My first call Sunday morning was to check the central library’s recorded message for their hours. The second call was to Maggie.
Nervous as a teenager, I punched her number. The phone rang four times. Didn’t she ever pick it up on the first ring?
“Hello?” She sounded breathless again.
“Hi, Maggie. It’s—”
“Jeff! Good to hear from you.”
“Am I interrupting anything?”
“No. Just rushing around getting ready for Mass at noon. It’s Palm Sunday. I’m going to the Basilica in Lackawanna. Want to go? I could come pick you up.”
“I haven’t been to church in years. I wouldn’t know what to do any more.” A funny feeling welled inside me. Apprehension? I wasn’t sure. “Anyway, I’ve already made plans to go to the library this afternoon.”
“How about next Sunday? It’s Easter.”
“Let me think about it. I thought you lived in Clarence. Why go to church all the way out in Lackawanna?”
“I grew up there. I love the Basilica; it was my parish. You ever been there?”
“No. A sinner like me probably wouldn’t be welcome.”
“Don’t be silly. Besides, they’ve been restoring it for years. It’s worth it just to see the gorgeous art and stained glass.”
“I’ll think about it. But I would like to see you again.”