Father Mike often had breakfast with Evangeline on weekdays. On this bright, sunny morning after Christmas, he stood at the kitchen sink in the old farmhouse, Evangeline’s apron tied around his waist, and finished up the dishes. He liked to do his part, especially when Evangeline made his favorite: a cinnamon-and-walnut coffee cake with a drizzle of maple frosting. At sixty-one, he understood the struggle to keep fit and not gain weight. Walking from St. Andrew’s to the Adler’s farm was part of his regimen, though this morning the frigid temperature had urged caution, so he’d driven instead of hoofing it.
Turning around at the sound of creaking floors, he offered an amused smile as Kira came into the kitchen. Not even the wonderful aromas emanating from her grandmother’s stove had been enough to draw her downstairs for breakfast. How well fed we were these days, he thought, when bacon and fresh-brewed coffee didn’t create a stampede.
Kira had slept in, but was now dressed in jeans and a gray wool sweater. She held car keys. She looked tired. Of all the members of the Adler family, Kira was the one Mike knew the least. She’d rarely come to church with her dad when she was young. Evangeline insisted she attend mass on major holidays, but Mike couldn’t remember a time when she’d ever come to confession. He didn’t hold it against her, any more than he did with Kevin or Doug. Religion wasn’t for everyone. Perhaps he was too modern for the priesthood. He’d always believed that God understood a person’s heart and that’s what mattered most.
“Morning,” mumbled Kira. She poured herself a cup of coffee and stood across the room from him, hip pressed against the counter, both hands wrapped around the mug.
“Are you hungry?” Mike asked.
“I’m not much of a breakfast person,” she said. “Where’s Gram?”
“Out in the hayloft, I think.” It was what they called the barn’s second floor, though it had been entirely remade as a kind of small apartment. He closed up the dishwasher and turned it on. Sitting back down at the kitchen table with a glass of orange juice, he motioned for her to join him.
She seemed hesitant, but eventually curled her thin frame into one of the ancient bentwood chairs, setting the mug on the oilcloth-covered table and turning it around in her hands. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“First, can we keep this conversation just between you and me?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“I do.” She raised the mug to her lips, but set it down again without taking a sip.
“Are you angry at your family?” He had to ask.
“How could I not be?”
“Have you talked to your father about your feelings?”
“I can’t talk to anyone until I work through everything and figure out what they are.” She hesitated, then asked, “Did you know my mother?”
Of all the subjects she might have brought up, this was the most difficult. “Of course I knew her.”
“I was only five when she died. I remember she made cupcakes once with pink frosting. They were for Gracie’s birthday, but Gracie got to them before the party and ate all the frosting off. Mom totally lost it.”
Father Mike smiled. “Sounds like the little Grace I remember.”
“Gracie and I used to go into Mom’s makeup drawer when she was out and try on all the lipstick, the eye shadow. Gracie drew these heavy, dark eyebrows on me once. I thought I looked like a movie star until Dad made me wash them off.”
“So you remember your childhood.”
“The thing is, I don’t. Not as well as I’d like.”
“I’m sure your family has talked to you about your mom.”
She gave a noncommittal shrug. “Gram never liked her.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Come on. Tell me I’m wrong.”
He couldn’t exactly argue the point. “You know, Kira, when I came to St. Andrew’s, the first people I met were Evangeline and Henry. They became, in every way that counts, the parents I never had. Your father and Doug were like my younger brothers. Hannah, like a sister.”
She drew closer to the table. “That’s why I thought you’d be the right person to talk to.”
“Then I’m glad you came to me. I think we have more in common than you realize.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “In what way?”
“Well, my childhood was difficult, too, though in different ways than yours. I never knew my dad. He left my mother before I was born.” He stopped, then asked, “Would you like to hear the short version of my story?”
“Sure. I suppose.”
It wasn’t a ringing assertion of interest, but he went ahead anyway. “My mom died when I was two years old. I don’t remember her at all. Nobody ever gave me the details, but from what I could piece together, I think she died of a drug overdose. I lived with my grandmother until I was seven, and then was sent away to stay with Aunt Bette, in Lima, Ohio. That’s where I graduated from high school. My aunt was a single parent with three children of her own, so I was kind of lost in the shuffle. I was a very angry kid. Very self-conscious about the fact that I was shorter than all the other boys. I don’t know what would have happened to me if my tenth-grade algebra teacher hadn’t taken an interest. He was a deeply religious man. He took me hunting and fishing, got me out into the woods and taught me how to take care of myself. Taught me to box. Helped me get involved with the wrestling team at my school. I thought the world of him. I see now that I entered the priesthood not because it was something I wanted, but in order to please—and perhaps impress—him.”
“Are you sorry you became a priest?”
“No,” he said. “Not anymore. Early on, it was a struggle. I went through the motions, but between you and me, I felt like a fraud. I fell into a relationship with a woman—not physical, but emotional—and I almost left.”
“What stopped you?”
He gazed into her quick sparrow eyes, so much like Evangeline’s. “Your grandmother. She saved my life, Kira. You don’t get many second chances, but she gave me mine.”
“How—”
“She listened. Didn’t judge or condemn. She helped me find my way back to my faith.” It was clear that Kira wasn’t all that interested in his crisis of faith. She wanted to talk about her mother. She had no idea that the two subjects were, at least for a time, interwoven.
“You said you knew my mother. What did you think of her? What was she like?”
“She was … strong-willed. Very beautiful. And very troubled.”
“She drank too much. I remember that. I remember my parents arguing a lot, how scared it made me.”
“They both loved you, Kira. There was never any doubt about that.”
“But did they love Grace?”
His jaw tightened.
“Dad may have. But Mom—I think she hated her.”
“Unfortunately, if that’s true, then the feelings were mutual.” He regretted saying the words as soon as they were out of his mouth.
Kira bent her head. “Yeah, you’re right. I never understood what really happened the day Mom died until I came for a family meeting a few days ago.”
“What did your family tell you?” He needed to know.
“Have you talked to them about it?” asked Kira.
“I’ve heard some of the story. I doubt I know it all.”
Folding her arms around her stomach, she said, “Gracie didn’t go to school the day Mom died. For some reason she stayed home. Mom promised my dad that she wouldn’t smoke in the house. She’d always go out on the deck, even in the winter. That morning, Gracie locked the door after her. It was bitterly cold. I assume Mom must have yelled for Gracie to open up. If there’d been any furniture on the deck she might have been able to break the window and get inside, but Dad had dumped all our old stuff. He was planning to buy a new table and chairs in the spring. When Gracie wouldn’t let her in, Mom must have panicked. Gram figures she climbed over the rail and tried to drop onto this narrow strip of snow that ran along the edge of the backyard fence next to the ravine. Instead, she fell wide of it.”
“Such a tragedy,” said Mike.
Kira’s gaze jerked away.
“Can you forgive your sister for what she did?”
“I remember the way Mom treated her when we were little. Those are my most vivid memories. I never talk about them, not to anybody.”
“But you understand now why your family needed to cover up the truth.”
“I guess. It’s just—”
“Just what, Kira?”
“I have a hard time believing Gracie would do something like that.”
“You think your family is lying to you?”
“They’ve lied to me before.”
“But they explained all that. Told you everything.”
“Have they?”
He was confused by her response. “Yes.”
Pushing her coffee mug away, she got up. “Let Gram know that I’m going for a drive.”
“Please tell me you trust your family to be truthful.”
She didn’t answer right away. “Sure. You’re right. I’m being silly. Again, please keep this conversation between the two of us, okay? It’s just … I’m having a hard time taking all of this in.”
“Of course you are. No worries. And if you need to talk again, remember, I’m always here for you.”
She offered him an unsmiling nod and left the room.
When he heard the front door click shut, he collapsed against the back of his chair. He sat like that, immobile, his stomach roiling, until Evangeline entered through the kitchen door a few minutes later.
“Oh, my, you did the dishes,” she said, walking over to pour herself a cup of coffee. “You didn’t have to do that.” When she turned and saw his face, she said, “What’s wrong?”
“Kira left.”
She let out a frustrated sigh. “Oh, that girl. She doesn’t understand yet. She will. It’s simply going to take some time.”
Forcing himself to smile, he said, “I have to get back to the church.”
“You better take off that apron.”
He laughed. “Not a very priestly look?”
“You’re my dear, dear friend. What would I do without you?”