Some time ago, Father Timothy requested his presence in the front pew as the Father believes it gives his congregation status, although he didn’t say exactly those words. However, the meaning was clear. Pops politely turned him down and the subject was never brought up again. Ma believes Father Timothy was personally affronted by the decline, and she often watches his manner toward us in search of evidence to substantiate such a claim.
During the hymns I find myself watching May, the gentle slope of her jawline gracefully moving with her singing. She’s so tiny, I have to crane my neck at times. Not an easy task when you’re not wanting to draw attention to yourself.
Ma whispers, “I take it the lovely blonde in yellow is May Kearns.”
Pops hushes her.
To my left, Hank stifles a laugh. I glance over with an expression that silently tells him what a pain in the neck he is. This just makes him laugh harder, which of course doesn’t sit well with Pops.
“Hush!”
My brother and I stare forward, grinning.
After Mass, the congregation gathers outside for social hour. This is our Mother’s favorite part, since she wasn’t aligned with the religious ceremony, being of another denomination and all. But she loves to chat with their friends, and since we were seated closer to the door we are in the sunlight before May’s family.
I’m strategic in positioning myself so I can see her walk outside. This affords me my first glimpse of Mr. Kearns’ limp, and the proud set of his jaw says it’s on his mind as they approach.
Out of the corner of her eye, Ma spots them and she lights up. “You must be Mr. and Mrs. Kearns! So nice to meet you. I’m Frances Cocker, and this is my husband, Congressman Raymond Cocker.” She points a gloved hand at Pops. “Jerald tells us he had the pleasure of meeting you both. But I’m not sure if you know our youngest boy, Hank.”
My brother politely tips his fedora at nearly the same time as I do. “Sir. Ma’am. Pleasure.”
I agree, “Pleasure to see you both again.”
Pops shakes his hand, holding it in both of his for a second with a friendly clasp. “Good to meet you Mr. Kearns.”
“You can call me Fred.”
“And you can call me Ray!” He beams, “What a lovely family you have! How old are those children?”
“Those aren’t mine.”
May’s mother hastily explains, “We watch after the children of some of our neighbor friends. At any given day there will be at least one or two with us. Helen is a riveter, and sometimes has to stay near the Air Force Base. This was one of those times.”
Ma smiles, “I dare say I envy those women.”
“Your job is just as important, dear,” Pop reassures her.
“Oh, I’m not so sure about that, Raymond. I believe they’re history in the making. And what do I do but entertain?”
“You entertain people who are trying to influence history in the making, and your influence is felt. You’re a role model, and a good one at that.”
She waves a glove. “Fiddlesticks!”
Mrs. Kearns offers a quiet, “I too envy them, ma’am.”
“See?“ Ma asks Pops, before, “And please don’t call me ma’am. Call me Frances. I dare say I’ve never known our son to show an interest in any girl in town. So you must be very special parents. And I don’t believe I caught your name!”
The gratified smile on Mrs. Kearns is something else. Any sternness I’d observed in her is gone. “Why, thank you...Frances. You are very kind. I’m Dorothy, but everyone calls me Dottie.”
Mr Kearns frowns, “My apologies. I should’ve introduced…”
I interrupt to relieve his guilt, “Pops, Mr. Kearns here is a fan of the Navy.”
Pop beams, “I didn’t go into the service myself, but I sure was proud my son enlisted.” May and I look at each other, worried the truth might come out about when I did. “Were you in the service, Fred?”
“I’m afraid not,” he looks at his hat. “4F.”
Pops frowns. “I’m sorry to hear it. Very disappointed, were you?”
“More than I care to think about.”
“What was it, eyesight?”
He meets my father’s eyes, his somber. “I was born with a bum leg.”
Mrs. Kearns smiles, “Fred just got a raise at the steelyard. That leg doesn’t keep him down.”
Respect shines from my folks. They appreciate her standing up for her husband. Pops offers a jovial, “If it makes you feel any better, I only two weeks back survived a heart attack, and there’s nothing I’d like more than to get my hands dirty working with men like you. I’ve been sitting on my keister for far too long — not just in recuperation but in offices before then — and that’s not healthy for a man, is it?”
Mr. Kearns nods from a place of understanding.
I’ve patiently waited for her to be introduced, so I take my chances here. “Ma. Pops. This is May. I’ve asked Mr. and Mrs. Kearns if I can take her for a picnic today.”
She steps forward with a shy smile, hoping for approval. “How do you do, Mr. and Mrs. Cocker.”
“Why child, aren’t you lovely? What a sweet face you have! And those eyes! I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a brighter blue in all my years. So intelligent, my word!”
May beams, cheeks rosier from surprise.
I lean in a little. “That’s effusive.”
May laughs, and Ma directs her confusion to me. “What’s effusive?”
“Inside joke, my apologies.”
“Well now, those aren’t polite!”
Pop says, “I believe he’s referring to the avalanche of compliments you just paid our young May, dear!”
“And she deserves every one!”
Mrs. Kearns raises her voice, “Margaret! Matthew! Don’t eat those sticks!”
The crowd is beginning to lighten, parishioners dispersing to enjoy their Sundays.
Pops looks at me. “Picnic, eh? Never saw a better day for it.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t think it all the way through. You see, I…” It suddenly occurs to me that I don’t want to give away the fact that they weren’t coming to church today,
