Every day with the Laudners was bad but, for Jacob, Sundays were the worst. The Laudners were Catholic, which meant they dressed up in their nicest clothes and attended church every Sunday morning at nine o’clock. They had a specific pew where some Laudner had sat in their Sunday best for one hundred and fifty years. Apparently, they had never missed Mass, but as the story goes, twenty-five years ago a visiting family unknowingly sat in the pew before the Laudners arrived. The priest politely asked them to move.
Jacob struggled to understand the meaning of this Sunday ritual. His family had never practiced any religion. He’d met religious people on Oahu, but he filed the whole concept of religion in the same part of his brain where he kept information on Greek mythology and Santa Claus. It wasn’t that he thought people were stupid for believing, he just thought they were naive.
The worst part was remembering all of the rules. None of the Laudners ate breakfast before church in order to keep the sacrament of Holy Communion sacred—whatever that meant. He wasn’t allowed to take communion because he wasn’t Catholic, but he was also not allowed to eat breakfast. So, stomach growling and head nodding, he’d endure the hour-long service and try his best to tolerate the stand, sit, and kneel routine.
After church, John would pick up Aunt Veronica from the Paris nursing home for brunch. Aunt Veronica’s daughter, Linda, son-in-law, Mark, and their two twin daughters would drive from Morton to have brunch with the Laudners. Linda insisted that they couldn’t possibly pick up her mother themselves with the added travel from Morton and John said he was more than happy to do it.
Everyone would finally join together around the large pine table around one o’clock. By that time, Jacob was starving and regularly snuck food from the refrigerator when no one was looking. A slice of ham was his favorite because he could shove it all in his mouth and swallow in a matter of seconds.
This particular Sunday was exceptionally stressful as the fallout from his fight was still fresh. His eye was an obnoxious purple and his lip was puffy and probably infected. John had tried to back him up—turns out Dane had a reputation for trouble—but Carolyn wouldn’t hear it. She hadn’t punished him exactly, just yelled long tirades until Jacob felt small and tired. Carolyn had never acted as if she liked Jacob. The fight didn’t help.
This Sunday, he was determined to keep a low profile and go with the routine, not an easy task considering Aunt Veronica didn’t like him either. She’d never told him so. Actually, she never told anyone anything. Dementia had rendered her mute years ago. But she would point at Jacob and hiss if he got too close. He was pretty sure that wasn’t affection spraying out from between her teeth. Luckily he could smell her coming. The old lady stench was warning enough to beat feet.
He’d legitimately inhaled several pieces of fried chicken when his cell phone began to vibrate in his pocket. Carolyn looked positively bewildered as she glanced at John and then around the table.
“It’s my phone,” he offered.
“Who could that be?” she asked him with a sharp look.
Jacob slid open the phone and read a text message from Malini asking him to dinner. When he raised his head, Carolyn was glaring at him, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. He wasn’t thrilled about being the prey.
“My friend, Malini, is inviting me to dinner at her house tonight. Can I go?”
Carolyn’s head shook and she began to say no, but John interrupted, talking over his wife as if he couldn’t see her obvious disapproval, “Of course, Jacob, I’ll give you a ride.”
To say he was surprised at John’s concurrence would have been the understatement of the year. After an awkward silence, everyone went back to his or her food. The rest of the table began a conversation about the fried chicken recipe.
“Was that Malini I saw you with yesterday?” John asked quietly.
“Yeah. But she had nothing to do with it,” he whispered. “I just know her from school.”
“She’s Jim Gupta’s daughter,” John said. It wasn’t a question. The town was too small to not know the one Indian family who lived there. “He lives right by his office. I know just where it is.”
At quarter to six, John and Jacob excused themselves from a lively conversation about why Linda and Mark didn’t visit Aunt Veronica more often to drive to the Guptas. He thanked John as soon as he climbed into Big Blue.
“It’s no problem, Jacob. I’m glad to hear you’re making friends. I want you to feel like you’re at home here. It’s about time you settled in.”
He nodded to be polite, but cringed when he thought of settling in to Paris. This was a resting point, a waiting room until he could save enough money to go to his real home.
“I need to tell you, I asked about your mother’s things. The police won’t release them because they’re considered evidence. I’m sorry.”
Jacob stared out the window at the blur of trees racing through his reflection. He would just have to find another way.