‘Have a seat, kochanie, and something to eat.’
Kassie was struggling to take in the scene in front of her. Her mother was sitting at the table, smartly dressed in a pretty, floral-print dress with a smile stretched across her face. In front of her was a small feast – lots of Polish delicacies of course, but a few American treats too that generally were not allowed.
‘Please …’
Kassie seated herself cautiously and began to nibble an Oreo. The whole situation was so staged, so forced, that Kassie half expected her mother to produce a nice Polish boy for her to marry, like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat. She had been expecting the usual interrogation, or at least a bout of recrimination, but not this.
‘How was your day? How was your … NA meeting?’
Her mother had so far avoided any mention of her latest round of addiction counselling, so this was another alarming note.
‘It was good, thanks,’ she lied clumsily.
Kassie had returned home in despondent mood, racking her brains as to how she might get Rochelle’s address or cell number. She had no idea of her last name, no friends within the group, and, after today’s performance, it was highly unlikely that any of them would take Kassie into their confidence. Not that her mother knew – or cared – about that.
‘How was your day?’ Kassie continued, fumbling an attempt at conversation.
‘It was fine, thank you. I went to church after work, so I visited the deli there, picked up a few of your favourite treats …’
‘Thank you,’ Kassie murmured, picking up her fork and leaning over to spear a dumpling.
Kassie slid it into her mouth, before helping herself to a slice of stuffed cabbage and disposing of that too. Her mother let her eat for a few minutes, before resuming their conversation.
‘I was speaking to Father Nowak the other day …’
Kassie’s fork stopped in mid-air, as she turned to look at her mother. Now they were getting to the meat of this particular feast.
‘You remember Father Nowak?’
‘Of course.’
Kassie was tempted to add, ‘How could I forget?’ but resisted.
‘He certainly remembers you and is very keen to see you back at church.’
‘Sure, whatever,’ Kassie replied inconclusively.
‘I was thinking we might go today, after you’ve eaten of course …’
‘Today?’
‘There’s a service starting in one hour. We could easily make it.’
She had already done the math, probably knew exactly what time the No. 22 bus would turn up, so though a trip to St Stanislaus Kostka was the very last thing Kassie wanted, there was no point fighting it. She suspected her mother would spontaneously combust if she refused, and, besides, she could use the service as thinking time – somehow she had to find Rochelle.
The journey across town was uneventful and before long they were in the cavernous church that Kassie remembered so well from her early years. The service was just beginning, so they took their seats quickly, three rows from the front. Even as they sat down, Kassie saw a look pass between her mother and the portly priest. Clearly this whole thing was a set-up, hatched by a concerned mother and her benevolent confessor.
Kassie tried to push her growing anger aside and concentrate on what was being said – she owed her mother that at least. There were Father Nowak’s usual introduction, then the Invocation, then the Liturgy, and before long Kassie found herself dropping down on to her prayer cushion, as the Eucharistic prayers commenced.
‘The Lord be with you …’
She closed her eyes and clasped her hands together, muttering the words that came automatically to her.
‘And with your spirit.’
She wanted to focus on their meaning, to see if they held any residual power for her, but her mind kept straying to Rochelle and she found it hard to concentrate. An elbow in the ribs suggested her mother had noticed her distraction – was she making noises again? – so she redoubled her efforts.
‘Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord …’
But now she became aware of something else, another distraction. Someone’s cell phone was ringing. No, her cell was ringing.
She plucked it out and looked at the screen. A few people had turned to look at them and her mother gripped her by the wrist.
‘Turn it off,’ her mother hissed.
But Kassie was already pulling away from her. The caller was Adam Brandt.
At last, someone had answered her prayers.