Laraine Breyer went to Oksana's house to pick up Mikhail. She was going to show him around Port Charles. He'd lived there for some time now - he worked as a bartender at the London Underground and lived in his sister's mansion, and so Laraine thought he would like to see how it was in between - he was always interested in anything American.

And in her. Laraine marveled at that. She had never known any man to be so handsome, and so sweet at the same time.

They went by three houses that the Breyers had lived in, the third being the one Kent still kept. After seeing these three subdivisions, Mikhail said, "So many little houses."

"Russia doesn't look like this," she said.

"No. Big apartments buildings. Some big houses. Some tall thin rows of houses in the city. Very few little houses. Not rows and rows of little houses like this."

They drove by Port Charles Middle School, and then went over to Port Charles High School, where they got out. She did her best to explain the American high school system to him, knowing he would want know as much as he could understand, since it could be in Irina's future.

"We start in ninth grade, for high school," she said. "Then four years."

"How old?"

"Oh, about 14 or 15, until 17 or 18. Is that how it is in Russia?"

"No, in Russia is one school."

"You mean one building?"

"Yes. No middle, high. Just school."

"All ages in one building?"

"Yes."

"Oh, that's - I like that," Laraine said, considering.

He smiled.

She showed him the tennis courts, where she had played on the Port Charles High School team, and was pleasantly surprised to find that he had played tennis as a teenager, too.

"OK," she said. "Now we will go somewhere even more foreign for you. Church."

"Two churches, actually," she said, when they were back in her car. "One, the one we went to as we grew up. Then the one Mom goes to now."

"You do not go with Mom now?"

"Sometimes," she said. "I try to."

He was full of questions at the Methodist Church. It appeared he had rarely, if ever, been inside one. It was empty for now. She took him up to the choir loft for the view and to explain things. His eyes were wide. She could tell it was all a great mystery to him.

They walked in the cemetery. She'd played there as a child, with her brothers, waiting for her parents to come out from socializing after the service. She showed him the oldest one and the one she and her brothers liked to hide behind.

He smiled and took her hand.

"You think Irina would like this place?" she asked.

He considered a moment. "Yes," he said.

They went on to Lane's new church.

The Church of the Open Bible was in a one story building. It appeared to have once been an office building. The sign outside, with its painting of, of course, an open Bible, gave the name of the church and the exhortation "Give your thoughts to the Lord and all will follow."

"Like store advertising," Laraine remarked, out loud. It was something she had thought, but she'd always been alone, or with her mother, and that was something she couldn't say in front of Lane.

"Many words, on buildings, in U.S.," Mikhail said.

Laraine was interested. "In Russia, there are signs, surely?"

"Yes, it only say, 'shoe store,' no names of owner, no ad-ver-izing."

"Oh, in communist times it would not have belonged to anyone."

"Even now it do, no sign."

"What about a church. Just 'church?' Does it say what denomination? Which faith?"

"No sign. A church is a church."

"I guess it is rather obvious," Laraine smiled.

"Not here," he observed.

"True," she said, taking a deep breath. "This could be any building."

The doors were open. There was a bulletin board in the hall with information on church activities, and another one that even had the photos of the parishioners, or members.

Laraine scanned through them. "There she is," she pointed to the photo of her mother, Lane.

"The one in the library," he said.

"Yeah. You've seen her?"

"Yes. Library."

Laraine never thought of how he'd been in the public library. "I'll introduce you to her in the library, if that's OK," she said, thinking that might make his life easier.

"Thank you," he said.

She led him into the chapel. It was much simpler than the one in the Methodist Church. They compared things for a little while.

"Hello," said a voice. Laraine turned around.

It was the pastor, Sam Quackenbush.

"Oh, hello, Sam," she said, flustered. Then she wondered why she was flustered. It was his church after all.

"Hi, Laraine," said Sam. "Welcome to the Church of the Open Bible," he added, to Mikhail.

He thinks we're going to see the light, Laraine thought.

But Sam went on with his business. He went up to the pulpit and arranged some papers. Apparently he wasn't going to attack Mikhail on whether or not he accepted Jesus as his Personal Savior.

Laraine repented as Sam came back down the aisle. She introduced the two men.

"Are you thinking of getting married in our church?" Sam asked.

Laraine was stunned with embarassment. "Oh, no," she said, quickly. "That's not on my horizon. It's that Mikhail, he's from Russia, I'm showing him around, you know, some acquaintance with America. Life in America. You know," she said, looking pleadingly at Sam, as if he should understand how people always showed newcomers around the Church of the Open Bible.

"Of course," Sam said, most graciously, while Laraine silently prayed that Mikhail had not understood Sam and Laraine's conversation.

But she caught his eye, and she could tell that he had some idea of how she'd gotten stuck. But he just looked amused.

He's more intelligent than I give him credit for, Laraine realized. The broken English makes him sound less so, but all the same, he is.

She got up, taking Mikhail's hand.

"Say hi to your mom for me," Sam said, politely.

"Sure," said Laraine. "I will."