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He placed his hand on my leg and I jumped. I realized where that reaction came from.
“Sorry,” I said.
“It’s okay ... it will take you a little while.”
I swallowed; my heart was racing as the thought of that night came back to me. I tried to not think about it.
“This is nice,” The Russian said, admiring the church and its grounds.
I guess it did look nice ... quaint, even a bit old worldish. I pointed to the best place for him to park and he swung the car in and turned off the ignition. He took a deep breath. I knew he was a little nervous, and then he confirmed it.
“Your Dad’s going to want to have a chat with me isn’t he? About this whole trust issue and his little girl?” he turned my way.
“Only if you want to talk about it,” I said. “Dad wouldn’t force anyone to talk about personal stuff unless they wanted to, but he has some experience in his area.”
The Russian nodded, looking more uncomfortable than ever.
“Come on,” I said, opening the car door, “come and meet my parents.”
*****
As we came up the path, the front door opened and Mom and Dad came out. They were about the same height, both thin, and I noticed Mom had dressed up a little ... that was nice. Dad was in his traditional white business shirt and black pants, a little cross clipped to his collar.
I walked in front, taking The Russian’s hand. My parents kissed me and they both shook The Russian’s hand. He called them Mrs Brooker and Reverend respectively, but they insisted on Kathleen and Michael. We both towered over them.
“Well, I never thought we’d meet someone taller than our Carla, sometimes we wonder where she came from,” my father joked, looking up at The Russian who smiled and relaxed a little.
“Both of my parents are tall, so I’m legitimate,” The Russian joked.
I couldn’t believe it, but I swear my Mom smiled a charming smile at him. I looked from her to The Russian and back to Mom again. Unbelievable ... must’ve been the big lion aura; he was such an alpha. We followed them both in and I gave him a look.
“What?” he asked innocently.
I could smell a roast, Mom had cooked my favorite—probably everyone’s favorite—and Dad paused on the way through to answer the phone.
“Unless they’re dying, Michael, tell them that you are unavailable until after two,” she said, and Dad nodded.
The Russian chuckled. I guess that had been pretty funny, but normal for us.
“What can I do to help, Mom?” I asked.
“Nothing, I’m organized,” she said, as if I had ever doubted it. “Why don’t you show Alex around the church and yard, and then when your father is off the phone, we’ll have lunch.” She gave Alex a warm smile as she said it. What the fuck? He’d be gloating about that all the way home ... sigh.
I took his hand as we went on the grand, but very small, tour. What was funny for me—funny weird—was that I’d never taken a guy home, and I’d entered my house a thousand times, but now I was looking at it through The Russian’s eyes. I went through the back of the house and showed him Mom’s prized vegetable and herb garden, and on the other side her prized flower garden. Ever practical, she fed us and supplied fresh flowers to the church. The woman was wasted organizing this small church community; she should have been working for the United Nations.
I then took The Russian through the churchyard and into the church. He admired the stained glasses windows, which were truly beautiful, and the intimacy of the small church.
“When was the last time you went to church?” I asked him.
“You’re asking me in here?” he said. “A lightning bolt might come down from the ceiling and strike me dead if I answer that.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I agreed, teasing him.
He tucked me under his arm and we went back to the house. I took him through the side entrance, and I was so used to the shrine for my dead sister that I had completely forgotten to warn The Russian. One room was done up as if she had never left, and along the hallway was photo after photo of a girl who looked like me ... dark hair, almond shaped eyes and lightly tanned skin. Photographs from her birth to teenage years, her last photos were her sixteenth birthday.
His eyes took it all in before he looked to me, a thousand questions written on his face.
“This is my big sister, Claudia,” I said, introducing them. “She’s three years older than me.” I lowered my voice. “She died when she was sixteen ... eleven years ago now ... heart disease ... she was born with a defect.”
