthy. Her annual checkups were traumatic for everyone involved. Though I'd grown up without pets, thanks to a mother who thought having animal hair in your house was comparable to having lice, Madeleine and I had coexisted in reasonable harmony for several years now. I fed her, brushed her in the spring and summer, and scratched behind her ears. She ate the food, enjoyed the brushing, purred when I scratched her, and otherwise ignored me. It worked for us. I watched the huge old cat launch into her kitty chow with gusto. When that palled, I wandered across the hall into the den, admiring the way the wooden floors gleamed and the books marched in even rows in the built-in bookcases in the hall. The answering machine light was blinking by my telephone and for a minute or two I thought about checking my messages.

Then I decided it didn't matter what other people wanted.

Smiling a little, I hiked up the stairs, spent some time in the bathroom on my minimal grooming ritual, and climbed into my high four-poster. I had lots of pillows, a comfortable bed, and a good book.

Martin hadn't really liked my reading in bed. To Martin, a bed was for sleeping in or making love on, not for reading or lolling of any kind. For the most part, I'd read downstairs in the den while we were married. Now, this was one of the moments of the day to which I actually looked forward; and if it was raining outside or cold, or both, and I could swathe myself in blankets, so much the better. The night was mild outside my windows this evening, but as I pulled up the clean sheet I came as close as I could, these days, to being happy. I was reading a new C. J. Songer, too, an added bonus.

Just when I was getting drowsy, the phone rang. I leaned forward to check my caller-ID device. I picked up the phone, already smiling.

Angel said, "I got a question to ask you."

Angel and Shelby Youngblood were both very direct, Angel more so than her husband. Shelby, a Vietnam vet and one of the toughest men I'd ever met, had learned to approach certain topics sideways rather than straight on, something I didn't think would ever occur to Angel. Their little girl Joan was going to have to be one sturdy kid. Already, at nearly a year old, Joan seemed more independent than most babies her age. At least Angel told me so.

"Shoot," I told her.

"You mind if I work this movie? I got a call from a guy who asked if I wanted to do stunts."

Everyone, everyone, wanted to work for the damn movie. I had a moment's flash of intense resentment, an irrational conviction that all the people of Lawrenceton should shun the movie and the moviemakers, not rent or sell to them, not be employed by them, and all for my sake, because I didn't want this film made.

"Of course you ought to," I said calmly. "I know it's been years since you got any stunt work, and you must miss it."

"Thanks," Angel said. She was so direct herself that it seldom occurred to her that people didn't exactly mean what they said. "If you're sure. We're trying to save up for a swimming pool for Joan."

"Above ground?"

"Nope, in-ground. So we got a ways to go."

I silently exhaled. "Well, you better get to it. Bye, Angel."

"See you soon, Roe."

I thought it was the perfect cap to a perfect day. What could happen tomorrow, I asked myself rhetorically, that would make it any worse than today ?

I should have known better than to ask myself any such a thing.