I'm gonna lay down my burdens
Down by the riverside, down by the riverside
I ain't gonna study war no more

Cathy sits behind a woman, in the pews; she watches the choir for a moment before remarking on the woman's hat. "I've always wondered why black women wear these beautiful hats to church. I mean, whenever my dad walked into church, he always took his hat off. When he walked into any building, really. Not that he was any shining example of anything..."

Ain't gonna study war no more
I'm gonna lay down my sword and shield
Down by the riverside, down by the riverside

Realizing that Cathy won't stop talking, ever; that her skin is prickling with newness and the feeling of being in someone else's space, ripping the safety like cobwebs she's gone dancing through; that she needs desperately to connect, to give the impression of connecting, to be anything but a tourist, the woman answers: "I wear a hat because women -- and not just black women -- should cover their heads while they're in the house of the Lord. Same reason you Jews wear yarmulkes."

Cathy swears she's not Jewish; Cathy revises her emphasis and downgrades it to a statement of fact. As the woman drifts away, down the pew, off to listen to the music and not Cathy, as she spirals out of control again: Jesus is her guy, she assumes, and would say that but with the caveat that she hasn't been to church in a really long time. Cathy notices the woman is gone, finally, and trails off. She is none too impressed by the woman's manners. It is her prerogative to assume Jesus would agree.

When the choir is done, Cathy smiles at Andrea, waving quietly. Her mouth becomes a firm and angry line. She is horrified that Cathy spoke to Dorothy and Donovan, broke her trust in a new way. She is magnificently, delightedly, angrily horrified. Cathy loves her. It is a slap.

"I had to swing by the hood, make sure your drug-addled mom wasn't dying with a needle stuck between her toes, because if that happened you'd be an orphan, what with your dad being a dead felon and all."