I finished up the dishes and swept the kitchen before I stuck my head into Riley's room and told her I was going out for a bit.
"Oooh, hot date?" she teased as she looked up from her homework.
"Something like that," I smiled. "I'll be back in a few hours. I've got my phone if you need me. Just leave Gram alone for now, okay?"
"Gotcha," she said, pointing her finger at me and winking. I laughed and shook my head as I grabbed my purse and keys and headed out the door.
*
It wasn't a long walk to the parish where Patrick lived now that he’d returned to town, so I used it to clear my head and organize my thoughts. It had been two years since Patrick and I had been in the same room together, so this conversation felt heavy before it even began.
I stopped at the foot of the stairs leading up to the church and looked up at the building. The spire reached up into the sky as if it were stretching out to touch God, or at least that's what we'd been told since we’d started attending mass there. Every Sunday, we'd get up and get dressed in time to walk to mass with my parents, who would drop us off at Sunday school despite our protests that we'd be good, just this once.
Patrick, Molly, and I would sit together in the back row as the Sunday school teacher quizzed us on the Bible verses we were supposed to have memorized. Patrick was the only one who actually knew his verses, and he was always rewarded with a toy or a cookie or a piece of candy for his effort. Molly and I would often commandeer his treats before he got a chance to enjoy them, but he never really seemed to mind. For Patrick, the reward was in the knowledge.
Molly and I had teased him about being so well-versed that he'd have no choice but to become a priest. I don't think it ever occurred to us that he'd actually do it. It wasn't until he graduated from high school and sat my parents down to tell them that he'd decided to join the seminary. When the reality of our brother becoming a priest hit us, we'd all responded in very different ways.
My mother had spent the following week attending Mass every day so she could personally thank God for choosing her son to become his apostle. My father had cursed God and then dropped dead of a heart attack a few weeks later. My mother said it was God's vengeance for my father leaving his family and cursing his son’s decision. None of us believed her because they’d been split up for years and my father had been sick for a long time at that point. But she insisted that it was deserved punishment, and she dealt with it by drinking more heavily.
Molly and I had spent many nights lying in twin beds in our shared room debating the reasons why Patrick had chosen to enter the seminary, but neither one of us wanted to be the one to ask him why he'd done it. We were happy for him because he'd found his calling, but we were worried about what it would mean in terms of losing our older brother.
Two years older than Molly and four older than me, Patrick was our protector. He'd watched over us and kept us out of harm’s way the best he could, which often meant taking a beating from my father rather than letting one of us girls suffer the physical consequences of our actions. As a result, Patrick had a complex relationship with my father that ended with his sudden death.
I took one last look at the church and then walked a little further down the street to the parish house that Patrick had recently returned to after living abroad for several years. I rang the doorbell and waited.
"Good evening. Is the Father expecting you?" the plump nun asked. She was wearing a modern habit, which only covered part of her head. She was wearing a grey dress that was more of a shift than a fitted garment, but she radiated warmth and brightness when she smiled.
"He is," I nodded. I wasn't sure how much Patrick had told her, so I didn't say anything about being his sister.
"My, you look like the spitting image of Father Patrick!" she declared as she motioned me into the parsonage. "Are you related to him, or is it just a lucky coincidence?"
"I'm his youngest sister," I said, looking down at the floor before looking back up to meet her friendly eyes. "Leah."
"Well, Leah, I'm Sister Josephine, and I've got a pot of tea brewing and a fresh pound cake cooling on the windowsill. Can I get you some?" she asked. "I know Father Patrick will want some!"
"Yes, please, Sister," I smiled as I sat down on the sofa and looked around. The living room was small and slightly shabby, and I smiled as I thought about how Patrick probably felt right at home here—for many reasons.
"Leah?"
"Patrick!" I cried as he walked into the room. I stood up and, like a small child, ran across the
room to throw my arms around him.
"Well, well, well, isn't this an interesting turn of events," he said as he hugged me briefly and then stepped back. "It's good to see you, Leah."
"I'm so glad to see you, too," I said as the tears welled up in my eyes. Patrick patted my shoulder and offered me a seat as Sister Josephine carried a tray of tea and cake into the living room and set it down on the coffee table.
"Here is something to sweeten the conversation!" she said brightly as she poured us each a cup of tea, then cut two thick slices of cake and set them on the delicate china plates. She nodded at us and then backed out of the room saying, "Have a lovely catch up!"
"She's really nice," I said as I sipped my tea and carefully watched Patrick.
"She's definitely a good person to have here," he agreed. We sat in silence as we drank tea and ate a little cake. I wanted to blurt everything out and pepper him with questions about where he'd been and why he'd left me all alone when Molly disappeared. But I knew that wouldn't work with Patrick, so I waited until he asked. "What's going on with Mama?"
"Patrick, she's sick," I began. "She's drinking way too much. She’s forgetting things, and she's become dangerous."
"So what do you want me to do about it?" he asked a little defensively, sounding more like the brother I grew up with than the priest he'd become. That gave me the opportunity I needed.
"We have to get her into rehab before she does something irreversible," I said. "She won't listen to me. She wants Molly."