A quick coffee wouldn’t hurt, Jessica decided. And that would be that; she didn’t expect to see Paul again.
To her surprise, Paul took her hand as she stepped out of the car. She felt uncomfortable with the gesture, but it was awkward to pull away.
As they turned to walk to the Beanery she saw two women coming out—Molly and a friend. Jessica met Molly’s gaze and froze, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.
Molly stared at her a moment. Then she glanced at Paul and the silver sports car behind him. She didn’t look at all surprised. Molly’s lips pressed together in what Jessica could only describe as a self-satisfied smile.
She thought I would treat Sam badly, and now she’s gloating because she thinks she’s right, Jessica realized.
“Hi, Jessica,” Molly called, then she and her friend walked in the other direction, toward the harbor.
Jessica felt her heart sink. She was sure that Molly would give Sam a full report by morning.
I’ll call him first and explain, Jessica resolved as she and Paul entered the Beanery. She would go to Sam’s house right after Paul dropped her off. Even though it was late, she was almost sure Sam would talk to her.
No, I can’t do that, she realized, her courage wavering. Once Sam heard that she was out with Paul, he would be hurt and probably furious. He might not even listen to the rest. Jessica didn’t think she could face that now.
They were soon seated. Paul stared at her across the small table, his expression concerned. “Are you all right, Jessica?”
“Uh, sure . . . I’m fine,” she answered. She sat up and studied her menu, though she knew that she was anything but fine. And maybe never would be again.
“IT’S A HOT DAY FOR CHOWDER,” LUCY COMMENTED as she served the reverend his bowl of soup. “Good thing I gave you this seat under the air conditioner.”
It was hot outside, over ninety, the air uncommonly still. The deep, heavy days of summer had set in.
“Yes, I know,” he said. “But I was really in the mood for chowder.” He spread a napkin over his lap. “My mother used to make this kind, Rhode Island. You don’t see it on many menus.”
Lucy smiled. “I think that’s the same menu from Charlie’s dad. I don’t think we ever changed it.”
Ben was taking a late lunch, enjoying the fact that the diner was in one of its rare, quiet lulls. “Where’s Charlie this afternoon?” he asked, tearing open a packet of oyster crackers. “Is he ill?”
Lucy shrugged and put her tray under her arm. “Just out and about. Starting to get his campaign for mayor together,” she added. “There’s a lot to do.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” Ben nodded, tasting a spoonful of the flavorful broth. “Do you have a minute to sit with me, Lucy? I’d love the company,” he encouraged her.
Lucy looked surprised but glanced around for the other waitress, who was making a fresh pot of coffee. “Sara, watch my tables a minute, will you?” she called. Then she slipped into the booth across from him.
“How are things, Lucy?” Ben asked.
She shrugged. “The same, I guess.” She was silent for a moment, then said, “I know what you’re asking. I told Charlie I wanted to go back to school. But it didn’t go over so well.”
“No? That’s too bad,” the reverend sympathized. “You must be disappointed.”
Lucy nodded, playing with a pack of crackers. “He said we don’t have the money right now, and he doesn’t want to take loans.”
“I see.” Ben put down his spoon and wiped his mouth. “Is that so?”
“Charlie handles the money in our house, so it’s so if he says it is.” She sighed and sat back in her chair. “I think we could afford it if I did it a few credits at a time. I’m looking at going back to college as sort of an investment.”
“It will be an investment, Lucy. In many more ways than one,” Ben assured her.
“My husband doesn’t agree. So that’s that.”
Ben felt moved by her disappointment. He could see it in her eyes. Dreams were important, no matter how distant or implausible they seemed to others. Dreams weren’t about being rational or practical, he knew. If that was the case, civilization would have barely progressed; people would still be living in caves. There would be no inventions or vaccines or quantum theory. It was the dreamers who pushed us ahead.
“Don’t give up, Lucy,” Ben said simply. He reached across the table and patted her chapped hand. “Don’t give up on your plans—or on Charlie. I’m sure this idea was a shock to him.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Lucy returned, smiling for the first time. “You should have seen the look on his face. He hardly understood what I was saying at first.”
“Charlie may need some time for this news to sink in. He’s used to the status quo, having you on hand to help him around here and take care of the household. Some of us don’t like change very much. It makes us afraid.”
He watched Lucy consider this theory. “I understand what you’re saying, Reverend. I think that’s probably true about him.”
“Did you ever hear the expression, God answers our prayers three ways—yes, no, and wait? Maybe you just pulled wait this time.”
“I can wait,” Lucy said patiently, “but I don’t see how I can get Charlie used to the idea if he blows up every time I mention it.”
“Whisper it, then,” Ben advised, making her laugh. “Just don’t forget to keep communicating. If you both shut down, you’re stuck at square one.”
“I suppose that’s true.” She shook her head. “Marriage is hard work sometimes. Know what I mean?”
“Yes, it is, but well worth it. The hardest part is changing ourselves, not the other person. It’s a lifelong self-improvement course, you know.”
Lucy laughed. “That’s one way to look at it.” She stood up and straightened out her apron. “I’ll do what you said, Reverend. Thanks.”
“You’re very welcome. Hold on to your dreams, Lucy. And pray.”
“I will,” she promised, a certain look in her eye telling him she meant it sincerely. “Can I get anything else for you?” she added.
He paused. “Maybe you could turn up the air a notch? It is a warm day for chowder,” he conceded. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Sounds to me like you were thinking about your mom, Reverend,” she said kindly. She smiled and turned away. “No problem. And I’ll bring you a big glass of ice water.”
WALKING HOME FROM WORK ON FRIDAY EVENING, Jessica wondered if Molly had spoken to Sam yet. She hated imagining that conversation but couldn’t help herself. She had slept badly the night before and just about dragged herself through the day. Her boss had found a huge error in a loan application she handed in, and she had to stay late to correct the error.
But even that embarrassing event hadn’t focused her. She could only think about Sam.
Again, Jessica thought about going to his house to talk to him. Right now. She wouldn’t wait. She couldn’t be timid about this. It was too important. Even if Sam refused to hear her out, she would feel better knowing that she had tried.
Then, as if in answer to her thoughts, as Jessica reached her apartment, she spotted Sam’s truck across the street, parked near the barn behind the Bramble. It was after six. Sam usually wasn’t at his shop that late. But he was there now.
Jessica’s heart hammered. She forced her feet to step off the curb and cross the street. She nearly lost her nerve when she reached the Bramble but forced herself to walk down the gravel drive.
The shop door was open. Taking up half of the barn, the shop was cool and dark. Jessica inhaled the scent of fresh wood and varnish. She looked up at the ceiling that stretched up to the rafters. There was something peaceful yet purposeful about the place. She had only been here a few times, but somehow it always reminded her of entering a church.
Just like the first time they met, Sam was working with a noisy piece of equipment—a power saw—and didn’t hear her come in. She sto
od near the doorway, not wanting to break his concentration. His face looked so intent.
Finally he turned the machine off. The piece of wood he had been cutting dropped heavily to the floor.
“Hello, Sam,” Jessica said quietly.
He looked up at her and stepped back. “Hello,” he said gruffly.
This was going to be harder than she thought. She took a breath. “I ran into Molly last night. I guess she told you by now.”
“Yes, she told me.” He put down the saw on the workbench. “How was your date? Did you have a nice time?”
“Sam—don’t do that,” she said quietly. “I really want to talk to you. I want to explain.”
He shrugged. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I think I get the picture, Jessica.”
He was acting so cold. She had never seen him like this, and it scared her. What if Sam really didn’t care about her anymore?
“I did go out with Paul. The date was terrible. I never want to see him again.” Jessica paused, trying to gauge his reaction. He stood over the worktable, lining up pieces of wood cut to the same length. She couldn’t see his face.
“I thought about you,” she went on. Her voice was trembling, and she took a breath to steady it. “I missed you the whole time, and I kept telling myself I was an idiot to go out with him.”
Sam gave a careless shrug. “Maybe you should have figured that out before you went out with him,” he said.
She felt her heart drop. This was hopeless. Sam wasn’t going to give her another chance. She had ruined everything beyond repair.
“I wish I had,” she said quietly. “But I didn’t. Sometimes I’m really dumb about these things.” Jessica sniffed and brushed away a tear.
Sam looked at her with regret. “That makes two of us, I guess. I didn’t listen to you when you told me you had your doubts and wanted to go back to Boston. I know now, you were right. I thought we could share a good life here. But I wasn’t listening to you. You wouldn’t be happy staying in this town. With me. If it’s not Paul, then sooner or later you’d find some other guy with a briefcase and a Mercedes.”
“That’s not true!”
“Isn’t it? You kept saying it was fun going out with me, but it couldn’t be more than that. Now I think what you meant was that it was fun to hang out with a guy like me, but I’m just not good enough for the long term.”
“That’s completely untrue!” Jessica protested. “That is not how I think of you.” Even as she spoke, though, she knew his accusations held a kernel of truth.
She had felt that way about him in the beginning. But her feelings were so different now. Couldn’t he see that?
Jessica dropped her head and wiped away her tears. When she looked up at him again, Sam said, “Listen, I’m sorry. But it’s nobody’s fault. All I’m trying to say is, I think you were right. This isn’t going to work out. Let’s not drag it out.”
His hard, certain words chilled her. She had lost him. It was over.
“All right.” Jessica straightened her spine and lifted her chin, determined to leave with dignity if nothing else. “We won’t drag it out.” She paused, wondering if she say should more, then added, “I applied for a transfer back to Boston. I should hear soon if they want me.”
Dear God, please let him say he doesn’t want me to go. Please let him give us another chance.
Sam turned away from her, measuring a board with a metal straightedge, making quick marks with a pencil.
“Sounds like it’s settled for you, then,” he said. “Congratulations. I guess I’ll see you around before you go.”
Jessica felt stunned, aching with loss. It hurt to breathe. She could hardly will her feet to move away but somehow managed to walk to the door. “Yes, I’ll see you around, then. Bye, Sam,” she said.
She slipped out the big door, into the thick, airless evening.
CAROLYN WAS MEETING AN OLD FRIEND FOR A DINNER in Newburyport and would be home quite late. Ben had no meetings, no wedding services to plan, no bereaved families to visit, no troubled parishioners seeking counsel. Though there was plenty of paperwork to catch up on, none of it was terribly pressing. It was so unusual, Ben double- and then triple-checked his date book.
With a rare free night Ben decided to drive to Durham Point and do some surf casting until the sun set. He knew he needed to get out of his office for a few hours, away from the church, as well. Earlier that day he found his letter to Mark in the mail, marked, “Return to Sender. No forwarding address.”
For the longest time he just sat with the envelope in his hands and stared at it. Finally he had opened his top desk drawer and slipped it inside. It was not the right time yet for Mark to hear him. God had some other plan in mind. Ben had to believe that.
But out on the shoreline, not far from the rocky jetty and lighthouse, it felt good to work off his disappointment with the rod and reel. Timing his throw to the rise and fall of the waves required a kind of concentration that quieted his restless thoughts. It was a kind of physical meditation that sometimes made Ben feel as though the motion of his body and the motion of the sea became one. For Ben these were true moments of grace when the boundaries between mind and body and spirit blurred and dissolved, the way the line of the horizon and the edge of the sea seemed one vast blue continuum.
Surf casting always reminded him that God created a beautiful world for people to live in. And yet Ben often got so caught up with the little, worrisome matters that he often didn’t see the beauty and the wonder—the ordinary, everyday miracle of the natural world that the Lord had provided to replenish the spirit.
He worked the line for a time, caught a few, kept one, and threw the rest back. He put the pole aside and sat and watched the waves. The beach was empty, growing misty as clouds gathered on the horizon.
A young man walked toward him on the sand with a slow, uneven gait. Something about him seemed familiar, though Ben didn’t really recognize him. He certainly didn’t know him by name, though the stranger seemed to know Ben and smiled once he drew closer. He walked up and stood a short distance away on the smooth wet sand.
“Hello, Reverend. Catch anything?”
“To tell you the truth, I’m not really out here to fish. Just tossing the line out for exercise,” Ben admitted with a smile.
“I get it.” The young man smiled and looked out at the waves.
Ben picked up the rod and cast again, then glanced over at him. “I don’t believe we’ve met. What’s your name?”
“Luke McAllister.” He met the reverend’s gaze, then leaned over and offered Ben his hand.
“Nice to meet you,” Ben replied. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you at Bible Community Church,” he added. “But maybe around town?”
“I sort of landed in the village for the summer. An unscheduled vacation.” Luke shoved his hands into his pockets. “I stopped in the church a few weeks ago and heard your sermon. It made a lot of sense to me. Made me think about . . . important things, I guess. I wanted to say thanks.”
“That’s good. Glad to hear it helped. But there’s no need to thank me. I’m just the instrument.”
“The instrument?” Luke frowned and tipped his head.
“It’s like thanking the telephone for good news,” Ben explained with a smile. “I’m just the instrument for the Heavenly Spirit that speaks through me.”
“Oh . . . sure. Yeah, of course.” Luke nodded. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m not a churchgoer. Haven’t been in years, actually, except for dropping in on you.”
Ben gazed at him, intrigued. “Why did you come? Not that I mean to pry, of course. You really needn’t answer if you prefer not to,” the reverend hastened to assure him. “I do get curious, though, when people tell me that sort of thing. I would like to understand, so maybe I can figure out how to have it happen more often,” he explained. He shook his head ruefully. “I must sound like those bothersome calls, asking you to do a product survey.”
Luke’s smile grew
wider. A pleasant smile, though Ben sensed the man didn’t use it much.
“I was walking through town on Sunday morning, and when I passed the church, I just decided to go in for old time’s sake. My family used to come up here every summer, when I was a kid. I just wanted to come in and look around, I guess.”
Ben tried to picture what Luke’s family might have looked like. “Let’s see, I came to Bible Community Church eighteen years ago. Does that time frame overlap with your family’s visits?”
Luke thought a moment, then shook his head. “No, not quite. We stopped coming to Cape Light just about that time. Besides, I think I would have remembered you.”
“That’s kind of you to say,” Ben said. “What Sunday was this that you came?”
“Two or three weeks ago, I think. You were talking about guilt and worry, and how they rob you of today. Living in the past and worrying about the future, instead of living in the present.” Luke paused and squinted for a moment, focusing his thoughts. “You said something about people who walk through life like a crab, looking backward instead of forward, missing what was right in front of them. Then you talked about accepting God’s plan for your life. . . . I wanted to remember the verse you quoted, but I don’t know the Bible.”
“Oh, yes . . . I remember now,” Ben said. He had borrowed the crab image from good old Digger. Not entirely original, but his old friend had seemed pleased when he noticed that Ben had woven it in. “I believe the verse was, ‘And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God. . . . ’ ”
“Yes, that’s it.” Luke nodded.
“Romans, Chapter Eight, verse twenty-eight.”
“I don’t know. It just pushed a button or something,” Luke admitted. “It was like a light went on in my head.”
Ben smiled gently and smoothed his beard. He felt gratified to hear Luke say that. If he could truly touch even one person in his lifetime, his ministry would not be in vain.
For a moment the sound of the waves beating on the shore filled the silence between them. “You’ve been dwelling on the past,” the reverend said finally.
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