It was fortunate, the way the other man covered his eyes right then, for Malachi's smile was curt.

"No," he admitted. "Not love."

There was a slight delay in the softening of his expression, the return to something more understanding of the lost sheep and his fount of sorrows. He bit back the things he wanted to say. Caught them by their necks and leashed them, but he could not fully muzzle their loud barking in his head. Incessant, it was. Annoying.

"I cannot claim to understand the ways of God, nor would I tell you to try. But if Lewis was destined to pass when he did, then maybe you were God's gift to him. Someone that would love and remember him, and carry his memory beyond his grave. Are you familiar with the story of Job, Mister Tully?"