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She bends and picks up a shell, and turns it over in her fingers, examining the colors. Then she says, “Are you religious?”
I suppose it’s a natural question considering my father is a deacon and the chaplain at the school he helps to run. “It’s not an easy question to answer,” I reply. “I don’t go to church anymore.”
“Because of what happened to Elora?”
Her astuteness surprises me. “Yeah. Dad had always implied that if you were a good person, good things happened to you. Her assault shocked all of us, including him. It made us all question our faith. Dad went away to a retreat for a while afterward, and whatever he learned there helped him to come to an uneasy truce with his religion. I’m not sure about Mum—she still goes to church, although her own illness has further shaken her beliefs.” Hallie knows about Mum’s breast cancer. She’s recovering well, but it was touch and go for a while.
“Is your dad disappointed that none of you go to church anymore?” she asks.
“Yes, but he understands. Before Elora’s assault, he would have been very vocal in his disapproval. He was much moreoutspoken about his beliefs when we were younger. More prescriptive about our behavior and more… evangelical, I guess. Our lives revolved around the church and the teachings of the Bible. I can’t really complain—we had a happy, healthy childhood, and I don’t think it’s a bad thing to grow up with a strong ethical code. But I don’t like that it removes the ability for children to make their own decisions about their beliefs.”
“Oh…” she says softly. “That’s why you reacted the way you did when I told you about Ian.”
“How did I react?”
“Your expression when you described his religious group as ‘a cult’. I could feel your disapproval.”
I hadn’t been aware of that, but it makes sense.
“You’re a Libertarian?” she asks.
“More a champion of free will,” I reply.
She smiles. “That’s very poetic.”
“That’s me in a nutshell.”
She laughs.
“What about you?” I ask. “Are you religious?”
Her smile fades. “Nope.” Her statement is flat and unequivocal. “That all went out the window when I was eight,” she says.
“Hallie, was the letter you received the other day from your father?”
She doesn’t reply, but instead looks out to sea. That in itself suggests I was right.
I stay silent, letting her think about what to say. The water washes over my feet, warm and soothing. I bend and pick up a stone and skim it across the surface six or seven times.
“I’ve never been able to do that,” she says.
“Come here,” I say. “I’ll show you.” I fetch another flat, smooth stone, and I stand behind her and pick up her hand. Iplace the stone in it, then turn her side on. “It’s all in the wrist,” I say.
“No wonder you’re an expert then.”
I laugh and show her the motion she needs to follow. “Think about the stone spinning as it leaves your fingers.”
She doesn’t reply, but she turns her head a little, her eyes lowered, as if she’s thinking about where we’re touching. I look down, seeing her tucked against my chest. I can smell her shampoo and her light perfume. Her flushed cheek is only an inch from my lips. I could kiss it if I wanted.
I clear my throat. “Go on, have a go.”
She throws the stone from the side, like a guy. It only bounces twice before sinking beneath the waves, but she gives a delighted laugh. “Another first!” She looks over her shoulder and flashes me a smile before continuing along the water’s edge.
I join her, assuming she’s not going to reply to my question, but to my surprise she says, “Yes, it was. From my father, I mean.”
“Is he a prison warder?”
She sighs. “No. An inmate. At Rimutaka Prison.”