Sundays had a different scent altogether, dominated as they were by the cloying incense burning quietly in the church. Jeanne sat obediently in the wooden pew, best skirt starched, sweater around her shoulders, hair tight and washed. Next to her, Maman and Gramaman fussed in a competing fashion over Suzette. Papa was on their other side, head bowed, eyes closed, presumably ignoring them.
It was crowded in church—it always was, these days. Parishioners stood on the edges and were packed into pews. Jeanne found herself pressed up against the wooden side of one pew, caught between her mother’s bony hip and the unyielding arm of the bench. Still, it didn’t matter much. She wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings, anyway.
The smell got to her quickly, made her eyes burn with the acidity
