“I’ve heard that,” Isabel replied.
“Well, everybody’s got to have something going on for them with that many chances,” he reasoned. “Maybe you stink at math, but you have musical intelligence. Or you’re a good writer, or have, like, social intelligence.”
“Being good with people, you mean?”
“Yeah, that’s right. That counts, too, you know,” he said very seriously.
“I believe it does. At least in my line of work,” she agreed, trying not to smile. “How do you know all this about these different types of intelligence?”
“My parents had me tested in grade school. They thought I was some kind of baby genius or something.”
“Were you?” Isabel could almost see that. Her guess was that Max was highly intelligent but a classic underachiever.
“Maybe,” he said. “Luckily, I grew out of it.”
“I see,” she said, sipping her coffee. “But a person could be good at math and good with people, too. Don’t you think?”
He shrugged, licking some muffin crumbs off his fingers. “Yeah, sure you could. You don’t have to be a professional geek, like my father.”
Isabel thought Jacob Ferguson was far from a geek. But she didn’t share that impression with his son.
“I think your father is very intelligent, but I don’t think he lacks social skills. Just because a person is smart, does that mean they can’t be cool?”
Max laughed. “I guess you could be really smart and cool . . . but I don’t know many kids who are.”
“You are, Max. I can see that you’re highly intelligent and have many other fine qualities, too. And you’re very cool.”
He looked embarrassed by her compliments. “Even though I broke in and messed up the church?”
“That wasn’t cool, no. Maybe in spite of that,” she added. “Everyone makes mistakes, even really smart people. The important thing is to try to learn from them, to use a misstep as a stepping-stone to become a better version of yourself.”
He didn’t answer, just sighed and stared down at his sneakers. She was losing him. And it had been going so well for a while there. Some progress, that’s what counts, she reminded herself.
“Do you want me to help you look for Carl? I think he’s down in the basement checking the furnace. Something’s off with the heating system today,” she told him.
“I can find him,” Max answered. “Thanks for breakfast.”
That was your breakfast? A growing boy needs much more than half a muffin to start the day, she wanted to rail at him. But she heroically held her tongue.
Meanwhile, he brushed off his hands on his napkin, wadded it up, and tossed it at the wastebasket as if it were a midcourt shot. They both watched it arc up in the air and drop in.
“Three points,” Isabel observed. “No net.”
Max laughed.
“I have three older brothers,” she explained. “If it bounced, rolled, or skid on ice, we played with it.”
He stared at her a moment. “Cool,” he said shortly.
“Yeah, it was.” She smiled and sighed, remembering for a moment. She missed her brothers, especially Danny, who was a year older. They had the same coloring and had often been mistaken for twins growing up. “I got an e-mail from one of my brothers this morning. If you think it’s cold and snowy here, he’s got thirty-nine inches of snow already, and it’s only ten degrees.”
“Whoa, that’s gruesome. Sounds like he lives in Siberia or something.”
“No, just North Dakota,” Isabel answered.
“Is that where you’re from?” Max asked.
“I grew up in Minnesota. But it’s not that far away.”
“I know where it is. One of those big square states in the middle of the map,” Max said.
Isabel smiled at his description. “Yup, that’s right. One of the big square ones.”
As he left her office with a lanky, loping stride, she suddenly realized that so far, he had not apologized. He did seem to understand better now what he had done, the way he’d violated and disrespected the congregation at this church. But he had never said he was sorry—and Isabel had never asked. She knew that if she did, he might say he was sorry just to placate her. She wanted it to come from him, from his heart, if he was to learn anything from working here.
A FEW HOURS LATER, ISABEL WAS JUST LEAVING THE CHURCH TO WALK into town for lunch when she found Max standing out in front of the church with his backpack and skateboard. The weather had taken a sudden warm turn; the temperature had to be near the forties, she guessed.
“Done for the day?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’ve been dismissed. Carl’s got to work on the furnace and said he didn’t need me anymore.”
“It’s such a nice day, I hope you get out and enjoy the weather a little before you have to study.”
“Tell me about it. My friends want me to hang with them.” He looked across the green, and Isabel noticed two boys with skateboards sitting on a park bench. “But I have to wait for my dad. Oh . . . here he comes. In his mean, green driving machine,” he added in an extra-sardonic voice. “Professor Ferguson, one man saving the environment. I swear, that car is tragic.”
Before Isabel could respond, Jacob pulled up to the curb in a white Prius. To her surprise, Jacob parked the car and got out, smiling as he walked toward them.
“Hello, Professor Ferguson. How are you today?”
“I’m fine. Please, call me Jacob. Max and I are going to grab some lunch before he hits the books today. Would you like to join us?”
Isabel was surprised by the invitation, but didn’t see any reason to refuse.
“Thanks, I’d like that,” she said. “Would you like to walk into town? This weather is a real treat after all the cold and snow.”
“Fine with me. I like to walk whenever I’m able—”
“It’s better for your health and for the planet,” Max cut in, clearly having heard that before.
“It definitely is,” Isabel agreed. “And it’s better for your mind and spirit, too.”
“That’s exactly how I feel about riding my board,” Max said. “Can I hang out with my friends while you guys have lunch, Dad?” Max glanced at the boys who were still on the bench. “They’ve, like, texted me a million times.”
Jacob looked concerned at the question. Isabel noticed him squint as he checked out the two waiting teenagers.
“Who is that? I see Chris, but who’s that other boy?”
“It’s Tom Dooley. From my old soccer team, remember?”
“Oh, sure. I remember him. All right, you can go. But don’t go far, and keep your phone on. Meet me back here in an hour. Got it?”
Max nodded. “Totally. See you later.”
“And wear your helmet. Or I’ll take you home to study right now.”
“All right . . .” Max looked annoyed but took his helmet out of his backpack and stuck it on his head. “But I’d really like a turkey BLT—or two. And some fries?” he called over his shoulder.
“All right, I’ll get it for you,” his father said. “One hour, okay?”
Max nodded and waved as he jumped on his board and scooted away. Isabel stood alongside Jacob a moment and watched. Then they turned and began walking down a path in the opposite direction.
“He has finals this week. I hope he remembers that he has to study,” Jacob said.
“He told me he has a test tomorrow. He did seem aware that he has to do some work later,” Isabel said on Max’s behalf. “He might concentrate better after he gets some air and exercise,” she pointed out.
“Like a golden retriever, you mean?” he joked, turning to her with a grin.
“Exactly,” she agreed. Jacob looked much different when he smiled. It lit up his whole face.
“Well, where would you like to eat?” he asked once they were headed toward the village.
“I’m new here; I don’t have any preferences. I’ll leave it up to you,” she said.
“Oh
, big decision . . . let’s see. Have you tried the Clam Box yet?”
“Not yet. Though people tell me it’s an important Cape Light experience.”
“It definitely is. You can’t really say you’ve visited this place unless you’ve eaten there at least once.”
“Sounds like I’m falling behind. I’d better give it a try.”
“Yes, you’d better. How long have you been here, Reverend? How do you like the town so far?”
“Let’s see . . . only two weeks, but it feels like longer. In a good way, I mean,” she added quickly. “A lot has happened at the church.”
“Max told me that Reverend Lewis has decided to retire.”
“He told you that?” Isabel was surprised. She didn’t think Max paid any attention to what was happening at the church, though he did hear a lot of news. Carl probably mentioned Reverend Lewis. He was still upset about the minister’s retirement.
“Oh yes. He’s brimming with stories when he gets home. He finds it all very interesting. He likes you,” Jacob added. “He likes talking to you.”
Isabel smiled ruefully. “You’d hardly know it if you overheard our conversations. I feel as if I’m doing all the talking most of the time.”
“He can be pretty spare with his words,” his father agreed with a sly smile. “But he’s listening. And I think he likes that you care so much and try so hard. He can see that. It makes a difference.” He paused and glanced at her. “I like that, too.”
“I do care. That’s why I didn’t want to go the usual route with this situation.”
“I appreciate that. I know I thanked you before, but I wanted to tell you that again,” he said. “When you first suggested that Max work at the church instead of going through the police, I was so relieved, I didn’t think to question it. But later, I doubted it would do any good. I didn’t think it would make any difference to him. In fact, I expected to have a lot of trouble getting him over here. But it just goes to show I don’t know everything, do I?”
“Nobody does,” she replied. “We just think we do.”
He laughed. “Very true.”
She liked people who could so easily admit they were wrong and even laugh at themselves. Especially a man who could. “I’m glad you were wrong, if you don’t mind my saying so,” she added.
“No, I don’t mind. Not about this.”
They reached the Clam Box. Isabel tilted her head to look up at the old-fashioned neon sign. A hand-printed sign in the window read BOXED LUNCHES TO GO. TRY OUR FAMOUS CLAM ROLLS.
“Are the clam rolls really famous?” she asked.
“Absolutely . . . for at least a half-mile radius from where we stand,” he joked.
They went inside and a teenage waitress showed them to a table and gave them menus. Isabel glanced around and recognized a few faces. Tucker Tulley, Sam Morgan, and another man were eating at the counter, and she knew the diner owner, Charlie Bates, who was also a member of the church.
“Something the matter?” Jacob asked.
“Nothing at all. This is such a small town, I see church members everywhere I go. I guess I didn’t expect that.”
“Were you at another church in New England before you came here?”
“I was doing mission work in the Caribbean. I came back for a few reasons. I’m here in Cape Light temporarily, because of Reverend Lewis’s illness. Now that he’s announced he’s retiring, it changes things.”
“How do you mean?” he asked curiously.
“Well, I only came here to have something to do while I was waiting to find a new position in another mission, in Central America probably. I’ve applied to a few places down there. Now it seems as if the church members are looking at me differently, as if I’m auditioning for the job of their full-time pastor.”
“Maybe people know a good thing when they see it.”
“That’s nice of you to say. I guess I find their attention flattering, to a point,” Isabel admitted. “But even if the congregation decided that they want me as their new pastor, I’m not sure I’d accept.”
He seemed surprised. “Any particular reason why not? Is the winter too rough for you already? We aren’t even done with December.”
“Snow doesn’t bother me. I grew up in Minnesota,” she told him. “I’m just not sure my talents as a minister are best suited to this congregation. Though there is need everywhere,” she acknowledged. “Sometimes the places that seem so pleasant on the surface need good pastors the most.”
“What was it like working at a church in the Caribbean?”
“I was in Haiti. We worked with the community to put up houses and schools and freshwater systems, medical clinics, too. To improve the standard of living where we were able. It was very hands-on service.”
“That sounds like difficult work. This must be a huge change for you.”
“It is. But I’m starting to see that in some ways, the mission work was easier. Oh, life was hard and you had to give up every possible convenience. But the work you needed to do was very . . . obvious. Up here, back in civilization, well, situations aren’t so obvious, and it gets more complicated.”
He was listening with interest, but she wasn’t sure he really understood what she was trying to say.
“I think it’s all complicated,” he said finally. “I’m not religious. I wasn’t raised that way. I can see that people like you often do a lot of good in the world, and I admire that. Like helping my son, for instance, when you really didn’t have to. But let’s just say I see you as someone with good values, making an ethical choice. I don’t believe in anything beyond that.”
Isabel smiled. “You’re telling me that people can essentially do what I do without any need for God to come into the picture?”
“I suppose I am,” Jacob admitted.
“And I’d suggest,” she said gently, “that it’s a matter of perspective. Perhaps they make similar ethical choices and don’t see God being part of it, but that doesn’t mean He isn’t there.”
The waitress brought their order, clam rolls for both of them. The interruption was welcome, Isabel realized, since she was suddenly sitting in the theological hot seat. How did this happen?
“I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean to start a philosophical debate, Reverend,” Jacob said, once the waitress had left. “Why are you smiling? Did I just say something funny?”
“Not really. I was just thinking that when God said, ‘There’s no such thing as free lunch,’ He really meant it. That’s not in the Bible, by the way.” Isabel surveyed her plate. She dabbed at a bit of the sauce that had come on the side of the roll and tried to figure out how to politely attack it. “And you can call me Isabel. Reverend sounds so formal.”
“Well, I may be a nonbelieving mathematician, Isabel, but I do know that God didn’t have much to say about free lunches.” He was smiling in spite of himself now. “But I didn’t realize true believers could be so—”
“Flip? Irreverent? That’s something most nonbelievers don’t realize. God has a terrific sense of humor. I thought we were just going to talk about Max, and maybe the clam rolls. Now here we are, in the thick of it. But let me ask you this,” she continued, diving in with both feet now. “Do you believe in some power greater than yourself—in something going on in the universe beyond what’s apparent to our senses?”
His expression was thoughtful. He was taking this conversation seriously. “Something . . . or someone?” he asked finally.
“I’m not talking about an old man in the sky with a long beard, if that’s what you mean. I think our minds are too limited to truly understand or imagine God. But I see God everywhere, in a blade of grass, a baby’s smile, in your son’s expression when he’s riding his skateboard. As Whitman said, ‘In the faces of men and women I see God.’ I know you’re a mathematician,” she added, “but even Einstein believed.”
“Yes, he did, in his way,” Jacob acknowledged. “And I respect his right to hold that opinion. The same as I respect yours, or anyo
ne’s. My wife belonged to a church and was a great believer. She was the sweetest, finest person I ever knew. But what I can’t figure out is: If there is a God, why did He have to make her die? It doesn’t seem fair, and it doesn’t make sense if you want to believe in some all-powerful source of goodness, watching over us.”
It didn’t make sense if you put it that way, Isabel had to agree. Jacob had put her in a difficult spot. As she gathered her thoughts to reply, he suddenly continued.
“Don’t worry. You don’t have to try to explain anything to me. I’m asking a purely rhetorical question. You don’t have to say, ‘It’s not our place to understand. God is mysterious, beyond our understanding.’ Or ‘She’s gone to a better place. We should be happy for her. It’s harder for the ones left behind’ and all that claptrap. My wife believed that,” he added quickly. “I guess it was some comfort to her at the end.”
“But not to you,” Isabel guessed.
“Not one bit.” Jacob shook his head, seeming annoyed with himself. “I’m sorry for speaking out. I know you can’t answer all these heavy questions, especially not over a few bites of lunch. How did we get on this subject, anyway?”
“I don’t know . . . but I do understand, in my own way,” Isabel replied. “I lost my husband five years ago. He had lung cancer and died very quickly. Despite my faith, there was pain. Great pain. There is no escape from that. Even for believers.”
He looked surprised by her reply, and a little embarrassed. “I’m truly sorry for your loss . . . and I apologize for my assumptions,” he said. “I feel very foolish now. Please forgive me for being so . . . so blundering.”
Isabel met his gaze a moment. He had very warm brown eyes, and when he smiled, his mouth turned down at the corners, she noticed. He had a sharp, quick mind. She enjoyed talking to him, especially the intellectual sparring. But she thought for now it was best to change the subject, which had touched raw nerves on both sides of the table, it seemed.
If she ever spent more time with him, they would probably get around to this topic again. It did seem to be something he wondered about, though he claimed his mind was made up on the question.
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