She couldn’t tell Tommy the truth, even though they both knew that was, that she became consumed with panic every three months when he checked into the medical center for tests. She was terrified that the results weren’t going to be satisfactory this time and that the cancer, like a hibernating bear, was waking up again. Damn it, Tommy always had the results of his preliminary blood tests by Friday evening. Why hadn’t he called her? Not knowing was making her an emotional wreck. She was so scared inside she was sick. Before she had left Holy Oaks, she had called the rectory and had spoken to Monsignor McKindry, uncaring that she was acting like a neurotic mother hen. The monsignor had a kind, gentle voice, but his news wasn’t good. Tommy, he’d explained, was back at the hospital. And no, he’d told her, the doctors hadn’t been happy with the preliminary tests. Laurant was sure she knew what that meant. Her brother was undergoing another brutal round of chemotherapy.
Damned if she’d let him go through that ordeal without family by his side this time. Family… he was the only family she had. After their parents’ deaths, she and her brother, children at the time, had been forced to grow up on opposite sides of the ocean. So much had been lost over the years. But things were different now. They were adults. They could make their own choices, and that meant they could be there for each other when times got rough.
The alternator light went on just outside the town of Haverton. The filling station was closed, and she ended up spending the night at a no-frills motel there. Before leaving the next morning, she stopped by the motel office and picked up a map of Kansas City. The clerk gave her directions to the Fairmont which, he informed her, was close to the art museum.
She still got lost. She missed her exit off of I-435 and ended up too far south on the highway that circled the sprawling city. Clutching the soggy map she’d accidentally spilled Diet Coke all over, she stopped at a gas station for more directions.
Once she got her bearings, getting to the hotel wasn’t difficult at all. She followed the street marked State Line and headed back north.
Tommy had told her that Kansas City was pretty and clean, but his descriptions didn’t do the city justice. It was really quite lovely. The streets were lined with well-manicured lawns and old, two-story houses with flowers in bloom everywhere. Following the gas station attendant’s instructions, she cut over to Ward Parkway, the street that he had promised would take her directly to the Fairmont’s front door. The parkway was divided by wide grassy medians, and twice she passed groups of teenagers playing football and soccer there. The kids didn’t seem to mind the oppressive heat or the stifling humidity.
The street curved down a gentle slope, and just as she began to worry she’d gone too far, she saw a cluster of pretty Spanish-style shops up ahead. She guessed that this was the area the motel clerk had called the Country Club Plaza and she felt a sense of relief. A couple of blocks farther and there on the right was the Fairmont.
It wasn’t quite noon yet, but the hotel clerk was gracious about her wilted condition and let her check into a room early. An hour later she was feeling human again. She’d been driving since early that morning, but a long, cold shower revitalized her. Even though she knew Tommy wouldn’t mind if she showed up at the rectory wearing jeans or shorts, she’d brought along "church" clothes. It was Sunday, and noon mass would probably just be getting out when she arrived. She didn’t want to offend Monsignor McKindry, who, Tommy had told her, was extremely conservative. He’d joked that if the monsignor could get away with it, he’d still be saying mass in Latin.
She put on a pale pink, ankle-length, linen, sleeveless dress with a high mandarin collar. The skirt had a slit up the left side, which she hoped Monsignor wouldn’t think was too racy. Her long hair was still damp at the nape, but she didn’t want to mess with it any longer, and after she fastened the dainty straps on her sandals, she grabbed her purse and sunglasses and went back downstairs.
The heat felt like a slap in the face as she stepped outside, and she couldn’t quite catch her breath for several seconds. The poor doorman an elderly man with salt-and-pepper hair, looked in jeopardy of melting, dressed as he was in his heavy gray uniform. As soon as the valet brought her car around the circle, the doorman stepped forward with a wide smile to open the door for her. But the smile vanished when she re-checked her directions to Our Lady of Mercy church.
"Miss, there are churches much closer to the hotel," he informed her. "Why, there’s one just a couple of blocks away on Main Street called Visitation. If it weren’t so hot, you could even walk there. It’s a beautiful old church and it’s in a safe neighborhood."
"I need to go to Our Lady of Mercy," she explained.
She could tell he wanted to argue with her, but he held his tongue. As she was getting into her car, he leaned forward and suggested that she lock her doors and not stop for any reason until she had reached the church’s parking lot.
The area she drove into half an hour later was run-down and depressing. Abandoned buildings with broken window panes and boarded-up doorways lined the streets. Black graffiti on the walls screamed angry words at passersby. Laurant drove past a fenced-in, empty lot that some of the locals were using as a trash bin, and even with her windows up and the air-conditioning blasting away, she could still smell the stench of rotting meat. At the corner of the block were four little girls, about six or seven years old, dressed in their Sunday best. They were playing jump rope as they chanted a silly rhyme, giggling and carrying on like little girls do, oblivious to the destruction around them. In such decay, their innocence and beauty were jarring. The girls brought to mind a painting she had once seen during her studies in Paris. It was of a dirty brown field, fenced with black barbed wire, ugly and menacing with its sharp Points. An angry gray sky swirled above. The mood was dark and bitter, yet in the left corner of the painting, entwined in the gnarled metal, a straggly yellow vine wound halfway to the top of the wire, there, reaching toward heaven, was one perfect red rose just about to bloom. The painting was called Hope, and as Laurant watched the children at play, she was reminded of the artist’s message-that life will go on, and even in such blight, hope can and will flourish. Laurant committed to memory the scene of the little girls playing, hoping one day, when she had her paints, to capture them on canvas.
One of the little girls stuck her tongue out at Laurant and then waved to her. Laurant retaliated in kind and smiled as the child dissolved into a fit of giggles.
Four blocks ahead, in the midst of the rubble, sat Our Lady of Mercy Church. Twin pillars, painted white, stood as sentinels guarding the neighborhood. Mercy looked worn out from her duty. She was in desperate need of repair. Cracked paint peeled at the top of the pillars and the side of the church, and warped, rotting boards curled along the foundation. Laurant wondered how old the church was and pictured her all spruced up again. From the ornate carvings along the roofline and the stonework in front, Laurant knew she had once been magnificent. She could be again, with a little care and money. But would Mercy ever be renovated to her former glory, or, as was the horrid fashion these days, would she be ignored until it was too late and then torn down?
A black wrought iron fence at least eight feet high surrounded the property on all sides. Inside the barrier was a large recently tarred parking lot and a whitewashed, stone house adjacent to the church. Laurant assumed this was the rectory and drove through the open gates, parking her car next to a black sedan.
She had just gotten out and was locking the door when she noticed the police car. It was parked in the rectory’s driveway but was practically obstructed from view by the leafy branches of an old sycamore. Why were the police there? Probably more vandalism, she guessed, as Tommy had told her that the problems in the neighborhood had escalated in the last month. He thought it was due to the fact that the kids were out of school and there weren’t any jobs or organized activities to keep them occupied, but Monsignor McKindry believed that the increased violence and desecration was gang related.