Matters of Faith

Table of Contents

 

 

More Praise for
Catching Genius

“With precise and evocative prose, Kristy Kiernan weaves a story of family and history that is as nuanced and finely wrought as it is compelling.
Catching Genius
draws you in with its genuine characters, and it holds you there with its truthful exploration of the enduring bonds of love and family . . . This affecting novel shines a new light on the concept of genius—what it is and what it isn't. And speaking of genius, Kristy Kiernan looks like a debut novelist who will be around for a long time to come.”
—Elizabeth Letts, author of
Family Planning
and
Quality of Care

 
“Kristy Kiernan bursts from the gate with this skillful rendering of a family's reckoning with its painful past. Kiernan peels away the layers in a lilting and luminous voice, exposing strata after strata of family secrets made murkier by the passage of time. Kiernan proves she's a writer to watch—find a comfortable spot, turn off the phone, and lose yourself in this gorgeous debut.”

 
“A warm, moving novel about the power of familial bonds.”

 
“Kristy Kiernan's fluent storytelling and fully-drawn, credible characters make for an affecting novel. With effortless grace, her lyrical prose drops the reader into scenes rich with details and powerful emotions.”
—Tasha Alexander, author of
And Only to Deceive
and
A Poisoned Season

 
“
Catching Genius
is the real thing: a rich, compelling, and deeply nuanced story delivered in language that's as luminous as it is authoritative. To judge by this affecting first novel, I'd say Kiernan's the real thing, too.”
—Jon Clinch, author of
Finn

“
Catching Genius
is the total package; a beautiful story beautifully told. Kristy Kiernan pulls you into a deep and fully realized world; exactly the place a reader wants to be taken.”

 
“In her beautifully written debut novel,
Catching Genius
, Kristy Kiernan portrays the complexity of familial relationships with a depth, candor, and insight that can only be called exceptional.”

 
“Kristy Kiernan deftly captures the complicated relationship between sisters and succeeds in showing the ways families can make us crazy and angry and lost, but ultimately, how families can and do save us. With her fine eye for detail and obvious love of the beach, math, and music, Kiernan draws the reader into a family and lets us revel in a summer that reconciles the pain of their past and provides a glimpse of their hopeful future.”
—Judy Merrill Larsen, author of
All the Numbers

 
“What is there not to like about this novel? A beach setting. Love and heartbreak. Regret and redemption. And a plot with surprising twists and turns that will leave your hankie damp and your heart feeling good.”
—Ad Hudler, author of
Househusband
and
All This Belongs to Me

 
“
Catching Genius
is simply mesmerizing, not only because it expertly captures the unbreakable bond between sisters. The novel also explores the many facets of very real characters, breathing life into the seamlessly plotted story line. This author's first novel is a must-read for women's fiction fans of all ages.”
—BookPage

 
“Kiernan is a compellingly talented writer and one to watch . . . hauntingly beautiful.”
—Florida Today

 
“Kiernan writes about family, forgiveness, and the allure of the Gulf Coast with authority and assurance, producing a smoothly plotted story peppered with revelations that lead to a rousing, heartfelt finish.”
—Mostly Fiction

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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)
Inc.
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 
This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

 
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

 
Copyright © 2008 by Kristy Kiernan.

eISBN : 978-0-425-22179-2

1. Faith—Fiction. 2. Spiritual healing—Fiction. 3. Domestic fiction. I. Title.
PS3611.I4455M38 2008
813'.6—dc22
2007050600 

My deepest gratitude to the following professionals, who are so efficient and talented, and who allow me to do my job without daily psychiatric intervention:

Anne Hawkins, my agent

Jackie Cantor, my editor

Tom Robinson and Michele Langley, my publicists

Tasha Tyska, my sanity wrangler

Thank you to the Naples Divas, who teach me something new every month, and who don't throw things at me when I haven't read the book: Sue Bankosky, Stephanie Coburn, Karyn Conrath, Betty Keigler, Terry Knight, Pat Kumicich, Tanya Oosterhous, Ellen Schmidt, Sharon Smaldone, Barbara Taefi, and Joyce Thornton.

As always, thank you to my family and friends for all of their support, especially to my husband, Richard, for his unflagging belief, and our own personal troll, Niko, for her companionship.

—Ralph Waldo Emerson

THE turning points in my life have always arrived disguised as daily life. I never get the opportunity or have the sixth sense to stop and examine them, to time-stamp them on my soul, whisper to myself that
this
, this thing, this simple boat ride in the Everglades, this phone ringing, this drive home twenty minutes late, was the thing that might do me in.

They never appear important enough to stop the things I'm already doing—like sparring with my husband over the developing nothingness of our marriage, like mixing the right amount of black into the red of a fire sky painting, like sitting down at my computer and reading an e-mail from my son.

“He's coming home for spring break,” I called down to Cal through the open window, scanning Marshall's message for more information. “And he's bringing someone with him.”

“I can't hear you,” Cal yelled back, the hollow, river rush of water beating against the house for a moment. I read the rest of the e-mail, committing the pertinent facts to memory as a flutter in my stomach began to make itself known, before I headed downstairs and out the kitchen door. The edge of the screen caught the back of my heel before I could get out of its way.

Cal, shirtless and browned, his shorts riding low enough to expose a strip of white skin, squinted at me as he hosed off two bright blue coolers. “What's up?”

“Marshall's coming home for spring break,” I repeated, surveying the sparkle of fish scales caught in the crisp grass at the sides of the driveway like diamonds in straw. “And he's bringing company.”

“The Dalai Lama?” Cal asked, flipping a cooler over and sending a rush of tepid water over my bare feet.

“A girl,” I said, and was rewarded for my timing with a squirt of water up my calves. Cal turned to me in surprise, a smile flashing quick and white across his face. I grinned back, raising my eyebrows, a joke, half-formed, about to spill out, before I remembered that we weren't joking much these days.

“Really? A girl?”

“Ada,” I said, the unfamiliar name hard on my tongue, a good complement wrapped in the downy softness of
Marshall
. “She's pre-law.”

“What else is she?” Cal asked, turning back to his coolers.

“He didn't say.”

“That's new. And you didn't ask?”

I didn't answer the criticism, not nearly as subtle as his words suggested. The method our son took to find himself was a never-ending fracture, but it was a method I was open-minded enough to indulge, and one Cal barely abided. The possibilities of Ada's religious affiliation skated through my mind as I watched him move on to the next cooler, sluicing the remains of his second fishing tour of the day across the drive.

“What should I do about sleeping arrangements?” I asked.

“Put her in your office and let them sneak around.”

“Nice. I'll ask Marshall. Good trip today?”

He shrugged and flipped the second cooler over before turning the hose on himself, talking behind the water cascading down through his hair and across his face. “Couple of idiots from Minnesota. Talked about ice fishing the whole time. They want to go out tomorrow, but they wouldn't put on any sunscreen, so I'm pretty sure I've got the day off.”

His words dimmed out, as Cal's stories about paper-white Yankees were destined to after twenty years of marriage. I imagine he barely heard my talk about warping Upson board or paint loss on a Highwayman painting these days.

I envisioned a girl named Ada. She would be sturdy, blonde, and no taller than I. Trying to fit Marshall beside this Ada in my imagination was harder work. He'd never brought a girl home before.

Boys, there'd always been boys. Interesting boys he sought out when he was tired of being Jewish, or Buddhist, or Methodist. Earnest-looking boys who wore various amulets and indicators of their faith, who Marshall engaged in fascinating theological discussions over dinner. Fascinating to me anyway. Cal, his fire-and-brimstone minister father never far from his mind, would leave the table, taking his plate to the living room, where he'd turn up the television loud enough that those of us left in the dining room would fall silent, intent on our food.