But she said, “I’m sorry, Noah,” at the same moment.

And then in unison they both asked, “What are you sorry for?”

“You first,” she said. “Go on. My list might be longer.”

“I’m sorry I told you my wife had passed away like that. That was cold. You deserved a more thoughtful explanation. She died of cancer about five years ago. She was very young and her illness was sudden. She went fast. I shouldn’t have told you the way I did. What are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry your wife died. I’m sorry your father let you down and sorry I ask such personal questions. And sorry I confront you and push the point so much. And I know I tease you and torture you and I’m very sorry that I have way too much fun doing that. I think I need to work on boundaries. First of all, it’s not my business and second, you’ll tell me what you want me to know when you feel like it. And I should show more respect for your—you know, your position. That you’re a minister. And everything.”

He laughed and shook his head.

“What’s funny?” she asked.

“I ask you about lap dances, but you’re apologizing to me about boundaries? I have an idea—let’s just go back to being ourselves and not be sorry about any of it.”

“Okay. Except that one thing—I’m sorry your wife died.”

“Thank you. I’m not trying to keep it a secret, that I was married, that I’m widowed. No one asked. And then someone did—that nurse. Gloria.”

“Well, I guess she had to be sure you weren’t gay,” she said, and grinned largely.

He grinned back. She was impossible. And wonderful.

“I’m going to get some work done,” she said. “You have flooring coming real soon and there’s a storage closet under the stairs that’s full of dusty old boxes. I thought I’d get in there.”

“You can if you want to, but I’m not going to have the flooring extended into the closet. It’s a big storage area; it makes no sense to spend the money there. The boxes won’t care.”

“It should be cleared out anyway,” she said. “Unless there’s something else…?”

He was shaking his head. “Go for it. I only opened the first two boxes and found them full of rotting sheet music. Whatever is in there is probably destined for the Dumpster. After you look through it, I’ll haul it over behind Jack’s.”

She gave him a salute and off she went. And Lucy, the traitor, followed Ellie downstairs.

Noah was supposed to be dreaming up a wedding script, paying bills, catching up on some e-mails—but he was thinking. Merry would have liked Ellie. While most wives wanted their husbands to hire unappealing women to work for them, Merry was never that way. Ellie’s bold sexiness wouldn’t have intimidated Merry; she was a confident woman. Of course, Noah’s total devotion might’ve had something to do with that, as well.

And Merry wasn’t one of those proper, boring types, either. She had been born and raised in Seattle and was a dangerous liberal feminist. Before they were married, she belonged to an organization working toward the decriminalization of prostitution. She’d been arrested a couple of times—once for chaining herself to a tree to protect the forest from decimation, once for picketing a federal building. She was also very involved with an AIDS hospice program. And she did volunteer work for Habitat for Humanity—she said holding a hammer made her feel strong.

She’d coveted breasts like Ellie’s. She’d often talked about buying herself a pair. And one night she said to Noah, “I’m thinking of getting a tattoo….” So he drew one on her belly with a felt-tip pen and then they laughed themselves stupid.

What he liked best about her was her wicked and irreverent sense of humor. And her lack of inhibition with him. He never had to coax her to let go in their bed—she was a free spirit. She believed everything that happened between a man and woman who loved each other was virtuous, and also believed what took place between husband and wife was sacred, no matter how wild and daring.

And while Merry wasn’t shy about voicing her opinion when she sensed an injustice, she seemed to be able to find the inherent goodness in the most unlikely characters. Noah hiring a stripper? Merry probably would have liked that.

“I have to come up with vows,” he muttered to himself. “Unique but not sappy vows…” He pushed back from his desk and wandered into the sanctuary, gazing up at the stained-glass window. It came to him suddenly, something he would try out on Shelby and Luke.

And then he heard a loud shriek from downstairs, a bark from the usually quiet Lucy, and Noah clamored down the stairs at top speed. He found Ellie on the floor clear across the hall, her back up against the wall, hugging her knees. She looked up at him. “A rat,” she said, breathless. “Behind that box. It’s four feet long.”

Lucy wasn’t trying to get at anything in the closet. “I think you scared my dog,” he said.

“The rat scared her, I bet.”

Noah entered the closet cautiously, kicked the box, and when nothing rustled, he pulled it out a bit. Ah. Behind the box was a dead mouse. Probably four inches long at best. It was very dead, dried out, kaput. He lifted it by the tail and held it toward her. “Is this the rat?”

“No. My rat is much bigger. That must be its baby.”

“Maybe you just got scared and it looked much bigger.”

“No,” she said. “There’s a rat the size of a Volkswagen in there.”

“Was it a dead rat, Ellie?”

“Possibly. It wasn’t moving.”

He went into the downstairs bathroom and dropped the thing in the trash.

“Why did you do that?” she yelled, getting to her feet. “What if he gets out of there and attacks me?”

“He’s petrified. It’s over,” Noah said. Then he smiled at her. “I’ll protect you.”

“Right,” she said. “So far you don’t even have the real rat! What good are you?” She stomped away from him in the direction of the kitchen and came back wearing work gloves. “I hate rats,” she said, pulling the box out of the closet into the hallway. She opened it slowly, cautiously pulling out what looked like wrapped bundles. She folded back some plastic, some towels. And said, “Oh my God.” She lifted and turned an elaborate gold candelabrum toward Noah.

“Oh my God,” he echoed, taking it. He was lifting it, weighing it. It was heavy. And while he was doing this, Ellie was opening another towel-wrapped package for its mate. “This is valuable,” he said.

“It’s Christmas,” she said, holding up the second one, beaming.

They got busy opening boxes and found things Noah hadn’t bothered to look for—even though the church building and contents were part of the sale, they weren’t listed as inventory of the property. He’d assumed everything of value was gone. Yet here were valuable altar accoutrements, from candelabra to chalices to communion trays. Everything was packed carefully in plastic and linens, clerics’ vestments and choir robes, neither dusty nor moth-eaten. Dishes for the kitchen, for community gatherings—over a hundred sets of plates, cups, saucers, bowls, flatware, punch bowls and glass cups. More crosses, some wooden, some gold. Hymnals, Bibles, altar linens. Tablecloths and napkins. There were boxes of candles that, thanks to the cool mountain temperatures, hadn’t melted in God knew how many years. Boxes and boxes of things the church could use. They unearthed a thirty-year-old IBM electric typewriter that actually still worked. “Except there will be no replacement ribbons on this earth,” Noah said. The space under the stairs was a good eight feet long and four feet wide and Noah had virtually ignored it because the first boxes contained useless paper and the rest looked water damaged, dirty and crushed—he couldn’t imagine there was anything of value there.

“But this is incredible,” she said, dragging a big box of dishes out of the hall and across the basement floor.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to put these in the kitchen so I can wash them and put them away!” she said, all excited.

Rather than paying bills or writing wedding vows, Noah and Ellie worked all day at emptying boxes. Noah took a big load of vestments, robes, altar and table linens to the dry cleaner’s in Fortuna and picked up tarnish remover for the candelabra and cross. They shook dust off Bibles and hymnals and put them in clean boxes, washed dishes and put them away.

And the sun began to set, the eyes of the stained-glass image of Christ shining into the sanctuary. Noah looked at his watch. “We’ve been at it all day without stopping for lunch.”

“I got into it,” she said.

“You know what we’re going to do? We’re going to have a big meal at Jack’s. It’s time for Lucy’s dinner anyway.”

She looked down at herself. “Oh, no,” she said. “I’m dusty and falling apart and probably look like a vagrant. I’ll just go home and—”

“No one over there cares, Ellie. And for heaven’s sake, you’re not eating popcorn tonight! Come on!”

“I care, Noah! I’m just getting to know these people. I’m at least going to be put together when I go there.”

“Fine,” he said in a pout. “Fine. Okay. Tell you what—figure out where we’re going to eat and I’ll take Lucy over for dinner and get takeout. I mean, we have dishes and stuff, right?”

The smile on her face said she liked that idea. “Right.”

When he got back from Jack’s with three bags of takeout, he found Ellie had spread a tablecloth on the clean basement floor, set two candelabra with lit tapers on the cloth and had put out plates. A picnic. Lucy plunked right down next to the tablecloth. Noah looked at it and said, “Nice.”

“Is this floor going to be too hard for you?” she asked. “Your desk is covered with stuff and there’s no table in the place. We could go to the RV or picnic on my bed at the apartment.”

“I like this.” He put down the sacks and settled himself on the floor. He opened the first bag and pulled out two bottles of beer. From the second bag he removed cartons of brisket, mashed potatoes, creamed spinach, warm bread and mostly melted butter. He put the third bag to the side and said, “Pie.”

“Were you starving?” she asked him.

“Aren’t you? Because unless you’re hiding the evidence, neither of us has eaten.” He twisted the cap off a bottle of beer and handed it to her.

“I haven’t had a beer in ages. At least a couple of years. I never drink.”

“You’ll probably get all loopy on me.”

“Probably,” she said, tipping the bottle up.

“What kind of stripper doesn’t even have a beer?”

“A sober one,” she informed him. “But I have to admit, this tastes very good. What kind of minister drinks?”

“Jesus turned water into wine for a wedding. He was hip. I bet they all got trashed.” He lifted his bottle toward her. “To your incredible find today. Good for you, Ellie.”

“And you thought I wouldn’t work out,” she said, toasting him. “I bet I’m the best assistant you’ve ever had.”

“And also the only one. Want me to dish us up?”

“Good idea. Now that I smell it, I think I’m going to stuff myself.” She watched him serve up two plates and it came to her he was very well trained. And she asked, “Did you ever get in trouble as a kid, Noah?”

“Depends on who you ask,” he said, passing her a plate. “My mother thought I walked on water, my father was never satisfied.”

“There’s that father thing again,” she muttered.