Mikaela remembers his mother taking him to a strange place. A big two story house hidden down a dark street, five blocks from their house.
It had rained earlier that evening, and while his mother pulled his hand hastily. Mikaela pretended each puddle was a bottomless pit he had to jump over, otherwise he would die.
The big house was empty and poorly lit. Broken lamps and rows of candles offered little illumination and Mikaela clung to his mother's skirt while she pulled him past the threshold. Mikaela looked up towards the ceiling. There were statues of people close to the edges of the second floor. Their faces sad, or crying, Mikaela didn't like the statues.
Mother went into one of the rows, kneeling on a little platform and squeezing her hands together as she closed her eyes. Mikaela stared at her, unsure of what to do. He saw her lips moving, soft whispers escaping them.
"Mama, what are you doing?" he asked.
"Shh!" his mother spat. "I'm praying for your father to come back home."
Mikaela didn't understand. Father wasn't here. "What's praying?"
His mother shushed him again. "I'm asking God to help us."
Mikaela stretched his little body up, standing on tiptoe barely seeing past the pew.
He didn't see anybody there.