Chapter 5 - WHICH MOM IS RIGHT?The question followed Elena all the way home.
Which mom is right?
Clara asked it again in the car.
Elena gripped the steering wheel.
“Sometimes questions have complicated answers.”
“Does that mean you don't know?”
Children had a way of removing all padding from language.
Elena glanced in the rearview mirror.
Clara sat in the back seat, feet barely reaching the edge of the seat, cross necklace catching afternoon light.
“I know what I believe.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Elena almost laughed.
Almost.
“What was your question?”
“Which mom is right?”
Elena turned onto their street.
“I don't know Noah's mother well enough to explain everything she believes.”
“But you know she's Baptist.”
“Yes.”
“And we're Catholic.”
“Yes.”
“And you said ours is true.”
“Yes.”
“So?”
Elena pulled into the driveway.
She turned off the engine but did not open the door.
“Clara, believing something is true doesn't mean you have a simple answer to every question about everyone else.”
Clara looked unsatisfied.
“Why not?”
Because life didn't stay inside tidy boxes.
Because Elena had inherited her faith from parents who inherited it from theirs.
Because she had also studied it, questioned it, returned to it, depended on it.
Because she knew Catholics who were kind and Catholics who were cruel.
Baptists too.
Belief was lived through people, and people were messy.
But how did you explain that to an eight-year-old?
“You'll understand more when you're older.”
Clara frowned.
“That sounds like when Dad doesn't want to explain taxes.”
Elena laughed despite herself.
Later that night, Clara's father, Daniel, heard the story.
He sat at the kitchen table while Elena washed strawberries.
“So Noah told her his vision improved?”
“Yes.”
“And Rachel calls it a blessing.”
“Yes.”
“And Clara asked which mother is right.”
“Yes.”
Daniel leaned back.
“That's actually a pretty good question.”
Elena turned.
“You're not helping.”
“I'm not trying to make it worse.”
“You're succeeding.”
Daniel smiled.
Then became serious.
“What did you tell her?”
“That faith is complicated.”
“Also true.”
“She wants a verdict.”
“She is eight.”
“Exactly.”
Daniel picked up one strawberry.
“Maybe don't give her one.”
Elena stopped washing.
“What?”
“A verdict.”
“She needs guidance.”
“Guidance isn't always the same as an answer.”
Elena stared at him.
“You sound like Thomas Avery.”
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
Across town, Rachel Bennett was having a similar conversation.
Noah sat at the kitchen counter while she made grilled cheese.
“Do you think Clara's mom is wrong?” he asked.
Rachel flipped a sandwich.
“I think Catholics and Baptists disagree about some important things.”
“That's not what I asked.”
Rachel sighed.
Children apparently attended the same interrogation school.
“I believe our church teaches truth.”
“So does Clara's mom.”
“I know.”
“Then which one of you is right?”
Rachel put the spatula down.
“Noah.”
“What?”
“There are people much older than you who've spent their whole lives studying those questions.”
“Did they figure it out?”
“Some think they did.”
“Do they agree?”
Rachel paused.
“No.”
“Then what's the point of studying that long?”
She stared at him.
Noah wasn't being sarcastic.
That made it worse.
Rachel carried the sandwiches to the table.
“Maybe understanding doesn't always mean making everybody agree.”
Noah took a bite.
Then asked:
“Did God fix my eyes because we're Baptist?”
Rachel nearly dropped her plate.
“No.”
The answer came faster than anything she'd said all afternoon.
Noah stopped chewing.
“No?”
“I never told you that.”
“You said God blessed me.”
“I believe He did.”
“So what's different?”
Rachel sat opposite him.
“We also had doctors.”
“I know.”
“And treatment.”
“I know.”
“And time.”
“I know.”
“And I believe God was with us through all of it.”
Noah chewed slowly.
“Then Clara can believe that too?”
“Yes.”
“Even though she's Catholic?”
Rachel looked at her son.
“Yes.”
Noah nodded as though one mystery had finally been solved.
Then he created another.
“So if both of you can believe God was with us…”
He swallowed.
“…why was Clara trying to prove her church was right with her legs?”
Rachel didn't answer.
Because suddenly she understood something.
Clara had not invented that logic from nowhere.
And Noah probably hadn't invented his either.
Children assembled the world from fragments adults gave them.
Sometimes those fragments formed conclusions the adults never intended.
Rachel thought about every statement she'd made in front of Noah about faith, church, other denominations, certainty, salvation.
She wondered which ones he had stored away.
Across Nashville, Elena stood in Clara's doorway that night.
Clara was already under the blankets.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Was Noah trying to confuse me?”
Elena's first instinct was to say yes.
Not because she truly believed it.
Because it would make the problem easier.
Instead she sat on the edge of the bed.
“No.”
Clara waited.
“He was just telling you what he believes.”
“Then why am I confused?”
Elena looked at her daughter's face.
For the first time, the answer frightened her.
“Maybe,” she said slowly, “because some things are harder than we make them sound.”
Clara yawned.
“Can I still talk to Noah?”
Elena hesitated.
That hesitation lasted less than two seconds.
May you like
But Clara noticed.
And so did Elena.
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