Her mother’s lips pressed into a flat line. “We haven’t yet. It’s just a matter of time, though, with all the alcohol and drugs floating around just a few square blocks.”
Megan sipped her tea. “Father Greg seems to have developed excellent relations with the Chicago police over the past several years. Everyone gets searched before entering the blockades. From what I’ve heard, the festival usually is a miracle of organizational smoothness,” Megan said reassuringly.
Although she had never desired to attend the festival, Megan knew the block party had monumental financial significance to St. Cat’s. Her proximity to the administrative aspects of the parish through her job as a teacher had only reinforced how crucial the annual festival was to the functioning of St. Catherine’s and its various programs. It was because of the festival that the school board was able to offer her a full-time teaching position next term.
Her mother scowled. “Just a matter of time before something happens. Mark my words.”
They both sipped at their tea.
“Mom, why didn’t we move away? After what happened with Henry Nightingale?”
She thought she could have heard a butterfly flutter its wings in the absolute silence that followed. The hand holding her mother’s teacup froze in midair. In her momentary vulnerability, Megan glimpsed a shadow of the beauty that her mother had once possessed.
“I’ve asked you never to speak that man’s name in this home.”
Megan closed her eyes in brief annoyance at the predictable response. Her mother’s next words were equally expected.
“Are you feeling all right, Meg? Why in God’s name would you bring that up?”
“I’m feeling fine, Mom. I was wondering about it, that’s all. Abby McCarthy’s family moved away after the trial, didn’t they?”
“You’re father said Dale McCarthy was a coward for doing that,” Linda Shreve said in a hard voice. “This was our home. We weren’t going to run from it, with our tails tucked between our legs.”
“Is that how you and Daddy felt?” Megan asked slowly. “Like you were being shamed…punished? Like living with Henry Nightingale’s crime day in and day out was some kind of sentence passed down on you?”
Her mother’s teacup clattered loudly when it fell to the table. Megan flinched back to avoid the hot tea that almost splashed on her.
“Hilary told me that some man has been nosing around you. Is that what’s brought up all of this nonsense?”
Megan shook her head. “No, no, Mom. It’s not that. Here, let me get something to clean that up.” Neither of them spoke as Megan ripped off some paper towels and soaked up the tea from the table. When she eventually met her mother’s eyes, she felt responsible for the anguish she saw there.
“Why can’t we just let it go?” Megan entreated in a whisper. “Why do we always have to carry it on our shoulders like an invisible burden?” She noticed how her mother looked offended at the suggestion, as if she had suggested they sacrifice their family ties or the church.
Megan had already given up any vague hopes that she had possessed by the time she threw the soaked paper towels in the garbage. Her mother was watching her anxiously when she turned around from the sink.
“Something has got you upset, Meg. Have you seen the doctor recently?”
* * * * *
Megan crossed Adams Street later that morning with the sound of hammers and workmen’s voices resounding in her ears, a testament to the last minute preparations that were going on for the St. Cat’s block party. Already, Adams had been blocked off just after Halsted, and vendors were setting up their wares along every cross street. The St. Cat’s block party included several smaller stages that were set up along separate intersections in the neighborhood where bands played throughout the afternoon. The headliner performed on the main stage, located in the large park next to St. Catherine’s, at the intersections of Jackson and Williams. Over the past few years, Jackson and Williams had become lined with medium and high-rise condominium residence buildings, and these were the reason that Father Gregory had called and asked Megan’s assistance earlier.
The elderly priest was brimming with good cheer and crisp, administrative purpose this morning. His eyes brightened when Megan peeked into his office.
“You wanted to see me, Father?”
“Yes, thank you for coming by. I know I turned down your request to help at the block party several weeks ago, but something has been brought to my attention, and I’m going to need some assistance with it. Are you free this evening?”
She nodded, knowing that even if she decided to see Christian, it would be later in the evening.
Father Gregory rapidly explained his dilemma. “It’s all of these residences that they’ve put up along Jackson and Williams. Most of them have balconies and terraces, and provide prime viewing of the main stage for the concert. It’s come to our attention that the St. Cat’s block party is becoming a regular event for some of the people who live there. They throw parties and everyone gets a free ticket to the show.”
The priest’s eyes danced merrily. “Now, I’m not saying that what they’re doing is wrong, of course. It is their home, after all. But the thought occurred to us that quite a few of the residents, and even the party attendees, might agree to make a donation to St. Cat’s if they were provided the opportunity.”
Megan smiled at the priest’s wiliness. “Especially if they were caught entering the building with their kegs of beer and catered party trays?”
“Exactly,” Father Gregory said smugly. “The managements of four out of five of the buildings that surround the park have agreed to allow church representatives to collect donations in their lobbies. Would you be available for just a couple of hours before the concert starts at eight o’clock, and stay maybe until eight thirty or so?”
Megan agreed and took the address from Father Gregory. It would do her good to keep her mind busy on something, instead of focusing on the fact that she couldn’t just be considered a normal woman for once in her life. She turned her face to the hot summer sun as she walked down Adams. It was a perfect day for a music festival, but a rotten one for feeling depressed.