"It has been one week since my last confession." Kate looked down at her plaited hands to ensure that they were still erect and prayerful. "My sins are . . ." She hated this part. She had to come up with sins that were not so very wicked that the priest would scold her, yet she had used up most of the safe sins. She wiggled from bony knee to bony knee on the smooth oak kneeler.

She heard Gramma cough. It echoed off the vaulted arches and penetrated the crimson drapery of the confessional. Gram was signaling her. MJ and Louise still had to take a turn, and so she should be done with it. 

"I disobeyed my mother once and spoke rudely to my parents twice." The safe sins. "And I had a fight with my sisters three times." This latter was true, but it was vague enough not to count as truth.

"Um-hum," the priest intoned. "And is there anything else, my child?"

Kate should have ended it right there. Why hadn’t she? She felt trapped. It was too late, and with capricious abandon, she jumped into the fire. "I had two impure thoughts. And for these my sins, I am heartily sorry." She held her breath against the silence that followed—a swollen, pregnant silence. She couldn’t tell if it was Father Mulligan behind the black screen, or maybe it was Father Foster. She hoped they couldn’t tell who she was either and wished she had thought to disguise her voice. 

She lowered her hands and wiped her sweaty palms on her cotton shorts. 

There was movement on the other side of the partition. Invisible movement. The priest dragged a cud of phlegm from his throat in an effort to clear it before he proceeded. "What were your impure thoughts, my child?"

"I—I—I thought of kissing Johnny Normandin on the lips, Father." Kate had grasped desperately for anything, for something to offer in response. She surprised herself as she grabbed the truth. 

"Did you think of doing anything else with Johnny Normandin?" Despite the fact that his voice was hushed, it was gravelly and rough like loose stones, Kate thought. Father Mulligan. 

"Your body is a sacred temple, child. You must not violate it now or ever with sinful thoughts or deeds. It is God’s temple. And you must save yourself from all impurity in His name. Don’t incur God’s wrath. Do you understand that, child?"

Kate nodded her head. "Yes, Father." She really didn’t understand most of what he said—except to know that impure thought or deeds were grave beyond all other sins. 

She wiped her hands once again on her shorts and returned them to their saintly fold. She waited for her penance. It was in this moment, it was always in this moment, that she felt terror. Would he give her the right combination of Hail Mary’s to absolve her? Or would he simply dismiss her and thus condemn her to the fires of hell? 

When she pushed the heavy curtain aside and blinked into the dim light of the church, MJ vaulted past her. "Jeez, what took you so long?"

Kate looked at Gram who winked and nodded her approval. Kate nodded her head in return and walked up to the marble altar rail to say her penance. One Our Father and three Hail Mary’s. She said these quickly before she forgot which ones and how many. To forget would mean that even the made-up sins would remain unforgiven.

Gram was the last to go. 

MJ was sorting her most recent collection, laying them out on the top of the pew in front of them—dried worms. Stiff, parched earthworms. Kate was curious that they generally dried in an "S" configuration. She watched as MJ balanced them on the smooth, rounded bench top, creating a silent, stationary procession.

"What do you think would happen if you soaked them in water?" Kate wondered in MJ’s ear. 

"Shhhhh!" MJ admonished. "Listen." She pointed in small strident stabs to the confessional where if they strained, they could hear Gram’s voice.

"Can you hear what she’s saying?" 

"Not with you jabbering."

The girls sat frozen for a moment, staring at the heavy curtain as if they might see the words that eluded their ears. 

"It’s all jumbled. You can’t hear her anyway." MJ went back to her worms.

"Creemees!" Gram whispered as she scurried down the aisle. She passed the girls as if the business of creemees was too important to interrupt by pausing. The girls agreed. Each in her turn skimmed out of the pew, did a quick, perfunctory genuflect and raced to catch up with Gram. Gram had no need to turn around. Three sets of department store sneakers slapped the polished aisle behind her. 

"It’s like you get a reward for being sorry, isn’t it, Gram?" Kate licked her creemee in quick, staccato laps, but still rivulets of sugary white cream spilled over her hot hand and meandered their way down her forearm. 

Gram was much more expert. She dragged her tongue along the rough edge of her cone and swept the melting ice cream upward. Instead of palming the cone as the children did, she held hers aloft in deft fingertips and rotated it precisely for the next lick. "You mean confession and creemees?" She had understood Kate’s association perfectly. 

"Yeah, it makes going to confession fun," MJ chimed in. Louise nodded her solemn concurrence. 

Kate didn’t mean that exactly. She meant something else—something about checks and balances. Something about the justice of an omniscient God. She couldn’t say exactly what she meant but she was glad Gram understood. 

Something else that Kate didn’t understand except at that visceral level of knowing that all children have was that Saturday afternoon confession and the sinner’s reward were part of the ritual of the long summer days that stretched out before them, as were morning chores part of this same ritual. These were the absolutes. However, the endlessness of summer afternoons were filled with possibility. There were no givens here. The children had only to invite their imaginations to their play. Once the morning chores were done, Mother shooed them all out of the house, including Gramma.

MJ and Louise were of a piece. They spoke their own language. On these sultry afternoons, MJ would garble a series of instructions to Louise and head for the stand of thickly planted, long-needle pines in the Normandin’s backyard. No matter that it wasn’t their own backyard. The smell was delicious and released anew each time the green and amber needles were broken. The pine trees grew tall, each fighting desperately for the light. The first of the lugubrious branches didn’t bother jutting from the trunk for the first six feet of life creating a hallowed room for the children’s play. 

A dense line of cedars stood between the pine grove and the apple tree, and marked the property line between Johnny Normandin’s house and Kate and MJ and Louise’s house. They were planted only a few years ago, but they grew robustly, and now obscured the children from view. Chloe and Diana, sister cats, were likely to hide in the cedars hoping to escape becoming the afternoon’s entertainment. MJ and Louise felt the privacy of a world removed.

At MJ’s instruction, Louise pulled the mangled aluminum handle of the battered red wagon and followed her sister into their secret retreat. The cacophony of tin clanking against tin, metal against metal, subsumed the sounds of these summer afternoon so that even the cicada’s screech was lost in the ruckus. As the wagon careened behind them, doll clothes would hop like corn popping. But nothing was lost. The wagon was eventually parked in their pungent forest, and the twin sisters would begin their play. They spent countless hours dressing and undressing one resigned cat or the other for an imagined escapade. The fantasy would be layered and shaped with each pair of booties, with each bonnet, with each bunting, with each smock that was added, layered, replaced in the cats’ attire. Chloe and Diana knew not to resist. 

Gram went to Mrs. Halluck’s house. The afternoon began with The Guiding Light and ended with The Edge of Night. Trash, Kate’s mother had said, and not allowed under her roof. 

Kate kicked a stone down the driveway. The trick was to crook your sneaker at just the right angle so that it would strike the ground and the stone simultaneously. If the angle was exactly right, the sneaker would come to a jolting halt, but the stone would arc up and out landing several yards off. Kate loved to watch it spin as it arced. It seemed so agile and graceful. Johnny Normandin skimmed stones indifferently. She wished hers could be as casual. But although her efforts were much more deliberate, they were beginning to pay off. Today, however, even her best efforts failed. The gray puddin’ stone hiccuped along the mottled surface only to be swallowed in the cancerous cavity of rotting pavement. Kate stuck her hands in the pockets of her shorts and began to skip. She headed for the Dillard’s who lived across the street. She would visit Lorraine. Kate’s mother disapproved of Kate’s time inside the Dillard house, especially if it was unsupervised, which it was most of the time. 

Lorraine Dillard’s porch was shaped differently from the other porches of the neighborhood. It was a capital "L" laid flat. Children knew to use the door at the end of the long arm of the "L." 

Mrs. Dillard was a bit of an enigma to Kate. She was the only woman Kate knew who had divorced her husband. One day, Mr. Dillard stopped coming home after work and a few days later, Mr. Blau came home instead. Mr. Blau was a hugely built man with an obese laugh. Lorraine and her brothers and sister, Norman and Richard and Wayne and Marion, seemed hardly to notice. Except that one morning as they all chased the milk truck for crushed ice, Wayne announced that they had a new father. Mrs. Dillard and her new husband often weren’t home. Kate liked it better when they weren’t. 

Kate knocked. Lorraine answered the door. It was 12:30, and she was still in her nightgown. The weight of Lorraine’s dark bangs refused to let the cowlick at her widow’s peak stand up straight as if in complete surprise as it did when her bangs were shorter. She hunched over the bowl of cereal that she held propped against her chest. The serving spoon she used as a scoop asked too much of her mouth and a backwash of cheerios and milk dribbled down her chin and back into her bowl. She pushed the door ajar with her bare foot. 

"You wanna come out?" Kate took in the full panorama. Mrs. Dillard and her new husband weren’t home, and hadn’t been for a while. Kate walked past Lorraine and into the kitchen. "Naw." Lorraine kicked the door closed, turned and bumped it with her buttocks to secure the clasp. 

It was cool inside the house, and dark. It smelled musty, the way dirt smelled musty packed tight to the ground behind a garden shed. Kate pinched together the muscles inside her nose to diminish the smell. She followed Lorraine into the dank, little room in the very center of the house. The television threw a garish light across the room. Wayne’s silhouette was etched enormously on the colorless wall behind the couch. So too was the feverish sucking of his thumb. Norman was stretched out on the floor with his head propped against a cushion at an acute angle to his body. Richard was beside him, head to toe, craning his head back to see the TV screen that was mere inches from his nose. Kate plopped down next to Lorraine on another couch opposite Wayne. They were sitting directly on the boxed springs having negotiated a trade with Norman—the pillows for the comfort of the couch itself. Marion rocked between them. Marion couldn’t sit without rocking. No one noticed particularly.

Kate knew the rules. If you wanted to talk, you went out to the kitchen. Food or bathroom interruptions should happen only during commercials. Uproarious laughing, slugging, and punching were entertainments restricted to the time between the end of one show and the beginning of another. It didn’t matter that the Dillard’s had seen most of these shows at least once before; the rules were still enforced. Gene Autrey was on first. Kate loved his barrel-chested little side-kick. The folds of his skin reminded Kate of a basset hound. His high voice shook and crackled as if it were being received over a short wave radio. Roy Rogers and Dale Evans followed Gene Autrey. This was Kate’s favorite. With each adventure, Kate felt swollen with the purity of their love, riding off into each sunset "until we meet again."

"I’ve got to go home," Kate said to Lorraine as the credits rolled. 

"Why? It’s early." Lorraine uncurled her legs from under her and stretched them long in a lazy yawn. When she pulled her heels along the worn rug, she knocked her cereal bowl on its side. Remnant milk spilled out and quickly disappeared into the muddy wool leaving a bloody dark stain in evidence of its passing. Lorraine recurled her legs under her on the couch. 

The knock on the side door off the kitchen was followed by Johnny Normandin’s voice. "Norman, hey, whatcha doing?" He padded into the room as he always did, with floppy feet and with his head leading his body. He was a long drink of water, Gramma said. She was right. His skin was pulled tightly over his hawk-like features. Until his braces pulled his overbite sufficiently in, you couldn’t tell whether Johnny was smiling or not. 

"What’s on next?" Johnny understood the rules. He had timed his arrival accordingly. 

"Hiiiiiioooooo, Silver!!!!" yodeled Richard.

"Great!" The only available space was the back ledge of the couch. Perfect for Johnny Normandin. He stretched out like a string bean, resting his fuzzy, little pinhead in the palm of his hand. 

The door slammed again. Mrs. Dillard and her husband Mr. Blau were home. Kate could hear paper bags being dropped on the kitchen table. Marion stopped rocking. She gathered the hem of her wrinkled blouse in a tight knot at her belly and left her place between Lorraine and Kate. Kate could hear her hit the stairs in quick succession. 

"Jesus. Will you look at this, Pat. Little monkeys all in a row." Mr. Blau laughed his soiled laugh. It was a high laugh for a man his size, Kate thought, and silly. He took a long draught from the bottle of ale he held in the same hand that held the doorway. The other jiggled change in his pocket. 

He walked back out into the kitchen. Kate heard the refrigerator door open and close. Mrs. Dillard was talking into the phone. Mr. Blau came back into the dark room with a fresh bottle of ale. He laughed and sat down on the couch between Lorraine and Kate. 

"So, what are we watching?" He slapped Kate’s knee with his right hand to emphasize the question. She startled. She gathered her arms and shoulder and held herself tight. She could feel Johnny Normandin’s hot breath on her already hot neck. 

Mr. Blau patted her knee several more times. He changed his bottle of ale to his right hand, took another long pull and then bounced the wet bottle on Kate’s knee. He laughed his silly laugh. No one seemed to notice except Kate. 

He transferred the bottle to his other hand once again. "I gottcha all wet, there." His breath was ripe, yeasty smelling. "Ahhh," he said as he began to rub the moisture into her thigh. "I got you real wet, didn’t I. Gosh." He rubbed her thigh even higher, catching her shorts under his fingers and sliding his hand still higher. He touched her through her panties. She felt desperate for air to breathe, but still she didn’t move. 

"Arnie, come out here. Madeline wants to know if we can meet her and James later tonight." 

Mr. Blau withdrew his hand. He patted her knee and winked at her as he rose to leave her still sitting rigidly on the couch. 

She didn’t dare move. She sat perfectly still. She couldn’t get up. Where would she go? She was in the tunnel of her own confusion. When the show finally ended, she told Lorraine she had to go home now, for sure. 

She took Lorraine’s hand and pulled her off the couch. She pushed Lorraine ahead of her, never letting go of her hand. Lorraine led the way through the kitchen to the door on the long arm of the "L." Kate watched her feet, placing one furtively in front of the other. She stole a side-long glance at Mr. Blau, but he was sitting at the table. He leaned back so that his swollen belly sat heavily against his spine. With one hand, he was peeling at the label on the green bottle that sat before him. With the other hand, he jingled change in his pocket. His face was turned to Mrs. Dillard, nodding his agreement to her questions as intermediary between them and their evening companions. 

The next morning, shrill cicadas were scratching at the heat of the day by ten o’clock. The day would be even hotter than the one before. Kate was sweeping off the back steps. She could smell the last night’s dew rise from the ground beneath the hosta that bordered the walk. She knew that the sun would bend around the corner of the house in just minutes and the smell would disappear. 

"Hi, Kate. Whatcha doing? You wanna play marbles?" Johnny Normandin threw the stick that he had been whittling down on the ground and snapped his pocket knife closed against his leg. He was too young for such a thing, Gram had tisked. His mother must not be thinking straight.

Kate had noticed that he was sitting on his back porch when she first came out. How could she not? Kate’s house and Johnny’s weren’t more than twenty feet apart. At dinnertime on hot summer nights when all the windows stayed open, Kate could hear the forks and knives clank against dinner plates at the Normandin’s table. Some nights she could hear fights. Mr. Normandin didn’t like that Johnny had done something—or had not done something. Mrs. Normandin spoiled the boy. Didn’t she know better? 

Mr. Normandin worked at the Post Office and had cancer—lung cancer. Gram couldn’t understand how he could continue smoking knowing that it was killing him. Often, he stopped off at the Knights of Columbus downtown before he came home from work. On those nights Johnny might get a whipping. 

Kate’s mother and Mrs. Normandin often stood at the fence with empty laundry baskets resting on their hips talking in low voices. Mrs. Normandin would fish a wad of tissue from the pocket of her housedress to wipe her eyes and nose. Kate’s mother would shake her head. Kate was only able to snatch crumbs of their conversation. Usually, little more than "It’s God’s will," or ". . . the crosses we bear." Mrs. Normandin would nod her head and cry a little harder. 

"Yeah, I’ll play, but first I’ve got to finish my jobs." It wasn’t necessary for Kate to raise her voice, but she did anyway. "I’ll meet you at the tree." 

When Kate’s chores were completed, she strung her marble bag through the last buttonhole of her blouse. She would have preferred a belt loop. Johnny assuredly would use a belt loop. But she didn’t have one on her shorts. She skipped down the back steps and headed for the apple tree. Johnny was already there on his hands and knees smoothing the hard-packed dirt with the thick of his palm. When she reached him, she stood quietly and watched. He picked up a piece of shale and drew a deep, jittery line in the dirt. 

"It’s too far back."

"No, it isn’t. It’s five feet, just like it’s supposed to be." Johnny stood up and surveyed the distance. 

"Did you measure it?"

"Don’t have to. I know." Johnny knelt down on the ground behind the line and started sorting. He separated puresies from agates from bolders from cats’ eyes. 

Kate was ruling off the measure, carefully placing one foot in front of the other, heel to toe. "You see. It’s too far." She was more than a foot short of the line.

"It is not. You’re feet are just shorter. That’s all."

"That’s not fair."

"Yes, it is. The rules just say five feet. They don’t say whose feet."

Unprepared to do anything else, Kate conceded. She knelt with her back to Johnny and matched his collection with her own. 

Kate loved the smoothness of the ground, polished to a sheen with endless hours of use. Despite the heat, it felt as cool and as smooth as the bowl of a spoon. Kate squatted Indian style and caressed it gently as she waited her turn. 

Johnny’s game was off today, and Kate won his favorite bolder and his white puresie. She gloated mercilessly. 

Johnny snuffed hard and spit to his side. Frothy, white suds desecrated the playing court. "I saw you." 

Kate froze. There was something pernicious in what he had said. She felt justly accused. 

Johnny smiled evilly. Still kneeling and gathering his marbles, he said, "I saw you let Norman’s new father put his hand up your shorts and touch you there." 

Kate’s heart was pounding in her ears. "I did not," she whispered. She could barely hear her own voice.

"Yes, you did. And I’m telling your mother unless you let me see you there too." Johnny stood up. He was almost two years older than Kate, but they stood eyeball to eyeball. "And I’ll show you mine," he said as an afterthought. 

Kate said nothing. Knowing she was trapped and knowing she would yield to the trap, she began to feel the terror and the excitement of what he was proposing. She had seen boys’ penises—not infrequently. Wayne and Richard were generally nonchalant about their state of dress—or undress. Her mother’s friends would come to visit with their baby boys. Kate watched as diapers were changed with keen yet surreptitious attentiveness. 

"So?"

Kate nodded her head. 

Johnny eagerly moved over to the cedar shrubs. 

"Here," said Johnny indicating that Kate should join him. Kate hung her marble bag from an agreeable limb of the apple tree. She looked around slowly. The garage would obscure any vision that she might fear from her own house. She tried to look through the cedars to the other side. She could see nothing. MJ and Louise must be playing somewhere else today. She could hear the vacuum revving its complaint as it changed rugs and changed piles. 

She walked over to where Johnny squatted shyly. 

"Take them off." Johnny nodded toward her shorts. "You first."

Kate took off her shorts, slowly, carefully stepping out of them. She pushed them aside with her sneaker. She could feel her body tremble. 

Johnny unzipped his khaki shorts. He sat down on the grass and slid them off. He wasn’t wearing any underwear. Kate thought his penis looked like a water-logged earthworm. His scrotum was less swollen than those of the babies she had watched diapered. Two little raisins.

"Okay, you’re turn again." He was staring hard at the soft "V" outlined by the soft cotton panties. 

Kate felt both dread and excitement. She looked around her one more time peering through the dense evergreen to ensure their secrecy. She slid her panties down to the middle of her thighs. 

Johnny laughed dryly. "Side-ways lips." He hiked his khakis back up and rolled on the grass laughing. 

"Shhhh." Kate pulled her own panties up feeling the shame of her comical body. She hated Johnny Normandin.

"Remember, you promised," Kate reminded him.

"Yeah, but a promise is no good unless you seal it." 

Kate agreed. She needed a commitment to silence that would supersede even torture. "A blood oath?" 

"Naw. Let’s pee in a can," Johnny picked up a rusty tuna can that had somehow found its way among the dried leaves and clutter that had been ensnared by the low branches of the shrubs. 

Kate swallowed her reluctance and nodded her understanding. Peeing in a cup felt even more intimate than their undressing. 

Kate had never watched anyone besides herself pee. She expected he would hold his penis very still and aim precisely. Instead, he fiddled with himself as he peed. His penis seemed to wiggle and roll like a half-filled water balloon. His pee was a deep yellow and smelled strong and acrid. 

Anxious for it to be Kate’s turn, Johnny zipped up his khaki shorts, and on bare-footed tip-toe, ran to the ashcan, skirting the apple tree on its backside to avoid any possible detection from Kate’s mother who could easily see the apple tree and the ashcan from her pantry window. He leaned over the lacey fringe of the rusted can and dumped the contents of his thin cup inside. 

Kate was desperate for the ordeal to be over. She lowered her panties again and held the rusty chamber between her legs. They both watched her hot pee follow a crooked line exacting its own will. She scooted a bit to adjust her position to its course. The can was quickly filled. Her pee was paler than his had been and less strong smelling. Johnny shrugged. The oath was secured. Kate followed Johnny’s example resituating her own clothing and heading for the ashcan. She carried the can gingerly, her arm extended far out in front of her. She poured it over the thick carpet of ash and watched as it disturbed the thickly settled ashes which erupted like a splash of water startled by the intrusion of a sudden stone. And then the ash settled again leaving no evidence of this intrusion. 

She turned from the ashcan and without looking over at Johnny watching from the shrubs, nor collecting her marbles hanging patiently from the apple tree, she began to run. She ran hard, pulling against the invisible rope that tried to hold her to the ashcan. 

Kate felt the weight of her next confession sit heavily on her conscience all week. Her hand was sweaty and uncomfortable as it sat tightly in Gram’s on their way to church. The twins garrulously filled in the hole of her silence.

"I’m not going to step on any cracks so I won’t break your back, okay, Gramma? I wouldn’t do that cause you’re my favorite Gramma. Isn’t she, Dudy?" Gram said MJ could keep a conversation going with a hedge post and never notice that it didn’t talk back. 

Louise, who was Dudy only to MJ, held her thumb loosely in the sphincter of her mouth and nodded her agreement. 

Gram chuckled and tugged on Kate’s hand, "I’m your only Gramma." 

"But even if you weren’t, even if we had fifteen Gramma’s, you’d still be our favorite, wouldn’t she, Dudy?"

Again, Louise nodded. 

"You’re awfully quiet, little miss." Again, she tugged on Kate’s hand. 

"I’m okay, Gramma." Kate tucked her thumb down into the tightly clenched fist of her free hand. She could see the bell tower of the cathedral rise above the row of store fronts that hid the rest of the gray stone church from view. "Gram, is there really fire in hell?"

"Oh, my yes." Gramma’s voice quivered like turkey waddles. Kate looked up at Gram. So did the soft skin around her mouth and chin. "The hottest fire you can imagine. I surely wouldn’t want that to be my eternal reward, would you, Katie-girl?" 

Kate was the last to push the heavy curtain aside. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been one week since my last confession." Kate stopped. Please, God. She imagined her secret slipping out of her mouth and spilling on the floor of the confessional like vomit. 

"Go on, my child." It was Father Mulligan. Kate was sure.

"I disobeyed my mother once, and fought with my sisters three times." Kate paused again, every muscle tautly holding her slippery sin inside. "And I took the Lord’s name in vain once. And for these and all my sins I am heartily sorry." Swearing was as close as she could get to the mortal sin that she knew her impurity was. 

"All right, my child. You know the Lord is not happy with you when you sin against his name."

"I know, Father." Kate felt entombed. With each passing minute, the walls of this coffin closed in another inch. She was smothering. She needed to breathe. She desperately needed to break the surface. 

". . . three Hail Mary’s and an Act of Contrition. Go now and sin no more." Kate could see the shadow of his hand rise and fall in blessing. 

Kate knelt on the marble steps and placed her folded hands on the rail. She was startled. Instead of the smooth, porcelain coolness she expected, the rail was icy hot. She pulled away quickly, pressed her folded hands against her chest and began to pray her penance. 

"Hail Mary, full of grace—" She started the same prayer three times. She couldn’t get to the end of it. Johnny Normandin kept standing in place of the Virgin Mary, and then like a television channel snapping to a new station, Mr. Blau would leer out at her laughing his high, silly laugh. 

"Hurry up, Katie." MJ’s whisper punctuated the air. 

Kate crossed herself quickly and left the altar. Gram’s glance did a thorough inspection. She raised an eyebrow. Kate looked away quickly. Gram turned her compact little body and led the procession to Mr. McCrea’s creemee stand. 

When she wasn’t licking her creemee, Kate tilted it sideways. It dripped big milky splotches on the cracked gray sidewalks. Pigeon droppings, Kate thought. 

"Gram, what’s the worst sin you ever committed?" MJ and Louise had skipped a bit ahead of them. 

"Let me see," Gram licked her cone thoughtfully. "Hmmm. That would probably be the time that I was about eight and a half, close to nine years old, probably about your age. And I stole a sweet pop from the market on the corner of my street. O’Mally’s Market. Oh my," Gram shook her head and chortled at the memory, "did I catch the devil for that. My mother marched me right down to Mr. O’Mally and made me confess and apologize, and then she marched me to the church and made me confess to the priest." Gram bit into the cone but continued chuckling through pressed lips. "But I felt better with a clean slate. Yes-sir-ee, Katie-girl, I certainly did." She again looked sidelong at Kate who walked solemnly beside her.

Kate was resolved. That afternoon, she scoured the neighborhood until she found two green coke bottles. One was lying near the fence that cordoned off the tennis courts at the top of the street, and the other was standing in the bushes that bordered the Dillard’s driveway. She would have four cents to spend when these were returned. She walked down the street, past the pale, thirsty looking houses of her neighborhood and around the corner to Sessa’s. Mr. Sessa was a round little man with a beautiful daughter. Kate saw them in church together every Sunday. His daughter was short too, but her skin was as white and smooth as the marble altar rail. She wore horn-rimmed glasses. Kate hoped that someday she would have to wear horn-rimmed glasses too. 

"Well, now, how are you today, young lady? What can I do for you?" He put down the sandwich he was eating and wiped his mouth on the towel hanging from his shoulder. He straightened his apron, smoothing it under the string wrapped around his belly as if she were an important customer. 

"Nothing, Mr. Sessa. You can eat your sandwich. I’m just going to buy some candy." She placed the two coke bottles on the counter. Mr. Sessa pushed some mysterious buttons on the register and following a flourish of brrrings and startled openings, handed her four cents. 

He winked at her and went back to his sandwich as she instructed. 

The penny candy was displayed on two shelves right below the counter. The lowest one was level with Kate’s knees. Kate put two Mary Jane’s on the counter and two in her pocket. She then put two malted milk balls on the counter and two in her pocket next to the Mary Jane’s. To ensure her sinfulness, she grabbed a handful of fireballs and stuffed them in her other pocket. Her hands were hot and sweaty and now stained fireball red with guilt. 

She felt her pockets bulge conspicuously. However, Mr. Sessa didn’t seem to notice anything unusual as she handed him back the four tarnished copper pennies. But, surely her mother would notice. 

She walked past the faded houses at the bottom of her street. The lip of the sidewalk was shallow and the gutter spilled immediately onto the street itself. Kate walked the lip splaying her arms for balance and deftly placing one foot in front of the other daring herself to fall into the gutter. 

There was little traffic on the dead-end street, so Kate jumped and lost her footing when she heard a car gun its engine around the corner. Mr. Blau’s Osmobile was long and robin’s egg blue. Sun reflected sharply off the silver trim. The car sagged lopsidedly where Mr. Blau sat. Kate thought he seemed about to spill out of the car much as the gutter spilled out onto the gooey tar pavement. His bulky arm rested on its windowsill. He looked undressed in his thin sleeveless tee shirt. Kate didn’t know where to settle her eyes. The hair under his arm was dark and wet. Some of it hung loose hanging like icicles; some of it was plastered to his pale, fleshy skin. 

He slowed the car to a crawl. Kate kept walking. She wasn’t sure who was keeping pace with whom. "Hop in and I’ll give you a lift."

She stopped and faced him when he addressed her. He stopped too. 

She wanted to say no, but she couldn’t. He was not a stranger. He was Lorraine’s new father. "Come on. I won’t bite you." He laughed a silly, phlegmy laugh. 

The street felt sticky under her feet as she walked around to the passenger side of the car. Mr. Blau had reached over and unlatched the door shoving it partially open. Her legs stuck to the plastic seat covers as she tried to slide into place. 

He reached over and patted her knee, holding her thigh just above her knee and he shook it side to side. When he let go, Kate pinched her knees tightly together. As he started the car, some empty green bottles that had once held Naragansett Ale rolled out from under the seat clinking together drunkenly. 

"Would you like to go for a little ice cream on a hot afternoon like this?" 

Kate held herself rigidly in place, but she knew that he was looking at her and not at the road as the car inched up the street.

She shook her head no.

"Ah, come on." He reached across the seat again, this time cupping her chin between his thumb and his index finger. His grip was rough. It hurt her. Her skin felt chaffed when he pulled his hand away. Kate lowered her head and rubbed her chin against her collar bone. 

"Katie!"

Kate’s head jolted upright. Lorraine was skipping toward the car. "I’ve been looking for you? Where’ve you been?" By this time, Lorraine was leaning in the passenger window. "Come on. I’m going to Sessa’s to get a popsicle, and I’ve got enough money for you too." Lorraine pushed thumb on thumb to open the car door. Kate peeled her bare legs off the plastic seat. She looked back quickly at Mr. Blau as she closed the car door, and then quickly away. He was fumbling with the radio and appeared not to notice.

Monday morning, a car that Kate didn’t recognize parked right in front of the window where Kate was dusting. Kate’s mother went to the door.

"Yes, hello."

"Hope we aren’t disturbing—"

"No, no. We’ve been waiting—Come in."

The twins joined Kate at the window. The arrival of unexpected company was a rare occasion. It floated like a ball of mercury between festive and foreboding. MJ, Louise and Kate found their way to the kitchen and slid against the wainscoting hoping not to be noticed. "Girls, you can go out and play now." They turned away with obvious disappointment, but each knew better than to utter a complaint in front of company. "No, not you, Kate. These people want to talk with you."

The man and the woman were dressed for business. Kate knew not to stare, but she took them in fully. They looked like they had on matching suits—both wore navy blue jackets, both with a white shirt. It reminded her of a uniform except that the woman didn’t have on a tie and wore a skirt instead of slacks. 

Gramma sat down at the kitchen table first and pulled Kate in to her side. She held Kate safely against her with one arm wrapped around her waist. Kate’s mother, Margaret, sat adjacent to Kate and Gram and the two guests took the proffered seats on the opposite side of the table. 

Margaret began. "This is Miss Landry and Mr. LaCroix," Margaret said introducing them to Kate. "They want to ask you a few questions about Marion and Mr. Blau."

She felt her breath catch at the mention of Mr. Blau’s name. Did they know? Kate nodded. 

"Kate, we just want to ask you a few questions," Miss Landry repeated. She cleared her throat. "Have you ever seen Mr. Blau and Marion together?

Kate nodded again.

"Alone? Or going to be alone?" 

"Sometimes—sometimes in the garage when Marion has garden chores," Kate’s voice was very soft. It felt like new grass.

"Sometimes when you and Marion and maybe some other children are playing and Mr. Blau comes around, what does Marion do, Kate? Do you remember?"

"Most of the time she goes away."

"Kate, I want you to think real hard. Has Mr. Blau ever touched you on parts of your body that are private?"

Kate was terrified. How did this stranger know her sins? Tears sprang in her eyes. She was mute.

Gramma gasped. "Oh, Katie-girl." She stood up and pulled Kate to her. Arms that usually held Kate tenderly now held her fiercely. Kate felt her tremble. Gram was crying. Kate’s shame deepened.

"Has he, Kate? I need you to answer my question." The woman’s voice was kind. So were her eyes. But Kate knew she must give her an answer. 

She nodded.

Kate wanted to open her mouth wide and shout her sins. She wanted to beg a penance that would wipe them all away. But there was no voice. Nothing would come. 

"Kate, did he do anything else? Anything else besides touch you?"

Kate shook her head no. 

"Thank you, Kate. You’ve been very helpful." Miss Landry stood up. Mr. LaCroix who had been writing notes on a pad of paper the whole time, stood also. 

"Yes, thank you," he agreed.

"This has been extremely helpful," Miss Landry said to Margaret, "I think we have enough information to take some action."

Margaret led the way to the door. Kate could hear murmurs and snippets of words. Gram sat down but still held Kate tightly. She was sobbing soundlessly. Kate gently stroked her hair. It felt like rolled cotton baton. "I’m heartily sorry, Gramma," she whispered.

Gramma suddenly straightened her back. She pushed the tears from her face with hasty fingers, and tilted her chin to look Kate directly in her eyes.

"Katie-girl, you don’t need to be sorry. You didn’t do anything bad. It’s Mr. Blau, Katie. He’s the bad man. He’s a sick man. Oh, honey child." Gram grabbed Kate around the waist and rocked her back and forth.

"But, Gram, I stole something too. Just like you did, and I’m going to burn in hell." The tears were flowing fiercely now. Her breathing was stuttered, and her cheeks were bright red.

Gram was quick to understand. "Well," said Gramma rising, "that’s a different kettle of fish. And where is this stolen merchandise?"

Kate reached in her pocket and retrieved the wrapped Mary Jane’s which were smeared with warm chocolate because the malted milk balls were not. 

"I see," said Gram. She went to the pantry and brought back a brown paper lunch bag. Gramma looked like herself again, and Kate was glad. She opened it and held it toward Kate who understood that she was to put her cache in the bag. "Come along, my dear. We must set things right, first with Mr. Sessa and then with God."

"We’ll be back shortly, Margaret. Kate has some very important confessing to do, and I’m going to see to it that she does it properly." In the nods Gram and Margaret exchanged, they communicated some understanding that was beyond Kate. 

Kate’s sobs had been reduced to hiccups by the time Gramma marched her down the street. Kate noticed that the houses she passed in her neighborhood had been restored of their color. She looked up at Gram. Gram squeezed her hand and winked. Kate knew at that moment that she wouldn’t burn in hell, not this time.