“Maybe he meant it was haunted,” Lisieux said, her eyes not leaving the page she was reading.
“Haunted?” Gigi asked.
“Maybe,” Lisieux said, lowering her book a little.
Avi turned down the volume of the TV. “The old inn is haunted. I already told you that,” she said, staring at our grandmother.
“Perhaps,” Gigi said softly. She took the remote control and turned up the TV, ignoring my attempts at eye contact.
The conversation was over for the moment. Maybe I’d ask again later, maybe not. The inn wasn’t haunted. That was ridiculous. But I could tell from Gigi’s unwillingness to discuss it, Luca was right. There was more than one reason to fear old buildings.
Four
My family and I sat in the second row of our church, the same spot we occupied every week at this time. Most Sundays I was engaged and interested in the readings and the homily, but today was different. Today, Thomas was distracting me. He stood next to Father Luke. The white altar server robe reached to his shins. Pressed khaki pants and black dress shoes were visible beneath it. Those were his mother’s doing; the constantly bouncing leg and unshaven face were his.
I wasn’t sure what the bouncing leg was about. I assumed he must have thought he looked good with a scruffy, unshaven face. Hopefully, his mother would tell him he was wrong. If we were friends, I’d tell him. Since we weren’t, I wouldn’t.
Thomas and I had gone to the same small church, in the same small town, since we were born. Our parents weren’t exactly friends. They got along and occasionally socialized together, so, by many standards he and I had grown up together. After my mom’s death, Thomas and I pretty much only saw each other at church events. That didn’t matter. Even if our families had continued to spend time together, I was sure we’d still be as distant as we were now. He always thought he was better than me, or, maybe not better—more popular. He was. I had few friends as a kid and none now; you don’t get much less popular than that.
I watched as he and Father Luke processed out of the church. Avi immediately left the pew. This was her one chance to eat donuts and run around with other kids. She wasn’t going to waste a second of it. Unlike me, she made friends easily and even though she only saw them once or maybe twice a week, they were always excited to see her. No one was ever excited to see me, except my family.
We left the church, shaking hands with Father as we went. My dad stopped to make small talk with a few of the men and women from the parish council. Lisieux and I went with Gigi, across the worn path, to the tiny building which doubled as a parish center and office for Father Luke and the receptionist, who was also the bookkeeper.
When we opened the door, we spotted Avi surrounded by a group of kids her age, each with sticky hands and mouths. She popped the last bite of a donut into her mouth and quickly grabbed a fresh one before Dad could show up and stop her. Lisieux was called over by two girls; they were twins and functioned as Lisieux’s best and only friends—both as introverted and bookwormy as Lisieux. It was a beautiful friendship. They occasionally spent time at our house and the three of them were hilarious in their lack of interest in typical fourteen-year-old-girl things.
My sisters each had their friend groups. Avi’s, as large as possible: there were nine kids around her now, and Lisieux’s, small and intimate. Both exactly as they wanted them.
It was me who stood out. It was me who always stood out.
Not a lot of people my age attended our parish, and those that did were not particularly nice. There were two girls my age in the room, both staring down at their phones. One of the girls, Beth, had been my friend when we were younger. After I was pulled from town life, she stopped talking to me. It hurt a little, but I understood. I had become the freak who wasn’t allowed to leave her own house. There wasn’t much for us to talk about.
The other girl, Chastity, had arrived with her parents a few years ago. She never showed the slightest interest in me, though I didn’t show any interest in her, either.
“Siena.”
I turned. It was Thomas and his fuzzy face. When was the last time he’d spoken to me? Years, I was sure. “Yes,” I answered.
“How are you?” he asked, standing in front of me.
I didn’t bother to hide the confusion I felt. “I’m doing okay,” I said.
He laughed. “Why do you look that way?”
I took a sip of orange juice. “Because we’ve known each other our entire lives and I don’t think you’ve ever asked me how I was.”
He picked up a Styrofoam cup of coffee from the collapsible table. “To be fair, you’ve never asked me how I was doing,” he said, taking a sip of coffee and playfully raising his eyebrows.
“I’m pretty sure there was a time in third grade,” I answered, vaguely remembering a sad Thomas, and my asking if he was all right.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, “my turtle died and I was crying.”
“I thought it was something like that,” I said. “Do I look like that?” I asked, wondering if I now looked like my turtle had died and that was the reason Thomas was talking to me.
“You’re funny,” he said. “I didn’t realize that.”
I decided not to state the obvious—that he wouldn’t know if I was funny or not because we never spoke.
“No, you don’t look like your turtle died.” He chuckled. “You look good—I mean, you look pretty,” he said, pretending to be bashful, though I knew enough about him to know he wasn’t.
He was popular and confident. He was all the things I wasn’t.
“I noticed you watching me during Mass,” he said.
My face turned red, though not for the reason he probably suspected.
“I was wondering,” he said, “if you’d like to go out to the garden with me.”
“Umm,” I said, not sure how I should respond.
“It’s quieter out there,” Thomas said over the noise of three crying babies.
“Okay,” I said.
I didn’t care about spending time with Thomas, but the parish hall was loud, as it always was after Mass.
“Great,” Thomas said. He extended an arm, offering for me to lead the way.
From the side of the room, Beth and Chastity watched us. Beth smirked. She had dated Thomas last year, for a few months, from what I heard from Gigi, who heard it from other old ladies. It did not go well and Beth was blamed. Thomas was considered the eligible bachelor of the church. He attended Mass most of the time and was often an altar server, something which won him lots of praise from the old women of the church.
Perhaps it was deserved.
Thomas held the door open for me to walk through.
“Thank you,” I said, breathing easier once I was outside.
The parish hall had always felt stuffy to me. If not for the donuts, I’d probably avoid the place altogether.
“Is this good?” Thomas asked, going toward a statue of Jesus surrounded by children.
This was what we called “the garden,” though it was nothing more than five tiny rosebushes which always survived the winter and two concrete benches which had to be replaced every few years because they often didn’t survive the winter.