Chapter 4: The Aisle Seat

Domenico offered me the aisle seat at Mass, and I took it.

The Bellandi pew was the second row on the left, with a small brass plate on the end that said so.

Three hundred parishioners filled the church behind us, and every one of them had come to look at the back of my head.

"The aisle is yours," Domenico said, "so you may leave without disturbing anyone."

"Thank you," I said. "That's thoughtful."

"I try."

"Last time you tried, I ended up with eggs."

He looked at the altar.

The first reading was about a flood.

At the end of it I stood up, genuflected, and walked down the side aisle toward the little chapel by the confessionals.

I heard the pew behind me creak as a whole family leaned forward.

"Rosa," Domenico said, in a whisper that carried to the choir loft.

I kept walking.

"Please come back."

Four rows turned their heads.

The chapel had a rack of red glass candles, and I put a dollar in the box and lit one.

My father had been dead six years, and he had never missed a Sunday in his life.

I stood there a minute, and then I walked back up the aisle and sat down in my seat.

"I lit a candle for my father," I said.

Domenico stared straight ahead for the rest of the reading.

His ears had gone red again.

"I'm sorry," he said, after the psalm.

"For what?"

"I thought you were leaving."

"I know you did," I said. "You offered."

At the start of the sermon, he leaned a quarter inch toward me.

"If it runs long," he said, "the side door is behind the statue."

That was the second exit, and I knew a good exit when I heard one.

The priest began by announcing that he had three points.

I rose, genuflected again, and went out through the door behind the statue.

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