When we’d returned to Rochester, we found that Annmarie VanEpps and her nervous little mother lived at 20 Lamont, and we were reunited with them when we moved onto the street. The Sullis were at five, the Rosarios at four, the Matizzis at three. All of them attended Corpus Christi church and, as a result, knew each other not only as neighbors, but as parishioners and fellow Catholics.
The church became as much a backdrop in my life as the street. Though I was anchored in the realities of life and death and couldn’t bring myself to fully believe in resurrection, or water turning into wine, I loved reading stories from the Bible, and listened to the priest interpret them as often as I could. The softness of the church and her community combined and contrasted with the starkness of Lamont Place and provided a steady heartbeat and rhythm to my life.
Together they were home.