Lauren Grodstein - The Explanation for Everything

Oh Lord, what had he done? Forcing God on these girls—it seemed so absurd, so self-indulgent, except that Belle was smiling broadly. “Yes,” she said. She made eye contact with Andy. She wanted him to be proud. “Very much.”

“And not follow the devil?”

“No, never,” said Belle. And Rachel was shaking her head in agreement. “Never.”

“Then we’re all set,” Pastor Cling said. “You’re ready to be baptized.” Belle turned and smiled at them, then followed Pastor Cling up to the altar. The rest of them followed two steps behind.

Behind the blond-wood pulpit, in a pool of stained-glass light, a table was set with a silver bowl. “Now, in some denominations, the baptism can be a fancy thing, with lots of Latin and fooling around,” said Pastor Cling, “but that’s not how we do things here. Instead, I’m going to say a few words and sprinkle water on your head three times, once for the Father, once for the Son, and once for the Holy Ghost. Just a sprinkle. That okay with you?”

Belle nodded. “I thought I was going to have to dive into a swimming pool. That’s what someone at school had to do.”

“Nah,” Pastor Cling said. “Like I said, we don’t go in for that kind of stuff here at Hollyville.”

He ushered Belle into the pool of light, and gently turned her chin up so that her forehead tilted back. The silver net of her princess gown caught the light and shimmered. The pastor dipped his fingers into the bowl. “You ready, Belle?”

“I’m ready,” she said, and despite his reservations, Andy felt chills.

“I hereby baptize you, Belle Louisa Waite, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.” He sprinkled the water on Belle’s small smooth forehead three times. Her eyes were closed. The water beaded and fell down her face, but she kept her neck tilted, as though looking at the sky.

“And I would like to add, if I may,” Pastor Cling said, his hands now on Belle’s shoulders, “I would like to add that Belle, you are a truly lucky young girl, for you were born to a family that loves you, and you are now part of God’s family too. When you need protection, when you need reassurance, you will always be able to turn to your family, and turn to God. You will never be alone.”

Melissa, beside him, squeezed a tissue into Andy’s hand.

“I know that life has dealt you some unfair blows, and that you must miss your mother something awful. I can only imagine what it is for a young girl to grow up without her mom.”

Andy put his arm around Rachel. Was the water dripping on his daughter’s face baptismal? Tears? He wrapped Melissa’s tissue in his fist. He wanted to dry Belle’s face.

“But if I know anything in the world, I know this. Your mother is with God right now, and she is watching you. She knows that you have been baptized in his name, and she knows that when your long and wonderful life is over, she will take you in her arms again, and that you and she will live together, in eternity, in God’s house.”

Pastor Cling bent down again, so that he could look at Belle squarely. He tipped her face down toward him, and Andy thought he had never seen Belle look so understanding, so wise—so old. “And listen, Belle, there’s something else you should know. This God who loves you is a God of love and kindness and mercy. If you make a mistake in your life—and of course you will, for you’re a human being, a little girl—if and when you make mistakes, know that God loves you anyway. God knows your good heart, Belle. His love is merciful and unconditional.”

Merciful and unconditional.

Andy felt snapped like a rubber band.

Who was this God? Hadn’t Melissa said that God was foremost a God of justice? Isn’t that what he’d asked her, and that’s what she said? Hadn’t she repeated it in his office, God is just? And there she stood in that chapel, beaming at him and his daughter.

Which one was it, Melissa? Justice or mercy?

Pastor Cling touched Belle’s forehead again, and the spot where he touched her glistened. He had anointed her with oil.

Justice or mercy? Justice or mercy? No, no, he told himself—it could not be both.

Belle wasn’t crying, but Andy could feel his own eyes start to prickle, and this worried him. He did not cry in front of his daughters. He hid his eyes behind a tissue.

And who was he crying for, anyway? His daughter? His dead wife? Oliver McGee? Oliver’s mother? Rosenblum? Himself?

“Okay, Belle. Congratulations.” The pastor picked a small square of paper off the table next to the bowl of water, and handed it to Andy. “This is Belle’s baptismal certificate. Keep it in a special place.”

Andy blotted his eyes. “I will,” he said. He shook Pastor Cling’s hand. This God was a merciful God. He wanted to live in God’s image. He wanted God to stay near him, to keep Lou near him. He didn’t want to lose what he had worked so hard to gain. This God understood him. This God took pity on him, on his poor wretched soul.

“And if you ever want to come back—”

“Thank you, Pastor—”

“Please do come back.” The pastor walked them out into the sunshine. “Melissa will tell you, our doors are always open.”

And so, with a hug for Melissa, and a hug for Rachel and Belle, and another handshake for Andy, the pastor retreated back into the church, leaving the four of them on the sidewalk in front of the church where shopping carts used to idle.

“What should we do now?” Rachel asked. “Philadelphia, maybe?”

“Absecon!” Belle said. “I want lobster!”

“You do?” Andy said. The sunlight felt too bright. “Since when do you like lobster?” He shielded his eyes from the sun.

“Ever since we had it at Jeremy’s house,” Belle said.

“You liked that?”

“I loved it! They were so good!”

Rachel let out an annoyed sigh, but Belle was unstoppable. “Please, Dad? You said it was my special day.”

The voices wouldn’t stop. Once upon a time it had only been Lou, but now it was a whole chorus. He had invited God in but instead of hearing God all he heard was this chorus.

Melissa, sitting next to Andy in the front seat, wore the look of disquiet that he imagined was on his own face.

“Are you okay?”

She had said God was just. Rosenblum had said God was to protect us from the dead. From our fear of the dead. Oliver was going to rot in jail. Joyce McGee was losing her only son.

“Come on, Dad, start the car. I want lobster.”

“Dad, what’s wrong with you?”

“But you said . ”

Mechanically, silently, he found his way to the Garden State Parkway, to the exit for Absecon, just across the bay from Atlantic City. He had done nothing wrong. He had done nothing wrong. And yet the guilt was heavy like a stone.

“Keep going,” Melissa murmured, as they passed signs on Route 9 for the beach. He realized that he hadn’t heard her voice the entire drive.

“Where are we going, Dad?”

“To the ocean,” Melissa said, turning around to answer. “After that we can go get lunch.”

Mechanically, silently, he followed the signs. He parked in the empty parking lot by the beach. “What now?” he asked Melissa.

“Get out of the car.”

The sky was brilliant and the air less chilly than it had been in Hollyville, but the breeze brought in a frosty kick of salt. He followed Melissa out of the car, and the girls followed him. When Melissa took off her shoes by the plywood staircase to the beach, the girls and then Andy did too.

“What are we doing, exactly?”

“We’re washing it off,” Melissa said. “We wash it off, we come out clean. We come out new.”

Belle, in her princess dress, surveyed the landscape. Sandpipers hopped back and forth across the shoreline, crossing over and back again the long skatelike track of a horseshoe crab.