Respite

Sunday mornings are meant for sleeping in, except when Caroline's mother comes barging into their bedroom and demands that the girls Rise and Shine and Get Ready for Church. Louder than a bullhorn, that woman. Church. Ugh. The only downside to sleepovers at Caroline's house was the Sunday morning church thing. Tracy never understood why she had to get dragged along. She was barely a house guest by that point, she figured, not some long lost, pseudo family member. If it was a Saturday night before bed, like Christmas Eve mass or something, sure, she could see their insistence. But getting up at 7 am on a Sunday morning after staying up til 4 with the Ouija board, conjuring spirits with a flashlight under the duvet? In Tracy's mind, this was torture. A bizarre form of weekend detention. She hated going to church. It always made her feel stupid, like she didn't belong. She never knew when to kneel or rise, or the words to the songs or what to repeat after the priest or father or whatever he is, would speak. She knew she stood out like a sore thumb from the  shoulder checks and derisive smirks with the head shake and eye roll capped with a patronizing sigh. Christian charity, my ass. But that's the compromise. Saturday night with a normal family, a real meal and a bed of her own, if only for a few hours, once every few weeks. Hail Mary, full of grace and all that. Tracy can nap in class tomorrow.