THE MOMENT CARTER WALKED across the vestibule and emerged into the nave, he felt chills run down his spine. Churches had that kind of effect on him, and Detroit’s Saint Hedwig’s church was no exception. He tilted his head back, and the soaring height of the magnificent edifice made his head spin. Colors started to seep out of the stained glass windows, coagulating in the air and giving an impression that another bright colorful scene was about to be painted. For some reason, he felt it would not be religious or peaceful.
“This place has a shitload of stained glass windows,” he murmured, lowering his head and rubbing his eyes.
“Remember where you are, mister, and mind your language,” Stella said from beside him in her lecture-dry voice. He half expected her to rap him on the head or smack his shoulder to emphasize her warning and reflected that the only reason she didn’t do it was because she’d have to raise herself on tiptoes to administer such punishment.
“It’s a pretty impressive shrine,” he said, turning his head and grinning at her to show that from now on, he was going to be on his best behavior. “How many worshippers can it accommodate?”
She made a displeased, throaty sound and said, “Why don’t you just ask how many people can fit into the church?”
He capitulated. “How many?”
“About two thousand.”
“How long do you think it’s been since such a crowd actually packed into this church?”
She moved her head uncertainly from side to side. “It might get pretty crowded in here during Christmas and maybe Easter, but doubtful that it would be packed full.”
“Well, I guess the religion’s been on the decline for some time now,” he said, leaning to a side to see down the long aisle, running like a carpet through a completely empty church, that ended with the sanctuary and its two altars.
“And what better way to remedy that than you going to sit down there,” she waved ahead, “right up front, close and personal, for a much overdue spiritual session with the Lord our Creator and all His servants.”
“I gather then that you don’t want me to go with you to find Father Malvan,” he said, keeping a straight face. He knew why she wanted him to “embrace” religion and communicate with the saints staring at him from every direction. Six months ago, when her children came to visit at Christmas, she didn’t have to explain his presence in her house in Sunburst. They were products of a generation that considered co-habitation natural. If anything, to them marriage was something to be avoided because it seldom if ever worked. A couple of months later, when her old department head from Michigan University and his wife stopped by to visit, Stella cleared her throat several times before she introduced him as “my significant other.” And everyone in Sunburst believed he was her husband. Since he picked up Gabriel from the school bus stop, did all the food shopping and car maintenance, she escaped being quizzed about him in greater detail and he never corrected anyone who assumed he was her husband.
