"Well, Leah, I'm Sister Josephine, and I've got pot of tea brewing and a fresh pound cake cooling on the windowsill. Can I get you some?" she asked. "I know Father Patrick will want some!"
"Yes, please, Sister," I smiled as I sat down on the sofa and looked around. The living room was small and slightly shabby, and I smiled as I thought about how Patrick probably felt right at home here—for many reasons.
"Leah?"
"Patrick!" I cried as he walked into the room. I stood up and, like a small child, ran across the room to throw my arms around him.
"Well, well, well, isn't this an interesting turn of events," he said as he hugged me briefly and then stepped back. "It's good to see you, Leah."
"I'm so glad to see you, too," I said as the tears welled up in my eyes. Patrick patted my shoulder and offered me a seat as Sister Josephine carried a tray of tea and cake into the living room and set it down on the coffee table.
"Here is something to sweeten the conversation!" she said brightly as she poured us each a cup of tea and cut two thick slices of cake and set them on the delicate china plates. She nodded at us and then backed out of the room saying, "Have a lovely catch up!"
"She's really nice," I said as I sipped my tea and carefully watched Patrick.
"She's definitely a good person to have here," he agreed. We sat in silence as we drank tea and ate a little cake. I wanted to blurt everything out and pepper him with questions about where he'd been and why he'd left me all alone when Molly disappeared. But I knew that wouldn't work with Patrick, so I waited until he asked. "What's going on with Mama?"
"Patrick, she's sick," I began. "She's drinking way too much. She’s forgetting things, and she's become dangerous."
"So what do you want me to do about it?" he asked a little defensively, sounding more like the brother I grew up with than the priest he'd become. That gave me the in I needed.
"We have to get her into rehab before she does something irreversible," I said. "She won't listen to me. She wants Molly."
"What makes you think she'll listen to me?" he asked as he looked at me over the edge of his teacup.
"You're a priest!" I cried. "And she's always listened to you!"
"Right," Patrick said shaking his head as he set his cup down. "She's never listened to me, Leah. It's always been Molly."
"But can't you try?" I begged feeling like the pesky little sister again. "She's putting Riley and me in danger with her drinking and her smoking and the way she locks herself in her room for days at a time. I'm worried that she's going to hurt herself or burn the house down!"
"And you think I can convince her?" he said as he rubbed his hand across his cheek. I smiled as I recognized the habit he'd had since he was a small child. My brother was still in there somewhere, even if he was holding back and hiding from us for now. I wanted to get to the bottom of what had happened after Molly had disappeared, but I didn't dare try and broach that subject while we were trying to solve the problem with my mother. We’d deal with one thing at a time.
"I don't know if you can convince her, but can you at least try?" I asked.
"Bring her to Mass," he said. "I'll talk to her afterwards."
"And what if I can't?" I asked. He had no idea how bad things had gotten, and I was loath to tell him.
"Then we'll go from there, but let's not invite trouble, shall we?" he said as he stood up. "I need to prepare for my early morning service now."
"I'll try and bring her," I said as I moved toward him. He slipped around the sofa and was out of the room before I could tell him how much I'd missed him and how happy I was to have him home again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jack
When I stopped by the house to change clothes before meeting Sloan for dinner, the ever-present butler opened the door. I shook my head as I walked past the man I didn't recognize. My father had insisted that there always be a butler present in the house when he was there, but he couldn't seem to keep one consistently employed. As a result, I had no idea what this man's name was.
"Thank you …" I said trailing off uncomfortably.
"Martin, sir," he said as he stood stiffly, holding the door for me. He was dressed in a uniform that called to mind England and royalty.
"Thank you, Martin," I said as I moved toward the stairs, wondering how long it would take me to convince my mother to stop this nonsense and live like a regular person.
"Jackson, is that you?" she called from the living room. "Come here and talk to me."
"Mother," I nodded as I entered the room and found her reclining on the chaise that looked out over the lawn. She looked pale, and when I sat down and took her hand, I realized it was cold. "Are you all right?"