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“I thought I was cured,” she said, contrite.
“Hardly, Mother. You’ll always be an alcoholic in recovery. You told me that yourself. Just stick it out and keep going.”
“I won’t have as much time to give you at the rescue if I go back.”
“Why? Your social schedule so full? Just go. I’ll deal with the work at the rescue.”
That Tuesday, the day of Epiphany, she returned to an afternoon meeting at the community center. When it was done, she snuck out the back, avoiding familiar faces who might recognize her when the paper caught wind of the incident, and walked through the woods to Saint Anthony Padua Catholic Church.
The side door led to where the votive stands were. She slipped down the dark aisle, the fragrance of burning benzoin incense filling her senses and inexplicably, tears welled up. Picturing the magi at the manger with the young mother kneeling next to the baby Jesus, the sadness that injuring her grandson had wrought washed over her.
Mumbling, “I’m sorry, God,” she slipped a ten-dollar bill into the locked offering box and took a match, holding it to a candle until it ignited. Lighting the votive, she prayed to the Virgin Mary for strength to keep going and to be given a chance to make it up to her family.
“I can’t believe you showed up here.”
She turned around, face-to-face with her ex’s girlfriend, Lola Beaumont.
“Oh Lord Jesus, you have a lot of nerve criticizing me.” She pushed by Lola. “Leave me alone.”
“You’ve humiliated your entire family, you know that, right?” She asked this just loud enough for another parishioner to hear.
“Whatever, Lola. Go back to my husband and leech off him, will you please?”
“At least he gets something out of it,” she said, taking a match and lighting it, placing the flame to the candle.
“Can’t you see the contradiction here?” Beverly asked. “You’re lighting a candle under the feet of the Virgin Mary while you’re living and sleeping with my husband. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“He’s not your husband any longer, is he?”
Sighing, Beverly let Lola have the last word as she turned and left the church. She’d have to pray at home since church wasn’t even a safe place. The truth was she owed Annie and Steve an apology. Hitting her grandson had been wrong and she was so sorry, but she couldn’t take it back. All she could do was make restitution.
Calling Steve first would give her the courage to then call Annie.
“Mom, I’m busy,” he said, installing a satellite dish on top of a hundred-foot tower.
“I’m sorry, but I wanted to apologize. I went to court this morning and I got off easily—parenting classes and supervised visitation with Stevie.”
“You got me in a barrel of trouble with Annie, Mom. She’s pissed off at me now because I let you babysit.”
“Yes, well, that won’t happen again, will it,” Beverly said. “Not that I was that thrilled about babysitting for my grandchildren, but I enjoyed seeing him. If I make Sunday dinner, can you bring him to my house?”
“We’ll have to see if that’s considered supervised,” Steve said. “Look, I’ve gotta go, Mom. Talk later.”
After he ended the call, Beverly lost her nerve and decided to wait to talk to Annie.
***
Maggie gave the little motor just enough gas to ride smooth with no splashing. The trip around the bay gave them a chance to see the houses on the water which included shacks on stilts to beautiful mansions up on stone pilings.
“Do you want to anchor out here or should I beach the boat on the island?”
“Go back to the island,” Annie said. “I want you guys to see the other side, the side away from Bayou Cottage. I still can’t believe how beautiful it is and the view is spectacular.”
Maggie turned the skiff around and went back to Bonnet Island, the seaward side.
“You’re right. This is wonderful,” Katrina said.
Maggie picked up beer cans and litter, throwing it into the skiff. “I guess people are partying on this side. I need some No Trespassing signs.”
