“I gave him the token.”
“What happened?”
“Last I heard, he became an EMT.”
Noah sat back.
The whole thing sounded impossible.
Not supernatural.
Just too neatly connected.
“So Samuel has been doing this for decades?”
Mark looked at the photograph.
“Maybe.”
“Why me?”
His father met his eyes.
“You know why.”
Noah shook his head.
“I paid five bucks for an old man’s sandwich.”
Mark smiled.
“Sometimes people are watching for small things.”
Noah became irritated.
“I don’t like that.”
“What?”
“Tests.”
His father nodded.
“Neither did I.”
“What if I’d said no?”
“Then you’d have said no.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Mark looked at him.
“Noah.”
His tone softened.
“No one forced you.”
Noah looked down.
The token sat between them.
“You made a choice.”
Mark continued.
“What they decide it means is their business.”
Noah touched the edge of the token.
“What happens now?”
Mark smiled.
“If it’s like before?”
“Yeah.”
“You wait.”
Noah groaned.
“I hate this already.”
Three days passed.
Nothing happened.
No letter.
No phone call.
No mysterious visitor.
Samuel did not return.
Carl continued acting strange whenever Noah asked about the token.
On Friday, Noah cornered him near the storage room.
“Carl.”
“What?”
“You know the Beacon Society?”
Carl froze.
Noah smiled.
“Got you.”
Carl sighed.
“Your dad told you?”
“Enough.”
Carl looked around.
“Not here.”
They went into the back office.
Noah closed the door.
Carl sat.
“What do you know?”
Noah answered:
“Old group. Training. Scholarships. Lighthouse coins. My dad had one.”
Carl stared.
“Mark Parker?”
Noah frowned.
“You know my dad?”
“No.”
Carl rubbed his forehead.
“Not personally.”
“Then?”
Carl looked at Noah.
“I had a token too.”
Noah stared.
“You’re kidding.”
“No.”
“When?”
“Twenty-three.”
“What did you do?”
Carl hesitated.
Noah smiled.
“Come on.”
“I was managing a fast-food place in Worcester.”
“You were already management?”
“Assistant.”
“What happened?”
“A kid came in every afternoon.”
Carl looked embarrassed.
“Homeless, probably sixteen.”
“He never bought anything.”
“I kept letting him sit.”
“One day the store manager told me to throw him out.”
“What’d you do?”
“Bought him food.”
Noah smiled.
Carl pointed.
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Make that face.”
“What face?”
“The moral victory face.”
Noah laughed.
“What happened?”
“Customer saw it.”
“Samuel?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“Woman named Evelyn Brooks.”
“She gave you a token?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I got into a hospitality management program.”
Noah looked around the sandwich shop.
“That led here?”
Carl laughed.
“Eventually.”
“So why were you mad when I paid Samuel’s bill?”
The question killed the smile.
Carl looked down.
“That’s complicated.”
“No.”
Noah leaned against the desk.
“It’s really not.”
Carl exhaled.
“I’ve spent years running places where margins are thin.”
“Okay.”
“People think food businesses make more money than they do.”
Noah waited.
Carl continued:
“You start saying yes to every situation, the rules disappear.”
“Samuel didn’t ask.”
“I know.”
“You knew what the token meant.”
“Not until he pulled it out.”
Noah stared.
“And after?”
Carl looked ashamed.
“I realized how close I’d come to becoming exactly the kind of manager I hated when I was your age.”
Noah said nothing.
Carl looked at him.
“I wasn’t angry because you helped him.”
“Then why?”
“Because you made a decision I should’ve been willing to make.”
That surprised Noah.
Carl continued:
“I’ve gotten cautious.”
“Practical.”
“Same word people use when they don’t want to say scared.”
Noah smiled faintly.
“That sounds like something Samuel would say.”
Carl laughed.
“Probably.”
Then he became serious.
“If they contact you, go.”
Noah frowned.
“You think they will?”
Carl looked at the lighthouse token.
“Yes.”
The letter arrived the next morning.
Not by mail.
Samuel delivered it himself.
At 9:15, before lunch rush, he walked into the sandwich shop.
Same dusty-navy jacket.
Same cane.
Same boots.
No one stopped him.
Noah looked up.
“You.”
Samuel smiled.
“Me.”
Carl came from the back.
He saw Samuel.
Stopped.
Samuel looked at him.
“Carl Denson.”
Carl laughed nervously.
“Been a long time.”
Noah’s mouth opened.
“You know each other?”
Samuel nodded.
“Not well.”
Carl said:
“Once was enough.”
Samuel reached into his jacket.
No leather case this time.
An envelope.
He handed it to Noah.
“What is it?”
“An invitation.”
“To what?”
“An interview.”
Noah looked at him.
“For what?”
Samuel smiled.