Free Rain Shadow by Catherine Madera

at the end of a leash, a matching hoodie snuggled around her tiny body. She wiggled and whined as she watched Taylor approach.
    “So, this is the place.” Her mother stepped carefully off the grass with pristine white tennis shoes.
    “How did you find me?”
    “The address is on your information at the office. I have a GPS app on my Blackberry. Thought I’d come see where you’re spending your time. Since it isn’t at the office.”

Taylor felt admiration mix with something close to anger. How could her mother continually stay on top of life, of people? Taylor pushed the feelings down. Congruency was overrated. So much of life demanded one’s actions contradict the emotions inside.
    “I’ve been working on the real estate course here at home, plus hours at the coffee stand.”
    “You need to begin spending time with Steve. He said you haven’t called.”
    “I will. Wanna come inside?”
    Taylor pointed toward her small house, desperate to get her mother safely behind closed doors where she would hopefully forget about the horse grazing outside.
    Her mother pursed her lips but nodded. “I do not understand why you chose to live so far away from everything.”
    “It’s peaceful.”
    “Your father’s paying for it so I’ll keep my feelings to myself.”
    Right . Her mother could take a lesson or two i n no t being congruent.
    Once inside her mother surveyed the small space dismissively, and then gazed out the picture window into the cemetery across the street.
    “That’s a Catholic cemetery.”
    “I wouldn’t know.”
    Actually, th e firs t thing Taylor had ascertained about the place was that it was Catholic. Feigning ignorance annoyed her mother and gave her a perverse sense of delight.
    “Bellingham has a couple good churches. I’d like to take you to Mass some Sunday.”
    Her mother spoke with the assurance of someone used to getting her way. Taylor shook her head. “I don’t go to Mass anymore, Mom. That’s your thing. We’ve talked about this.”
    They’d been talking about the Catholic faith since Taylor was twelve. About the time she refused to kiss the priest’s ring for the sacrament of confirmation. Her mother had been incredulous. She was not used to being refused by her only daughter.
    “For heaven’s sake, Taylor Ann, it’s just a small kiss. The priest is the representation of Jesus Christ. Imagine you’re kissing him.”
    That was worse. Taylor would look at the twisted Jesus on the cross , his facial features arranged in agony, blood painted on his thin naked body, and recoil. Jesus didn’t look kissable. She understood that it all was symbolic and that a line-up of good Catholic kids behind her would receive the same treatment. But … No. It was the first time she had refused her mother anything. She’d gone to Mass, learned Hail Marys and completed catechism, but confirmation, if it included kiss ing a stern-faced guy wearing a dress, was not happening.
    She’d paid penance for this decision; grounded for a month plus thirty days of badgering: how ashamed she should be for treating the embodiment of Christ in that manner, how stubborn and willful and disappointing she had become. She should at least be willing to do confession for her sins and take first communion.
    Her mother eventually wore her down, along with the fear she was kept out of heaven for sure.
    O My God, I am heartily sorry for having offended thee and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell but most of all because I love thee, my God, who art all good and deserving of my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of thy grace, to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life. Amen.
    It didn’t escape Taylor that listed first was the fear of hell and loss of heaven, not love for God, but she didn’t want to split hairs. She had put on a black skirt and trudged to Saint Catherine’s like a sheep to the slaughter. A black sheep.
    “Bless me, sir, for I have