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“Then we’ll go check into our hotel.”
“Feel funny and, well, bougie, to be staying at a hotel in Philly.”
“We’re going to have a bougie three days. We’ll check in, then I’m going to see my mother.”
With a quick trip to see Marco’s first.
“I ought to go with you, girl. Let me—”
“I need to do it, and get it done. Then we’ll dress ourselves up and go surprise Sally. Once I get this done, Marco, everything else is positive, happy, and fun.”
“You’re not taking the damn bus.”
“Deal. Let’s go check into our hotel like a couple of tourists.”
More memories flooded when Breen knocked on the Olsens’ door. Cookouts in the tiny backyard, watching Mrs. Olsen bake a cake in the homey, spotless kitchen, hearing the wonder of gospel music.
Plenty of good memories, she reminded herself. She only had to block out those of Marco’s tears shed against her shoulder when his family condemned him for being who he was.
Annie Olsen opened the door, offered a polite smile. Then blinked—her eyes so like Marco’s—and clapped her hands together.
“Breen! Oh my goodness, it’s Breen Kelly. I swear I didn’t recognize you for a full hot minute. Just look at you!”
“It’s good to see you, Mrs. Olsen.”
“Girl!” She threw her arms around Breen, a short, hefty woman with a cap of rigorously straightened hair. “You come right on in here. I didn’t know you were back!”
“Only for a day.”
The house, just as she remembered, shined. Mrs. Olsen took the cleanliness and godliness trope very seriously.
“Marco and I came for Sally’s birthday, then we have meetings in New York before we go back to Ireland.”
The smile wobbled a bit, but Mrs. Olsen nodded. “Jet-setters. You sit down, and I’ll fix us some coffee.”
“Maybe I could come back with you like I used to. I always liked watching you cook. Marco sure got his skill in the kitchen from you.”
“Come right on back. I got some of the angel food cake I madeyesterday, so we’ll have some with the coffee. You could use some fattening up.”
She won’t even say his name, Breen thought, and felt her heart thud in the base of her throat.
“How have you been, Mrs. Olsen?”
“Fit as a fiddle. Sit right there at the counter like the old days. Meetings in New York, you say?”
“Yes, with my publisher and my agent. And Marco’s meeting the publicity people he’s been working with. Plus, my agency’s very interested in the idea of him writing a cookbook. In fact, he’ll sign with them when we’re in New York.”
Mrs. Olsen put the coffee on, then took the glass dome off the cake.
“We’re just so proud you’re going to have that book published. It’s sweet, writing books for children. And my goodness, Breen, you look so pretty and grown-up. How’s your mama?”
“I’m going to see her today. Mrs. Olsen, I really stopped by to see you to talk to you about Marco.”
“He’s in my prayers, as you are.” She put a slice of cake in front of Breen.
“Marco’s getting married this fall.” She said it fast, because she already knew the response. “Brian Kelly, he’s actually a cousin of mine, and—”
“Breen, God doesn’t recognize such aberrations, but condemns them. It breaks my heart that boy’s rejected God’s word, God’s law, and I pray every night for his soul. He’s made his choice, and I pray he’ll repent it and find his way back again.”
