“What are you doing here?” I asked him incredulously as he walked our way.
“I came to see you. To see how you’re doing.” Trevor’s attention shifted to the two agents flanking me, no doubt wondering who they might be.
“I told you not to come,” I said.
“I know.”
Realizing that I should probably introduce the men to each other, I pointed to the agents one at a time. “Trevor, this is Agent Vernon and Agent Carlisle from the National Counterterrorism Bureau. They’re looking into the bombing yesterday.” Then I gestured toward Trevor and told them, “This is my brother. You three should get together to talk. Trevor will probably be a lot more of a help to you than I ever could. He’s vice president of Terabyne’s Global Security Division.”
“Really?” Agent Vernon said with keen interest. “It’s good to meet you.”
They shook hands.
Then Trevor looked at Jordan. “Hello, Jordan.”
“Hello, Trevor.”
At first, I was a bit surprised that Jordan knew Trevor’s name, but then I realized I’d already used it several times. Also, Trevor had bought him for me. It was even possible that they’d met before today.
I asked the agents if I could have a moment alone with my brother. “We’ll be right back.”
The two of us stepped aside. For a second it looked like Jordan was trying to figure out his place, if he should join me or stay with the two agents. In the end, he remained with them, and once Trevor and I were alone, I began, “Listen, I—”
“Wait. Before you say anything, I just . . . I needed to . . . I’ll leave right now if you want. Are those men hassling you?”
“They’re just searching for the truth about what happened,” I said. “Why are you here? I was clear with you when we spoke yesterday that I didn’t want you to come.”
“I had to fly in anyway to work with the team here in investigating yesterday’s attack.”
That much might have been true, but it didn’t explain why he’d come to meet me at the graveyard.
“You shouldn’t have come here.”
“After all this time, that’s it? You’re not glad to see me? Even a little?”
I almost found myself saying, “Why would I be glad to see you?” but thankfully I managed to hold back.
“The last time we were together,” I said, “you were making fun of my beliefs, mocking me for being a Christian.”
“That’s how you remember it?”
“That’s how it was.”
Rather than dispute that, he replied, “We both said things we shouldn’t have.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
“Your faith isn’t any of my business,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said those things.” But then he added, “And my beliefs aren’t any of your business. Don’t try to change my views or convert me. I’m not interested in religion—yours or anyone else’s.”
As a pastor I realized I should probably hold back, but as a sister I felt compelled to press things a little. “Let me just ask you one question, then, Trevor.”
“What’s that?”
“What would it take for you to believe in God? I mean—”
“Really? After what I just said?”
“I’m just wondering. And then I’ll let it drop. I’m just—”
“For him to apologize for all the needless pain he allows. We can start with that. And then, for him to somehow make it right—although I can’t think of any way that could ever happen.”
“So. The problem of pain. The presence of evil.”
“If he cares for us, why doesn’t he stop our suffering? Leukemia? Alzheimer’s? Smallpox? Are you kidding me? These are examples of God’s goodness? And if he doesn’t care for us, why would you even dream of calling him good?”
I believed that God did care, but that his ways were inscrutable, that he was sovereign, and that through Christ he had entered our world to redeem us and to make all things new—or at least I told myself I believed these things.
“Look,” Trevor said, “I didn’t come here to argue with you. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Pushing him away right now wasn’t going to help anything—and neither would digging in and disagreeing more with him. It wasn’t what Mom and Dad would’ve wanted—and I couldn’t imagine that it was what the Lord whom I claimed to serve would have wanted either.
“Now isn’t good,” I told Trevor. “But yes, we should catch up. Maybe we could talk tomorrow?”
“I have meetings all day and then I fly back to Seattle in the evening. What about dinner tonight?”
I couldn’t think of any good reason to say no. “Alright.”
We returned to Jordan and the two NCB agents.
Special Agent Vernon, who appeared to be the one calling the shots, said to Agent Carlisle, “Why don’t you go with Trevor and have him fill you in on what he knows and what his division has uncovered so far.”
Agent Carlisle eyed Jordan one more time and then said, “Of course, sir.”
Trevor turned to me. “Just let me know a time and a place for dinner and I’ll be there.”
“Okay.”
And with that, he left with Agent Carlisle.
Agent Vernon watched them return to the parking area. “You’ll have to forgive my partner,” he said. “He’s . . . well . . . enthusiastic about his work, but not exactly the best people person. Anyway, I’m sorry we came here today like this. I know the timing is horrible.” He sighed. “Besides, I never did like doing interviews with two agents present—makes people feel ganged up on. And that’s not what you want when you’re trying to gain their trust and have them open up to you.”
I wasn’t exactly sure what to say to that. “Okay.”
My attention shifted to a young boy, maybe five or six years old, who was outside the chapel with the people who’d arrived for the other viewing Rector Arch had mentioned. The child left the side of a woman who’d been holding his hand and wandered down the scrubby grass toward the river. The woman, who I guessed was his mother, was deep in a conversation with the lady next to her and didn’t notice that her son was no longer beside her.
“Reverend Hathaway,” Agent Vernon began, but I’ve never been one for titles so I stopped him. “Please, just call me Kestrel.” I was still watching the boy.
“Alright, Kestrel. I read your blogs.”
I eyed him then. “My blogs.”
“The postings. From when you were younger.”
“My parents had just died.”
“Had just been killed,” he specified empathetically. “I read the files. I’m terribly sorry about what happened to them. I can understand the reason you expressed those views.”
“What do you want from me, Agent Vernon?”
“We’re just looking for justice here. Are you still in touch with the people who posted your blog entries?”
“No.” It was true that we weren’t in touch, but there were channels of communication that still existed, ones I hadn’t tapped into in years, but also ones I didn’t really want to bring up at the moment. I said, “Do you think I’m a Purist? Is that why you’re here?”
“Are you?”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“No. I’m not a Purist.”
He studied my face. “Okay.”
I waited. “What? That’s it? You believe me?”
“I’m pretty good at reading people. Again, let me reiterate, I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just searching for the people behind this. If you think of anything else, or of any way I might be able to contact the ones who put those blog posts onto the Feeds, will you reach out to me?” He held up his forefinger and, as he gave me a data transfer with his contact information, I caught sight of the boy again.
He’d walked out onto the pier, and now I was no longer focused on Agent Vernon or his investigation. The child was alone and that pier wasn’t something I would trust anyone to be standing on. “Wait!” I called to him. “Come back!”
I wasn’t close enough to stop him and I knew I wouldn’t be fast enough to keep him from venturing farther out, but Jordan would have the speed to get there in time.
I faced him. “Go and help him.”
“Help him?”
“The boy on the pier. Get him back to land.”
Jordan moved with swift resolve, sprinting across the dried grass, but the child was quicker than I’d imagined and Jordan made it to the pier just as the boy reached the far end of it.
Seeing what was happening, Agent Vernon took off for the pier as well.
The boy turned and looked at Jordan and then at me as I hastened toward the two of them.
“Come back with my friend!” I shouted to him, and he reached out his hand as though he might do as I’d asked, but he didn’t move toward Jordan.
If only he had.
Maybe he was startled, maybe he saw Agent Vernon rushing toward him and got scared, or maybe he was simply careless, but for whatever reason, he took a step backward rather than forward, lost his footing, and tumbled off the pier, plummeting into the rapidly churning, dun-colored water.