The barista looked at me, then at the plastic hospital badge still clipped to my coat pocket.

The badge clearly read Mara Bell.

“I go by Mara Bell now, Father,” I said.

Arthur’s face tightened, his jaw shifting as he stared at the register.

His warm demeanor vanished in an instant, replaced by a cold, hard stare.

“Of course,” Arthur said to the barista, his voice flat.

“My mistake.”

The girl handed him thirteen dollars and fifty cents in change.