“Me? Never.” He knocked my arm with his elbow, and I tightened my grip on the cross I carried. Alessio lifted his chin at Father De Vecchi, making his rounds to check we were all in place. “They’d never get upset at you, anyway. Rafael the responsible. Maybe you should take the candle.”
I almost chuckled at that, but then Father De Vecchi turned to look at us and I instantly straightened.
“Rafael,” he said, and I heard Alessio snicker beside me.
“Yes, father?”
“You’re doing wonderfully today. Very reverent and pious. Your parents will be so pleased.”
I smiled proudly under his praise. I liked being singled out as doing a good job. I wanted to make the priests happy. Make my parents happy. Make God happy.
“Thank you, Father De Vecchi,” I said, and he nodded at me before his eyes shifted to Alessio.
“And you, Alessio”—his voice grew more stern and the smile dropped from his face—“should try to be more like Rafael here. Perhaps you’d do better with a little less talking and a little more listening, hmm?”
“But then how will God hear me?”
Father De Vecchi’s brow winged up at the way-too-logical question from a twelve-year-old, but the twinkle in Alessio’s eye always gave him away.
The question might be logical, but there was always an element of cheekiness there too.
“He hears everything, Alessio. You’d do well to remember that.”
The father turned to check on the rest of the children, and Alessio caught my eye as he crossed his and made a face. I grinned but quickly moved into place, my role of cross bearer one I took very seriously.
I stared at the large wooden doors ahead, the responsibility of being the crucifier one that brought a deep sense of pride and anxiety. It was my job to lead the procession into the church and up to the altar, to be the first sign of hope and light for each parishioner who visited Father De Vecchi’s church this week, and while that was a great honor, it was one that weighed heavily on my too-young shoulders.
Alessio moved into position off to my right as the other torchbearers flanked my sides, then the organ began to play, the music signaling it was almost time.
I took in a steadying breath, and as I let it out turned to see Alessio grin and give me a thumbs-up. My eyes widened at the candle that wobbled precariously in his hands, but he quickly took control of the tapered wax with a grimace and turned to face the opening doors.
That was all I needed, a moment of reassurance from my friend to make me smile, as the opening hymn of the ceremony began and we started up the aisle with Father De Vecchi following behind.
After making our way to the front of the church, we carefully placed the cross, candles, and communion on the stands off to the sides of the altar, then took our seats on the benches.
Alessio slid into the spot beside me, and as I folded my hands in my lap he leaned in until our shoulders bumped and whispered, “Didn’t set the place on fire.”
I whipped my head to the side to see his dark eyes gleaming at me, his face so close our noses almost touched.
“Think God’s happy with me?”
“Shh,” I said.
But Alessio just chuckled and shrugged. “I think he is. I think you are too.”
“Why?”
“Because you want me to go to heaven.”
That was true. I did want Alessio to go to heaven. He was my friend, my very best friend, and?—
“Heaven would besoboring without me.” He rolled his eyes and my lips twitched. I wanted to laugh so badly at his silliness but knew now wasn’t the time. Not when my parents were sitting in the front row, my teachers were somewhere in the church pews, and Father De Vecchi was about to start his service.
I needed to behave. God was watchingandlistening. That was something I believed with all my heart, and while I did think he’d be happy Alessio hadn’t set the church on fire, the service wasn’t over yet and I wasn’t sure he didn’t have something else up his sleeve to make it end early.
The thought made a smile stretch my lips as I turned back to face the gathered parishioners. But I made sure to push my leg into Alessio’s so he knew I’d heard him.
A silent sign of agreement—heavenwouldbe boring without him.
