Black and Blue Ivy

Sunday

Sundays were serious business in the Robinson household, as I was soon to discover. It was the one day where I saw more of Mr. Robinson, even if any exchanges he had with the children were gruff and brief. Most children enjoy sleeping in on Sunday, but I was used to getting up early to attend mass. By six a.m. I'd already made my bed and was dressed in one of my wool ensembles, a pastel yellow this time which only dulled my pale complexion. I helped myself to some black coffee brewing in the electric percolator someone had set up—Mrs. Roche no doubt—on the buffet. Eventually, the children stumbled in, sleepy-eyed and cranky. I'm sure I wasn't the only one whose stomach grumbled, but the Robinsons, being strict Catholics, would consume no food until after nine a.m. mass. So, at precisely 8:45, the entire household piled into two cars, Mr. And Mrs. Robinson in their gray Mercedes with Mrs. Roche in the back seat with the toddlers and the rest of us in a Ford SUV used by Gardenia during the week. Bentley drove, and I sat up front. Aileen, Lilly, and little Phillip, freshly washed and looking uncomfortable in their Sunday coats, leaned against each other sleepily in the back seat.

I glanced at Bentley as he followed the Mercedes down the drive. A gold watch glistened from his wrist. His blue and white striped dress shirt was crisp beneath a heather v-neck sweater. A deep red silk tie knotted at his neck gave him a look of sophistication. His dark brown leather jacket smelled divine, as did his cologne. I tugged the skirt of my gray wool coat, hating my outfit. I could tell it was good quality—as was everything else in the Robinson's household—but pastel colors didn't suit me. I preferred a more "goth" look. At least, it was an improvement over that horrible scratchy brown dress at St. Vincent's. I don't think I'll ever wear brown again.

"You look nice," Bentley said, shooting me a glance as he turned down Providence Drive.

"What about me?" Aileen said from the back seat.

Bentley addressed the rearview mirror. "You look lovely."

"Do I look lovely too?" whined Lilly.

Bentley looked at me and chuckled. "Here we go."

"Yes, Lilly. You are lovely too."

"What about me?" Phillip cried.

Bentley and I shared a laugh.

Bentley lowered his voice and said, "You, young man, look very handsome."

That seemed to satisfy the children, and they settled back once again.

Bentley made a face. "I won't make that mistake again."

We pulled into the church parking lot. Our Lady of Sorrows had a modern look compared to the old Catholic churches I was used to in Center City. The front face's sweeping architecture included a high-pointed roof, like a bird about to take flight. Beneath it was a pale brick wall interspersed with stained glass windows that looked like Cubist paintings from the little I knew about modern art.

As we pulled into the space next to the Robinson's car, the bells chimed. Mr. Robinson's face was gray in the even morning light. He squeezed out from beneath the steering wheel as if it pained him, buttoned his suit jacket over his swollen belly, and helped his wife out of the car. Gardenia looked lovely in a black and white herringbone dress and a black wool coat with a brown fur collar. She also wore a black lace chapel veil.

"Show time," Bentley said with a sigh of annoyance as he opened the car door.

We all piled out and entered the church as a family. There were plenty of people for the early mass, although I imagined the later masses were more popular. Gardenia, looking like the picture of motherhood, as she carried Tammy while Mr. Robinson held Timmy in his arms, greeted people with a sweet smile. I saw a few curious looks cast in my direction, but I focused on keeping the kids in check. Once inside the church—the walls painted light blue and shiny bright chandeliers shaped like crowns hanging over the pews—Bentley whispered something to Gardenia. Then he gently took my arm and ushered me toward a set of stairs behind the confessional booths.