Anne Tyler - Saint Maybe

“Daphne was only making conversation,” Thomas told Ian, but Ian said, “Yeah, sure,” in a toneless voice, and then he went into the dining room and started clearing the table.

They followed, humble and overeager. They stacked plates and took them to the kitchen, scraped leftovers into smaller containers, collected pots and pans from the stove while Ian ran a sinkful of hot water. He didn’t say a word to them; he seemed to know that all three of them were to blame and not just Daphne.

They couldn’t bear it when Ian was mad at them.

And worse than mad: dejected. All his fine plans come to nothing. Oh, what had they done? He looked so forlorn. He stood at the sink so wearily, swabbing the gravy tureen.

Last month he’d brought home a saltcellar shaped like a robot. When you pressed a button in its back it would start walking on two rigid plastic legs, but they hadn’t realized that and they hadn’t paid it much attention, frankly, when he set it among the supper dishes. He kept asking, “Doesn’t anyone need salt? Who wants salt? Shall I just pass the salt?” Finally Agatha said, “Huh? Oh, fine,” and he pressed the robot’s button and leaned forward, chortling, as it toddled across the table to her. His mouth was perked with glee and his hands were clasped together underneath his chin and he kept darting hopeful glances into their faces, and luckily they’d noticed in time and put on amazed and delighted expressions.

“Dust off the fruitcake, it’s Christmas again,” he always caroled in December, inventing his own tune as he went along, and on Valentine’s Day he left a chocolate heart on each child’s breakfast plate before he went off to work, which tended to make them feel a little sad because really all of them — even Daphne — had reached the stage where nonfamily valentines were the only ones that mattered. In fact there were lots of occasions when they felt sad for him. He seemed slightly out of step, so often — his jokes just missing, his churchy language setting strangers’ eyes on guard, his clothes inappropriately boyish and plain as if he’d been caught in a time warp. The children loved him and winced for him, both. They kept a weather eye out for other people’s reactions to him, and they were constantly prepared to bristle and turn ferocious on his behalf.

One vacation when they were little he took a swim in the ocean and told them to wait on the shore. He swam out beyond the breakers, so far he was only a dot, and the three of them sat down very suddenly on the sand and Daphne started crying. He was leaving them forever and never coming back, it looked like. A man standing ankle-deep told his wife, “That fellow’s gone, ” and Daphne cried harder and the other two grew teary as well. But then Ian turned and swam in again. Soon he was striding out of the surf hitching up his trunks and streaming water and shining in the sun, safely theirs after all, solid and reliable and dear.

He lowered a serving bowl into the sink. He swished it back and forth. Daphne said, “Ian? Want for us to take over now?” but he said, “No, thanks.” The others sent her sympathetic looks. Never mind. He wasn’t the type to carry a grudge. Tomorrow he would view this in a whole new light; he would realize they hadn’t meant to cause any harm.

All they had wanted, he would see, was somebody wonderful enough to deserve him.

When Reverend Emmett had his heart attack, the Church of the Second Chance was forced to manage without him for most of the month of October. The first Sunday a retired Baptist minister, Dr. Benning, gave the sermon, but Dr. Benning had to leave immediately afterward for a bus tour of the Sun Belt and so the second Sunday Sister Nell’s uncle filled in — a nondenominationalist named Reverend Lewis who kept mixing up his “Thy” and his “Thou.” “We beseech Thee to flood Thou blessings upon this Thou congregation,” he intoned, and Ian was reminded of the substitute teachers he’d had in grade school who had always seemed just the slightest bit lacking. The sermon was based on Paul’s first letter to Timothy. Many might not realize, Reverend Lewis said, that it was love of money, and not money alone, that was held to be the root of all evil. Ian, who had never had much money or much love of money either, held back a yawn. All evil? Wasn’t that the phrase to examine?

On the third Sunday not even Reverend Lewis was available and they skipped the sermon altogether. They sang a few hymns and then bowed their heads for a closing prayer delivered in an uncertain voice by Brother Simon. “Dear God,” Brother Simon said, “please give Reverend Emmett back to us as soon as possible.” The fourth Sunday Reverend Emmett returned, gaunter and paler than ever, and preached a message of reassurance. Afterward, while shaking Ian’s hand at the door, he asked if they might have a little talk.

So Ian sent Daphne on home without him and waited at one side, listening to each member inquire after Reverend Emmett’s health. When the last of the congregation had departed he followed Reverend Emmett through the door behind the counter, into what passed for an office. Tangled pipes ran overhead and giant bolt holes marred the floor. In the center of the room stood an antique desk and swivel chair that must have come down from Reverend Emmett’s family, with two blue velvet armchairs facing them. Reverend Emmett gestured Ian into one armchair but he himself remained on his feet, distractedly running a hand through his hair. As usual, he wore a white shirt without a tie and skinny black trousers. Ian guessed he must be in his mid-forties by now or maybe even older, but he still had that awkward, amateurish air about him, and his Adam’s apple jutted above his collar like a half-grown boy’s.

“Brother Ian,” he said, “while I was in the hospital I did some serious thinking. It’s unusual to have a heart attack at my age. It doesn’t bode well for the future. I’ve been thinking I should face the fact that I’m not going to live forever.”

Ian opened his mouth to protest, but Reverend Emmett raised a palm. “Oh,” he said, “I don’t plan on dying tomorrow or anything like that. Still, this kind of thing makes you realize. It’s time we discussed my replacement.”

“Replacement?” Ian asked.

“Someone who’ll take over the church when I’m gone. Someone who might help out before I’m gone, even. Ease my workload.”

Ian said, “But—”

But you ARE the church , he wanted to say. Only that sounded blasphemous, and would have distressed Reverend Emmett.

“I believe you ought to start training for the ministry,” Reverend Emmett told him.

Ian wondered if he’d heard right.

“You know our congregation is fairly uneducated, by and large,” Reverend Emmett said, finally sitting in the other armchair. “I think most of them would feel the job was beyond them. And yet we do want someone who’s familiar with our ways.”

“But I’m not educated either,” Ian said. “I’ve had one semester of college.”

“Well, the good thing about this heart attack is, it serves as advance warning. It gives us a chance to get you trained. I realize you might not want to follow my own route — university and such. I was younger and had more time. You’re what, thirty-four? Still, Lawrence Bible School, down in Richmond—”

“Richmond! I can’t go to Richmond!”

“Why not?”

“I have responsibilities here!”

“But surely those are just about finished now, aren’t they?” Reverend Emmett asked. “Shouldn’t you be thinking ahead now?”

Ian sat forward, clamping his knees. “Reverend Emmett,” he said, “Daphne at sixteen is more trouble than all three of them were at any other age. Do you know her principal has me picking her up at school every day? I have to take off work and pick her up and drive her home in person. And it has to be me, not my father, because it turns out my father believes anything she tells him. Both my parents: they’re so far behind the times, they just don’t fully comprehend what modern kids can get into. You honestly suppose I could leave her with them and head off to Richmond?”