The revelation was still pressing on his chest, an icy fist around his heart, and there was a part of him, the part that would ever dwell in the forest where the days were brighter and moralities simpler, sat back incredulous that he wasn't already halfway out the door to sweep Clio up in his arms.
But that was a selfish impulse, he told himself. If she'd wanted him to know yet... if she wasn't ready to talk about it... god knew he understood a thing or two about that. Except now he did know, whether she wanted him to or not, and it wasn't right to say nothing, either—
Patrick's voice broke through his whirling thoughts. I pissed on a church were not words Will expected from the mouth of a saint, but they certainly got him to pay attention for a moment. And it reminded him of something else Clio had told him. Something else the two of them had in common.
He looked up at Patrick. "She said..." he hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "She helped you out. With some memory stuff."