Her voice trailed off as the three of them stepped out into the corridor.
“She speaks very fast,” said Ivo.
Pearse and Petra both laughed softly. “Yes, she does, Ivi,” said Petra. “Yes, she does.”
Epilogue
Brewster, Massachusetts
The sun hovered on the horizon, more yellow than orange, dipping ever faster into the perfectly still bay. No wind on the beach, the heat gentler than an hour ago, every breath suffused with the taste of salt. Late September on the Cape, the days grasping desperately at what no longer was theirs.
Pearse stared out, the easy rhythm of the tide lapping at his feet. Three weeks home, and he was only now beginning to have a sense of where he was.
Blaney had been right. The papacy had gone to Peretti a week after the first news stories. Special circumstances. The novemdieles had been cut to six days, eight cardinals and a healthy dose of bishops called on to convene the conclave. They’d elected him on the first ballot.
More interesting, though, was the piece of scripture-“The Book of Q,” according to the scholars-that Peretti had been so instrumental in saving from the clutches of the so-called conspirators. Guarded more closely than the Dead Sea Scrolls, Q was helping people to regain focus in the still-raw aftermath of the bombings. Angeli was making the news, always fun to see. And important people were beginning to sit around tables. A first step. It would be some time, though, before a sense of normalcy-whatever that meant-might return.
There were positive signs, though. A group of Methodist ministers in the States was claiming that the Vatican was hoarding Q for itself-rumors of Catholic scholars having pieced much of it together for their own purposes. The internal bickering had started.
There was hope after all.
And, of course, no mention of the Manichaeans.
A splash of water hit him in the back of his head. Pearse turned to find Ivo, his little hands pulled up to his mouth, a look of anticipated retaliation in his eyes. It was only in the last few days that he’d begun to act more like himself, Salko’s death still so close.
“Uh-oh, Ivi,” said Pearse, “I think it’s beginning to rain.”
Another burst of laughter, a quick run to the water’s edge, then back. “It wasn’t rain! It wasn’t rain!”
“Hmm.” Pearse nodded seriously. “Then what could-”
He didn’t have a chance to finish as a bucketful of water streamed down onto his head. Chilled for an instant, Pearse jumped to his feet, Petra quickly retreating out of arm’s reach.
Howls of laughter as Ivo ran to her side. “We got you! We got you!” he screamed.
Pearse bent over, hands on his knees, eyeing his prey. A mischievous grin rose on his face.
“I think we made him crazy, Ivi,” she said.
Ivo’s eyes went wide as he ducked in behind Petra. “It was Mommy who did it.” He laughed. “Mommy dumped the water. Not me. Mommy.”
Pearse began to move toward them. More shrieks of laughter from Ivo as he and Petra slunk backward. She, too, was laughing. Pearse was within striking distance, when Ivo bolted away. Pearse looked at her, the smile so inviting. He then darted after Ivo, more howls and shrieks until Pearse caught him and picked him up, charging wildly into the water.
“No!” Ivo screamed in laughter.
Deep enough out, Pearse tossed him in the air, waiting to see the doused little face reappear.
“Do that again,” Ivo chortled after he’d wiped the water from his eyes.
“Time to get Mommy,” said Pearse. He turned and began charging out of the water. The look on Petra’s face was almost too perfect. A moment of panic, then utter capitulation. Ivo was cheering.
Pearse drew up to her, arms outstretched, ready to hoist her onto his back. Instead, he slowly straightened up and wrapped his arms around her, the heat from her body pressed against his chest.
She held his gaze for a moment, then kissed him.
“You still don’t look like a priest,” she said.
“I’m not anticipating that’s going to be much of a problem anymore.”
She smiled.
“Have you told your family?” she asked.
“They knew the moment I stepped off the plane.” He suddenly picked her up and began to walk toward the water.
“No, Ian. No. Come on. The doctor said I can’t go into the water-”
“Until today. That’s what he said.”
He was up to his knees, Ivo now at his side.
“Boy, you’re going to get it, Mommy.” He giggled.
Pearse whispered in her ear. “Or we could wait for the midnight swim?”
“Yes, we could,” she whispered back.
He gently kissed her, then placed her feet in the water. A moment later, he was after Ivo again.
“So I’m going to get Mommy, am I?”
Ivo howled as he tried to escape. But to no avail.
As one, they fell into the water. Pearse grabbed him and pulled him tightly to his chest. They floated there, heads bobbing together.
Far from insignificant in a seemingly empty sea.