“Paul Newman didn’t make millions from his products. He gave all the profits to charity,” Richard said, taking another bite. It really was good. He had to bring Regina here or take one home for her one night.
“That’s what we all tell him. But he doesn’t want to believe it. The man’s incredibly stubborn.” Sam shook his head, then took a bite of the turkey club. “But he’s a good cook, you have to hand him that.”
The bell above the entrance jangled, and a uniformed police officer walked in. Sam waved and the man smiled and strolled over.
“Hey, Tucker. This is Richard Rowan. He started working for me this morning.”
The officer extended his hand and Richard shook it. “Tucker Tulley. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Richard said.
“Richard’s wife inherited the Porter place on Old Field Road. They just moved up from Pennsylvania to take it over.”
“I know that house. I knew Mr. Porter, too. I didn’t know he had any family.”
“We didn’t know about him, either,” Richard confessed. “Until my wife got a letter from a lawyer about the will.”
“Wow, just like in a movie,” Tucker said.
“Almost,” Richard agreed. But in the movies, the person usually inherits a fortune or something of real worth. Not a broken-down old house in the middle of the woods.
“I know that house doesn’t look like much,” Sam said, seeming to read his thoughts, “but it has real possibilities.”
“He would know,” Tucker cut in. “Sam picked up an old house on the Beach Road about ten or twelve years ago and renovated it from top to bottom. It was a showpiece.”
“It was,” Sam agreed. “People would leave notes in our mailbox, asking if we wanted to sell.”
“Really?” Here was a subject that keenly interested Richard. “So what happened? Did you flip it and buy your dream house?”
Sam looked down for a moment and shook his head. “No, sir. That was my dream house. I bought it at an auction before I even met Jessica. I knew I was fixing it up for the perfect woman and the kids we would have someday. That’s just what happened, and we were happy there for years.” He looked back up at Richard. “But the house caught fire in the middle of the night about three years ago. Burned down to the ground, right before our eyes.”
Richard felt his heart clutch at the answer. “Really?”
Sam nodded. “Faulty wiring in an old lamp. We were all asleep, but we all got out fine. Me and Jessica and the two boys, thank God. Lily wasn’t even born yet. We lost everything,” he added. “It was either burnt to ash or the firefighters’ chemicals ruined it.”
“It was a real nightmare,” Tucker agreed. “Your very worst.”
Richard didn’t know what to say at first. “That’s too bad,” he said finally. He felt embarrassed now for judging Sam harshly. The man had seen his share of trouble and setbacks, that was for sure.
“It was tough on the family,” Sam went on. “Especially on my wife. The fire was an accident, could have happened to anyone. But we didn’t have good insurance. That was my fault. And it hurt us, in more ways than one.” He looked grim for a moment. “But we hung in there and got through it. That’s all you can do, right?”
“I guess,” Richard agreed. He glanced at Sam, then looked away. That was all you could do. Though most people would add to that simple formula some anger and frustration and a lot of self-pity.
Maybe Sam Morgan had gone through all that, too. Richard didn’t see how a person could escape those reactions, under the circumstances. But Sam obviously hadn’t gotten stuck there, and Richard wondered why not. For months now, Richard had felt stuck in his own life. As if he were trying to walk through a muddy swamp in high boots, the mud and muck pulling him back every step of the way. It was exhausting—and starting to feel like a useless effort.
How did Sam, or anyone, get out of the muck? That’s what he wanted to know. Richard had an impulse to ask him, but he felt too embarrassed. Still, Sam had given him something to think about.
“So, what do you think of Reverend Lawrence?” Tucker asked Sam, changing the subject.
“I was impressed. When Jess told me Reverend Ben’s replacement was a woman, I didn’t know what to expect. But I liked her.”
“I did, too,” Tucker agreed. “I’ll miss Reverend Ben, but it’s only for a few weeks, thank goodness. I heard that he’s coming out of the hospital this afternoon. I’m going to swing by the parsonage later and see how he’s doing.”
“That’s good news. I’ll give him a call tonight.” Sam glanced at Richard. “The minister at our church just had bypass surgery. He’s going to be recuperating for about two months, and we just met the temporary minister last night.”
So they were churchgoing, as well. Richard’s mother had taken him to church when he was a child, but he hadn’t felt the need as an adult. It was the same story for Regina. She was a little better about it and took the kids to services on Christmas and Easter. But they’d never belonged to any church in particular, and he hardly knew what these guys were talking about. He didn’t want to know, either. Before you knew it, these churchy types tried to pull you in.
But before the two men could go any further with their minister update, a short, wiry man came out from behind the counter. He wore an apron and a pugnacious expression. Richard guessed it had to be the infamous Charlie Bates, the diner’s owner and head chef.
“Hey, Tucker. Hey, Sam,” Charlie greeted the others. “What’s up? Are you going to eat your lunch standing up today, Tucker? Is that some new diet tip your wife gave you?”
If Tucker was fazed by the taunt, his expression didn’t show it. “Fran gave me a real good diet tip the other day, Charlie. She told me not to eat here. There’s nothing healthy on the menu.”
“So you’re just here for the socializing,” Charlie muttered, then turned his attention to Richard. “How’d you like the clam roll?”
“It was good,” Richard said evenly. He saw Charlie’s brow knit with concern at the tepid review. “Very good. I’ve never had clams like that before.” I really liked the sauce, he almost added, then remembered Sam’s warning.
“How’d you like the sauce?” Charlie asked.
Richard looked up at him. “It was . . . tasty.”
“Just tasty? Most people really like it. Most people ask me how I make it,” Charlie insisted.
“But you’ll never tell,” Tucker finished for him.
“That’s right.”
Richard nearly asked, Why not? But Sam and Tucker were now silently signaling him not to encourage the conversation. Though Charlie couldn’t see him, Tucker was shaking his head. Sam also shook his head very slowly.
Richard thought he was going to burst out laughing. He noticed the waitress nearby and waved his hand. “A little more coffee here, miss? Please?”
“I’ll have some, too,” Sam said, finding the idea of coffee very amusing.
Tucker was laughing, but disguised it by coughing into his hand. Zoey gave them all a curious look, then quickly poured the coffee. “Anything else?”
Richard shook his head. “No, thanks. I’m good.”
“I guess that’s all. Just the check, please,” Sam managed. He glanced at Tucker, and Richard thought, This is it.
“What’s so funny?” Charlie looked around at all of them. He clearly sensed he’d been left out of a joke.
Tucker and Sam shrugged. “Nothing’s funny, Charlie. We take your cooking very seriously. Especially the clam rolls,” Sam promised him.
“Especially the sauce,” Tucker chimed in.
Charlie looked about to start an argument, but Zoey scooted between them and dropped the check on the table. “Here you go, guys. Thanks.”
“Thank you,” Sam said, and picked it up.
“What’s my share?” Richard reached into his pocket for his wallet, wondering how much money he had with him.
“I’ve got it. You buy next time,” Sam said lightly.<
br />
“Thanks, but you don’t have to do that. I can split it with you,” Richard insisted.
“It’s my party. Your first day and all,” Sam argued back. “Besides, it’s a law in this town: New residents must eat a clam roll within five days of moving here. And somebody has to buy it for them. Right, Tucker?” Sam asked the officer.
Tucker tugged on the edge of his blue uniform jacket. “That’s right. I could write a ticket right now if he didn’t pay,” he told Richard in a very serious tone.
Richard finally had to smile. “You’ve got some strange laws in this town. Thanks anyway.”
“Don’t mention it.” Sam put down a few bills. Then he rose and grabbed his jacket. Richard did the same.
“Well, nice to meet you . . . even though no one introduced me,” Charlie pointed out.
“Richard Rowan.” Richard offered Charlie his hand. “I just started working for Sam.”
“Nice to meet you. Come back and try my chowder, an old family recipe. I could bottle the stuff and make millions.”
Richard followed Sam to the door. “Sounds good. I’ll be back soon.”
Tucker waved without saying anything. Richard liked him. He was a quiet man, but watchful. Richard had a feeling that there was a lot more going on inside of Tucker than was immediately apparent.
Once outside, they got into Sam’s truck, and Sam turned to Richard. “Charlie’s chowder isn’t bad, but never, ever, under any circumstance, order the lobster roll. Charlie is stingy as a spinster with the meat. I think he just waves a lobster claw over the bun, like giving it a blessing. All you get is celery and mayonnaise.”
“I’ll try to remember that.” Richard glanced over at Sam curiously as they drove back down Main Street. Was the guy joking again? No, he was perfectly serious. More serious than he’d seen Sam so far today. Except when he’d told that story about his house burning down.
These men were particular about their seafood, weren’t they? He had heard that New Englanders were obsessed with chowder and fish dishes, but now he was seeing it firsthand. Richard felt he had finally arrived in this strange new territory.
CHAPTER SIX
“ARE YOU SURE YOU’RE COMFORTABLE IN THAT CHAIR, BEN? IT might be better if you sit on the couch. That way, if you feel tired and want to lie down, you can just stretch out. You don’t have to get up again.”
“I’m not going to lie down in the middle of talking to her, Carolyn. That wouldn’t be polite, for one thing.” Did she really think that in the middle of giving the new minister instructions on how to run his church he would just lie down and take a nap?
“You just came home from the hospital yesterday. I’m sure Reverend Isabel will understand if you want to rest a minute.”
Ben glanced up at Carolyn. She was hovering over him like a little blond helicopter. A helicopter that delivered soup and the newspaper. And kept telling him what to do. He took a breath and reached for his patience, wondering if some of that deep, natural store had somehow been removed during the operation.
“I’m supposed to get up and down and move around a bit. I’m not supposed to lie down very much. You heard what the doctor said,” he reminded her.
He knew she meant well and was only concerned for him, but all this hovering . . . It was getting on his nerves. Still, he knew he had to be patient. He’d given Carolyn the scare of her life. She was afraid now that any twinge, any deep breath, any discomfort at all was the sign of another imminent heart attack.
The truth be told, he felt the same. He knew it wasn’t rational; it wasn’t even true. The doctors had told him that this state of mind was normal after his experience, but Ben couldn’t help his feelings.
You can only help what you do about them, he reminded himself. Don’t give in to the fear, the knee-jerk reaction. Don’t give in to the anger, either.
He did feel angry, another post-operative syndrome. This pathetic “Why Me, Lord?” song stuck in his brain. Especially when the simple things, like reaching for a book or his glasses, resulted in a sudden twinge of real agony. A few minutes of conversation or just walking from one room to the other could tire him out completely.
It will take time to heal, he reminded himself. It hasn’t even been a full week. He hadn’t even missed one service at church yet. Remarkable, when his entire life had changed, done a giant one-hundred-and-eighty-degree spin. Like a car on black ice, spinning out of control.
“I think that’s her now.” Carolyn was over by the window, where she had pulled back the curtain to peer outside. “Are you ready?”
“If you help me with this sweater, I will be.”
It had been a struggle to dress that morning. He had to take a long break after getting his shirt on. The wound on his chest hurt from moving his arms so much. Now Carolyn helped him slip on the sweater. She was about to button it for him, too, but he gently took over.
“I can manage the buttons fine, dear. Maybe you should go get the door.”
Reverend Lawrence hadn’t rung the bell yet, but Ben needed a moment alone to collect himself. Handing over his church, even for a few weeks, was harder than he expected. Was he that much of a control freak? He didn’t think so. But he had become an organic part of the place, like a crusty old barnacle clinging to a gray whale, dependent on it for its existence.
He closed his eyes a moment and said a prayer. “Please, God, help me say and do the right things in this meeting. Help us have a good understanding and work together to keep my church running smoothly while I’m away.”
When he opened his eyes, Isabel Lawrence was standing in the living room doorway next to Carolyn.
“Ben? Reverend Lawrence is here. He’s been very tired,” he heard Carolyn add. “He’s still getting his strength back.”
“Reverend Lawrence, how good to meet you. Please excuse me if I don’t get up.” Ben smiled and awkwardly extended his hand.
She stepped over and shook his hand heartily. “Reverend Lewis, so good to meet you. Finally. And please, call me Isabel.”
“Please call me Ben.”
She had a surprisingly strong grip for a woman. Carolyn had described her to him a little, but he hadn’t expected this air of vitality, the red hair and bright eyes. She looked healthy, as if she liked the outdoors and hard work, he thought. She wasn’t all that young; in her late thirties, he guessed. But something about her seemed younger. She took a seat right next to him and smiled.
“Would anyone like some coffee or tea?” Carolyn asked.
“No, thank you. I’m fine,” Isabel said.
Ben declined, too. “Maybe later, dear,” he told his wife.
“All right, I’ll leave you. I know you have a lot to discuss. If you need anything, just give a shout,” Carolyn said to Ben.
“I will, dear, thank you.” When his wife had gone, Ben turned back to Reverend Lawrence. “She’s taking very good care of me. I’ve never had such service.”
“I can see that,” Isabel replied. “You’re very fortunate. Home care is sometimes the hardest part to figure out when people are recovering from something like this. That’s a big part of the reason I came back to the States. I knew my folks would take care of me while I recuperated after my operation.”
“Yes, you really count your blessings after this type of crisis. You count them and double-count them,” he agreed.
Isabel asked about his operation and how he was feeling. Ben answered as succinctly as he could. He was tired of talking about himself and eager to talk about his church.
“So you met some of the members at the lunch-making meeting, I heard. And had the grand tour.”
“Yes, I did.” Reverend Lawrence nodded. “It’s a beautiful church, and everyone I met was very welcoming.”
“I don’t doubt it. Sorry you’re getting thrown right into the deep end. Your first service is tomorrow,” he pointed out. “But everything is planned: the hymns, the prayers, and any special music. It’s the first Sunday that we light the Advent candles. We choos
e a family every week of Advent to say the prayer and light the candles. Did Tucker mention that to you?”
“He explained everything. I’m going to meet with all the deacons Monday night to plan the rest of the month’s services.”
“Yes, of course.” Ben nodded. “Are you prepared with a sermon? I made some notes for this week, working with the Scripture; just a draft, really. I’d be happy to give them to you,” he offered.
“I’m all set. But thank you,” she said sincerely. “I think it would be hard to deliver someone else’s sermon, even if it was just notes.”
She was frank and straightforward, but her manner didn’t offend. She had a certain way of speaking her mind that was sincere and actually refreshing.
“Well, that’s good then. Sounds as if you’re all set.” Set to take over my church, he thought to himself.
She sat smiling at him calmly, but didn’t answer. Then she said, “Do you think the congregation will find it difficult to have a female minister?”
A good question, he thought, and an honest one. He liked this woman. She cut straight to the chase.
“There will always be a few holdouts, but most will be fine with it,” he predicted. “Though it will be a big change for them. I have no problems with women in the ministry,” he assured her, “but I don’t have much experience with female ministers. Working with them, I mean,” he clarified. Gee, I sound like a grumpy old man. If not grumpy, at least horribly out of date.
“Let’s see, how can I help you?” Isabel asked, her tone calm. “Women ministers are a lot like male ministers,” she began slowly. “But there are a few differences in how we lead a congregation.”
“For instance?” He tried to sound just mildly curious, but was, in fact, a little nervous.
“Well, suppose a female minister were leading her congregation through the wilderness, to the Promised Land—”
“Like Moses,” he cut in.
“Exactly. It wouldn’t take her forty years. She would definitely stop to ask for directions long before that.” She delivered this punch line with a small, playful smile.
Ben had to laugh, even though it hurt a little. “Very good; I never heard that one.” He sighed. “I guess I deserved that.”
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