The bell tolled gloomily, calling the faithful, or whatever they were. Sasha lengthened his stride and Kip, holding his father’s hand, stepped up his pace—her small determined boy. Iris held tight to Jack’s hand so he didn’t fall behind. When she glanced at Sasha, she saw he’d nicked himself shaving, and the cut was beginning to bleed again. She reached into the pocket of her raincoat for a handkerchief and fished it out just in time to catch the trickle before it landed on Sasha’s shirt collar.

At the touch of the handkerchief, Sasha flew around, throwing out his elbow. Kip stumbled and nearly fell—Iris cried out and stepped back. She clutched the handkerchief with his blood on it.

“Mama, what’s wrong?” said Jack.

Sasha looked at the red stain, then at her. His eyes were bloodshot. Probably he wasn’t even hungover, just still drunk from the night before.

“What’s the matter with you?” she exclaimed.

“Nothing. Nervy, I guess. I didn’t hit you, did I?”

“No.”

He took the handkerchief and shoved it in his pocket. “I’m sorry,” he said. He picked up the umbrella, which he’d dropped on the pavement, and took her arm with his other hand. St. Barnabas loomed nearby, soot-stained and Gothic. In another minute they reached the steps. They trudged up and through the open door just as the organ prepared to lurch into the processional. Sasha folded the umbrella and turned left, as usual, to walk up the side aisle to the pew where they always sat, without fail. The church only filled at Christmas and Easter, and their seats were still empty. Iris filed in silently behind Sasha—settled the boys—picked up her hymnal.

The first time they went inside this church, Iris was pleasantly surprised. Instead of the usual gloomy Gothic nave, obscured by pillars and arches, the space was wide open and full of light. Sasha said this was because the weight of the roof was supported entirely by the external buttressing. Well, whatever. Iris loved this openness because it allowed her to glance around as the hymn droned on and observe her fellow worshippers. She recognized some families from Oakwood Court, although she didn’t actually know any of them, except for the woman who lived on the second floor of their own block and had two small children—a boy named Peter, slightly older than Jack, and tiny, dainty Gladys, who was about a year younger. Their last name was Peabody. Mrs. Peabody caught Iris’s glance and smiled back, a little sternly because they were in church and supposed to be singing a hymn.

Or so Iris thought. But Mrs. Peabody might have looked stern because Jack, at that very second of connection, was slithering under the pew. Iris caught him just in time and discreetly dragged him back upward.