"Healing can be danged uncomfortable," Joan said.
"Got that right." Vincent glanced away from the road and met her gaze long enough to wink. "In a lot of ways, I kind of envy George. He doesn't remember who he is, what he used to do. Completely clean slate, clean, pure conscience. He's got that child-like faith Christ tells us to want more than anything."
"I used to wish I could forget a lot of things I had to do to survive," she offered. "Forgetting can be dangerous. If you don't know who wants you dead, how can you be alert for them coming after you?"
"Alert for years, or a short time feeling no fear at all? No more nightmares. No more wondering when someone will pick up that trail you thought you erased. No more being afraid to love someone because your enemies will hurt them to hurt you."
"In Snow's -- George's case -- keep your enemies close, in case he remembers and finishes his job?" Joan said, when he didn’t speak for several minutes.
"It's not like they show on TV, where someone recovers from amnesia and gets his life back. Not when portions of your brain are reduced to scar tissue. The man George is now, that's the man he's going to be until he dies. He's totally sold out to Christ. He'll stay sold out."
"What if he doesn't remember that he's sold out?" she asked after a moment of thought.
"You're definitely in a glass half-empty mood today."
"That's an improvement."
"Yeah?""Up until I met my dad… I didn't even have a glass."