She and Colm joined him on most Sunday mornings at St. Patrick’s. Since their mother had died more than six years ago the two had an unspoken pact that this was how they would honor her. Granted, they had given the woman her fair share of grief over her daily attendance at church, but now the ceremony rooted them in their past, in their present, in their future, even if they didn’t believe everything the church espoused. Church was like a name, or a neighborhood, or a sibling; it was theirs, good or bad, because it was all they had ever known. They rarely missed a Sunday, even around Christmas, when the streets were packed with tourists. Afterward, they fought through the crowds and took Colm to visit the Metropolitan Museum, the American Museum of Natural History, or to the Central Park Zoo, or even to the Times Square Toys “R” Us. Uncle Sean always bought Colm something from the Lego section and later helped him build it. Colm couldn’t get enough of playing with Sean, and Sean was always immensely proud that he could do this one thing for his sister.
