Sweetest Sin(12)

Now I wished I had baked a cake. I offered her a cookie and passed the tray around as she murmured her praise. The leader of the woman’s group, Judy Galbraith, scrunched her nose and gave me a sheperding smile. She loved cookies almost as much as she enjoyed moderating the parish’s drama, and, as head of four separate organizations, she earned plenty of both.

“Oh, what a sweetheart.” Judy seemed relieved to have another Thomas to address. “Look at you. Getting involved in your community. Just like your…mother.”

I recognized the tone. I would have thought a redeemed member of the parish would be welcomed home. Mom wanted so much to join the groups and sing the praises and help the community that she sometimes forgot just why she’d left in the first place. St. Cecilia’s didn’t. The collective memory was a little too long.

They all meant to do the right thing, but their philosophies sometimes did more harm than good. To them, some people belonged in the community. Others were remembered as lying in the gutter when the parish offered a blanket and a few dollars. Mom insisted on giving back, and the women had no idea how to accept her gratitude.

I set the cookies and coffee on the table, and two women stole me away. I recognized their giggles. One perk of returning home after attending a college across the country was the high-school reunion   with old friends.

Of course, the two giggling women who welcomed me home weren’t the…established members of the church. Last I saw them, they owned the cool kids’ section of the choir. Alyssa and Samantha had stayed in the area after high school, attending the local Catholic college in the city. Neither had changed. Alyssa dyed her hair a brighter shade of blonde, and Samantha still didn’t fasten the top two buttons on her blouse. But it was nice to have friends my age in the church. My generation rarely stayed in the congregation once they were able to order a drink at the bar.

“We really ought to start making the coffee Irish around here.” Alyssa dumped four sugars into her cup. “Even Jesus brought wine wherever he went.”

Samantha giggled. “Could you imagine these old bitties drinking on a weeknight—or at all?”

I said nothing. It was still too easy to remember Mom drinking at all hours of the day. I glanced at her, hooting at her own joke with Judy and Susan. The program’s chip, the year-long declaration of sobriety, hung around her neck.

“You don’t often come to these meetings, Honor,” Alyssa said. “Don’t tell me you’re bored now that you’re home.”

“I wish,” I said. “This summer is killing me. I don’t have time to be bored. I’m taking three classes to make up for the credits that didn’t transfer, and I need to do a ton of community service. Plus I’m trying to get a couple extra hours of work in each week. But you know how it is.”

They didn’t. Both Alyssa and Samantha were endowed with more than what they stuffed into their size-too-small blouses. Their trust funds grew by the hour.

I nibbled on a cookie. “Besides, Mom wanted me to come. She said it’d be…fun.”

That wasn’t quite it. Mom asked for me to join her so that we might experience life together. It was part of her programs and therapies, and it was a good way to get to know my new, sober mother. I thought it’d be easier when we were in a group. Less pressure that way. Fewer questions.

Not as many awkward silences.

I didn’t trust my friends’ eager giggles and glances to the door. “So…why are you guys helping the woman’s group? I thought you hated most of these church functions?”

“Oh…” Samantha bit her lip and gave Alyssa a side-long glance. “We have our reasons.”

“Solemn reasons,” Alyssa agreed.

Samantha sighed. “And brooding.”

“Very brooding. And so worth the hour or two a week.”

“Three if you count Mass.”

“Six or more if we do the festival.”

I counted with them but had no idea what they meant. “Well, that’s a lot of church activities…”

Alyssa twisted her finger in a lock of spiraling blonde hair. “Oh, come on. Like you don’t know.”

I shrugged.

“Daddy El?”

How long had I fallen from grace? Was I missing another new phrase? It was hard enough remembering And with your spirit, but as far as I knew, the Vatican hadn’t changed anything else. All the lessons taught by the church were set in stone—or papyrus—centuries ago.

“Daddy El?” I asked.

Samantha rolled her eyes. “Daddy El? Father Raphael? Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed him.”