Free The Town by Bentley Little Page B

shower, wedding, funeral, or party put on by or for a church member must be attended by everyone in the congregation had been one of the many things she had rebelled against. Even as a child, even in L.A., she had not enjoyed Molokan mixers, had always done her best to avoid them, and here in the boonies of Arizona, with people she didn’t know and with whom she had no intention of socializing, the chore as even less pleasant.
    The kids were not having a great time, either. There were no other children or teenagers, and Sasha, Adam and Teo stuck together, hovering on the edge of the small churchyard, eating from paper plates, talking among themselves and gazing longingly out toward the freedom of the street. In addition to being old, everyone here was speaking in Russian, and Julia knew her son and daughters were bored and desperate to leave. Especially Sasha.
    She understood how they felt—she felt it herself—but this afternoon was not for them, it was for Gregory’s mother, and the least they could do was be polite and put up with it. It would all be over in a few hours.
    A huge copper samovar stood on the lonely picnic table in the middle of the yard, and she walked over to get herself some chai. She remembered as a child using sugar cubes to build a bridge across her cup, placing them in a row and wedging them in, pouring the tea over the bridge to dissolve it. It was an almost universal rite for Russian children, and she had taught her own children how to do it, though none of them had ever been big tea drinkers and the novelty had worn off fairly quickly.
    Gregory sidled up next to her, nudged her with his shoulder. He poured himself some chai. “Having a good time?”
    “Oh, wonderful,” she said.
    He laughed. “We’ll bail as soon as other people start leaving.”
    She shook her head. “It’s okay. Let your mother have her fun.”
    “You sure?”
    “I’m willing to stay to the bitter end. Anything for the sake of family unity.”
    “Thanks.” He gave her a quick kiss. “I owe you one.”
    She smiled. “You can pay me back tonight.”
    He grinned, gave her a quick squeeze. “Happy to.”
    Gregory downed his tea, poured himself another cup, then asked her to come and meet Semyon Konyov, the man who had been his father’s best friend. She accompanied him across the yard to a spot under the cottonwood tree where a group of old men stood around eating shashlik. Introductions were made, polite questions were asked, then the conversation turned to church matters, and she excused herself and walked back to the samovar. She didn’t really want anything more to drink, but the picnic table was in a centralized location and offered her a perfect vantage point from which to observe almost everything that was going on. She saw three old women huddled together near the back fence, holding their hands over their mouths as they talked, gossiping. She saw one old man with a gray beard down to his waist, obviously drunk, loudly denouncing both the Russian and the American governments for perceived slights to himself and his family. She saw a group of men gathered around the barbecue, arguing vigorously over something she could not make out.
    In the doorway of the church, Gregory’s mother was emerging from the building, followed closely by Jim Petrovin. The two of them walked down the steps, over to the barbecue, and Julia watched the minister hover around her mother-in-law. Although she’d told Gregory that he was just being paranoid and overprotective, she found herself revising that analysis. He was right, she thought. The minister was after his mother and was making a concerted effort to rekindle the relationship that had ended all those years ago.
    Julia understood how Gregory felt, but she had to admit that it was kind of cute, these two old people taking another stab at romance this late in the game. It was also kind of sad. It was clear that there had been no one else in Jim Petrovin’s life all this time