“Just a minute, Wira,” Raz yelled back.
Elwira forced a smile at Father Zajac, a young priest from St. John’s. They were just about to have tea. She went to the door and left it ajar. “Come in when you’re ready,” and then she heard the sounds of a broom and dustpan scraping tile.
A few minutes later, Raz sailed into the room, oblivious to the priest. “I had to slip behind the counter again for a bit of a squeeze from that ugly baker. Christ, it does make a difference in the cost of a loaf, but is it worth it?” Then she saw him sitting across from Elwira. “Oh, Father, sorry. I didn’t see you.”
“I tried to tell you, Raz,” Elwira said. “Father brought Communion this morning from St. John’s. Wasn’t that lovely of him?”
“Yes, lovely,” Raz said. Her cheeks turned a bright crimson, and she quickly curtsied before running off to the kitchen.
“Father,” Elwira said, in a louder voice than usual, “maybe while you’re here, you should listen to herconfession.”