The Guest Book by Marybeth Whalen Page A

of her, making dusty smudges on the gleaming polished wood of the pew in front of them until her mom made her stop. She could see her dad sitting tall and proud, his attention tuned to the minister as though he were divulging the secrets of world peace and not just another sermon in a tiny beachside church. What had he been listening to allthose years ago? Perhaps it was something Macy needed to hear today.
    She crossed her arms in front of her and looked at Max on the other side of their mother. He looked about as happy to be there today as he did when he was fifteen. He stuck his tongue out at her, and she giggled just as the choir finished singing, her laughter too loud in the suddenly quiet church. Brenda reached over and laid her hand on Macy’s leg, a signal to behave. Macy knew it well. She put her hand over her mouth and tried to regain her composure even though she was well aware of Max waiting to egg her on. Not much had changed.
    She thought about Emma tucked away in Sunday school, eating cookies and making crafts. Emma had held onto Macy’s hand and begged her not to go when she’d been dropped off.
    “Please, please, stay with me, Mommy,” she had pleaded, her eyes wide.
    Now, as Macy watched the man who’d prayed take his seat and the congregation wait for the pastor to begin his sermon, she wished she could’ve stayed with Emma, eating cookies and doing crafts with her.
    Macy half wondered if the church still had the same pastor. She had a clear memory of him droning on and on, time slowing as she sank into the pew. He’d been as old as dirt then. Could he still be preaching? She was relieved to see a much younger man slide into position behind the foreboding pulpit. A much younger and — she was pleased to note — much handsomer man. At least this one would keep her attention, if for the entirely wrong reasons. She decided she could toleratesitting through his sermon. As he opened his Bible and began to speak, she noticed she was sitting straighter than before. She snuck a look at the front of the church bulletin out of curiosity, and sure enough, found his name.
Pastor Nate Wagner
was printed on the front of the bulletin under a pen-and-ink drawing of the church.
    Hello, Pastor Nate
, Macy thought, and bit back a smile when his eyes fell on her, almost as if he’d read her mind. She felt her cheeks warm as a blush crept across her face.
    Resolving to be serious and actually pay attention, Macy focused on Pastor Nate’s message. His sermon was on living with purpose, embracing one’s calling. The pastor talked about the parable of the talents and how one man buried the talents he’d been given while the other two men invested theirs and made more. The man who buried his — while trying to play it safe —was the one who was chastised by his master when he returned. Playing it safe, it turned out, wasn’t the way to go when dealing with the blessings given by God.
    Macy thought about her art and how she’d spent too long painting store windows and store signs, too afraid to put herself out there and try anything else. She’d buried her talents, played it safe, too scared to ask for more. She swallowed hard and was so lost in thought that when the sermon ended and the service was over, her mother had to nudge her to stand up and exit the pew.
    They filed out the back of the church, which it turned out, included walking past the young pastor. Buzz was there, smiling at him and clapping him on the back. Macy didn’t remember Buzz ever darkening the doorway of a church. If anything,she recalled heated discussions between her father and Buzz about faith. God was one of the few things her dad and Buzz had not shared an interest in. So what was he doing at church?
    She watched as he gripped another parishioner’s hand with his right hand, covering both of their hands with his left. Out of habit, Macy noticed he didn’t wear a wedding ring.
    Pastor Nate looked over and caught Macy’s eye for a