Once Was Lost Read Online Free PDF Page B

different—he’s young, and the average age of our church membership is a lot lower than the other churches’, and ours is the only congregation that’s growing instead of dying. So Dad is Mr. Popular here at the Lodge, and he always turns on the charm.
    “That’s right, Bill,” Dad says now to Pastor Egan, clapping him on the shoulders. “Bringing in the sheaves. That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”
    Har har har.
    I take the seat next to Daniel and say hi to his parents while Dad makes the final rounds of the deck.
    “Samantha,” Mr. Mackenzie says, taking a gulp from his coffee mug. He’s already red and sweaty, even with the misters. “How’s every little thing?”
    My name isn’t Samantha, but I’ve corrected him so many times it’s getting embarrassing. “Fine.”
    Eventually, Dad makes it to our table and we order. I can tell Daniel’s mom wants to ask about my mom: where is she, how is she, when will they be seeing her again. She doesn’t, though. That’s how you can tell people know something they aren’t sure they’re supposed to know, and how they know something is wrong. If they really had no clue about Mom’s problems, they’d ask. Also, they would look at me, which Daniel’s mother doesn’t do.
    “Danny Boy,” Mr. Mackenzie says after we order, “tell Sam and Pastor Charlie all about your experience in Mexico.”
    “Sam’s already been forced to sit through all that in youth group,” Daniel says.
    I look at him. “You didn’t really say anything.”
    “He didn’t? Tell Pastor Charlie,” his mom urges. “Tell him… you know… what happened.”
    “Mom. It’s kind of personal.”
    I keep staring at him. What could be so personal he won’t say it in front of me ?
    His dad laughs and reaches across the table to grab Daniel’s forearm and give it a jiggle. “It’s Pastor Charlie. If you can’t tell him, who can you tell?”
    Dad smiles and says in his I’m-a-hip-grown-up-not-like-the-others voice, “You don’t have to tell me, Dan. Or, we can talk about it later.”
    Daniel picks up his glass of water. There are giant sweat spots under his armpits. I try to think of a way to rescue him from this conversation, whatever it’s about, but I don’t try that hard because I’m just glad we’re not talking about us.
    “It’s no big deal,” Daniel says, “it’s just—”
    “No big deal?” his mom says softly.
    Now I really want to know. “What?”
    Daniel opens his mouth to speak but his dad interrupts. “Danny got a call while he was in Mexico,” he says, looking at my dad, proud. “From the Lord.”
    “I’m thinking about maybe,” Daniel glances at me, almost apologetic, “becoming a pastor. Maybe.”
    “Oh.” I can’t believe he didn’t say anything to me.
    “Hey,” Dad says, “that’s great.”
    “What’s this ‘maybe’ business? You told us it was a calling, clear as day. There’s no maybe in a calling.” Mr. Mackenzie looks at my dad. “Right, Pastor Charlie?”
    The food comes just as Dad is about to answer. Eggs and ham and hash browns for Daniel and his dad, pancakes for me, a poached egg on dry toast for Daniel’s mom, who’s always on a diet, and the French toast special for Dad. If Mom were here she’d get the two-egg breakfast with sausage, and toast with lots of butter. After a big greasy breakfast and three drinks and the relief of church being over, she’d be in her best mood of the week. Sometimes she’d get out a pen and start making lists on a stray piece of paper from her purse, or on the back of a church bulletin. Lists of things she planned to accomplish that week, like organize the garage or return phone calls. Lists of things that never actually got done.
    I wonder if she were here now, what she’d say to Daniel’s plans for following in my father’s footsteps.
    Dad positions his fork and knife over his food and then looks right at Daniel. I know he’s about to make his pronouncement about Daniel’s