“Already know him. His daughter’s a friend.”
“As a family,” Tim said.
“But I’m supposed to help with the Easter egg hunt.”
“And you will, as soon as we present our family Easter donation.”
Lauren sighed.
Theresa, who loved public displays of financial affection, squeezed his shoulder and smiled. “How much are we going to give?”
***
The Lord definitely wanted Frank to have what he wanted.
Even with a rain-soaked Easter and the ongoing challenge of squeezing funds from a house-poor flock, the Melody Mountain Community Church collection plate overflowed. All he had to do was keep donations up 20 percent for the next six weeks, do another push fueled by the excitement of the Memorial Weekend playground ribbon cutting, and continue to collect at 10 percent above normal to meet the fifteen thousand he still needed to get title in hand.
Two, or at the very most, three years from today, instead of being stationed outside high school cafeteria doors, he’d greet parishioners at the entrance to a social pavilion in the northwest corner of the main lobby of his new church—a church complete with bell tower, religious school classrooms, and a pulpit/stage area large enough for the choir and the band. The Parker Pines Community Church was in the framing stage, and his buddy, Roger Manning, was insufferable since christening the Harmony Hills Neighborhood Church, but neither had, nor would have, both a mini-chapel and a gymnasium.
“Lovely sermon,” Samantha Torgenson said, and like the five people he’d greeted before her, added, “I made my donation online.”
It hadn’t taken too many underwhelming collection plate totals or fervent prayers for assistance before he’d had an inspired vision: The Melody Mountain Ranch Community Church needed to take Visa, MasterCard, and Discover.
“The Lord gives thanks to those who give thanks to Him.” He nudged Samantha gently toward the cafeteria so he wouldn’t miss the Estridges, whose daughters had already slipped through the doors to join Evangeline.
He gave Laney Estridge a friendly wink and shook hands with Steve. What they lacked in liquid assets Laney made up for in elbow grease and community spirit. Having organized the last two Memorial Weekend potlucks and the Halloween Haunt, not to mention the Community Chrisanukwanzaa, her donation, in the form of her party-planning abilities, would ensure the success of the playground dedication celebration. “In the interest of separation of church and state, I won’t pester you today, but we need to talk.”
Laney smiled. “You know I’m glad to help out in any way I can.”
“Good to know,” he said, indulging her need for a little harmless flirtation. “Because I think you know what I want.”
She batted her eyes. “This wouldn’t involve a little something you’re planning over Memorial Weekend?”
“I can’t imagine putting the event in anyone else’s hands.”
“I assume Maryellen’s already on board to run the potluck?”
“You know my wife—she wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Perfect, because I’ve already printed up the spreadsheets and planning notes from the last three events.”
“That’s why I pay you the big bucks.” He patted her shoulder, did the same to her bosom buddy, Sarah Fowler, and reached out to shake with Randall Fowler. Somehow, the sight of fair Sarah and her ebony-skinned husband, Randall, always gave Frank a start. Maybe it was more a thrill. Not every minister could claim a local sports celebrity as his parishioner. “For your first official duty I’m hoping you’ll talk this guy into handling ribbon cutting honors at the playground dedication.”
“My pleasure,” Randall said, offering a blinding smile, a meaty hand, and a check to the pile on the collection plate.
A Praise Jesus was definitely in order.
Frank bowed his head, but before he could utter a word of prayer, the door to the girls’ bathroom squealed open and Hope Jordan, displaying her God-given assets in a red silk dress, disappeared into the bathroom.
He was left feeling like a bull taunted by a flag. Easter, no matter how glorious, couldn’t be called a success until the two of them had a Come-to-Jesus.
As it were.
“I still can’t imagine what prompted her to sign Pierce-Cohn’s petition.”
Laney and Sarah’s knowing looks sent prickles across his cheeks and forehead.
“We heard she signed to get him off her doorstep,” Sarah finally said.
“As in he coerced her? If that’s the case, it’s totally unacceptable and—”
“By coerced, I think Sarah means he stood tongue-tied and drooling at her door, fantasizing that his Unknown Dangers rant would somehow make her want to throw herself at him.”
“Oh,” Frank said. “I didn’t realize—”
“He follows her around like a lovesick teenager?”
“Pierce-Cohn?”
They nodded in unison.
“I see,” Frank said. His irritation with the already vanquished P-C began to rise once again.
“But even if she did sign to get him to leave her alone, it still has to be hard to watch a playground go up across the street from your empty nest,” Sarah said.
“Particularly when hopped up on fertility drugs,” Laney added. “They made me nutty.”
“If you ask me, Hope needs to do something beyond working out and dabbling in home décor while she’s waiting to be pregnant.”
“She taught the youth group kids how to make jewelry.”
“That’s a start.”
“Everyone I know has her doing their Christmas décor.”
“But that’s not until the holidays. In the meantime, she seems to be at that so-obsessed-by-getting-pregnant stage everything else is just a blur.”
“Great sermon.” Rhonda Miller horned in and grasped Frank’s hand. “Glad you’re feeling better.”
“Thank you.” He nudged Rhonda gently toward the cafeteria. Had Hope signed just to get P-C off her doorstep, or had he himself inadvertently offended her by relocating the playground across the cul-de-sac from her house? He had just enough time before the next family approached. Closing his eyes, Frank silently asked for some enlightenment, opened to a random page in his pocket Bible, and looked inside.
Job 28:12. And where is the place of understanding?
He looked toward the ladies’ room but the Trautman brood blocked the door. Tim seemed to hesitate while the wife continued on toward the greetings line, kids trailing behind.
Tim eventually followed.
Frank smiled in their direction, his gaze fixed on the bathroom door and his thoughts on understanding. He could easily understand her wanting to get pitiful Pierce-Cohn off her doorstep. Still, she could have agreed to think about it, or not opened the door in the first place.
He closed his eyes again.
He couldn’t help but understand how she might feel watching a playground go up across the street from her empty nest, but why hadn’t she said anything, referenced the playground issue at all during any of the myriad counseling sessions they’d had over the last few months? Was she afraid he wouldn’t understand her objections to the playground given his enthusiasm about the project? Then again, maybe riding the roller coaster of fertility, often absent of her husband, had made her temporarily crazy.
Frank bowed his head and meditated on understanding.
“Happy Easter.” Tim Trautman made his way to the front of the line and extended his hand. “This is Theresa; our daughter, Lauren; and the boys, Timmy and Jacob.”
“Nice to meet you.” Frank shook with the wife and all three children. “How are you enjoying our Easter festivities?”
“Wonderful,” the wife said.
“We’re impressed with just about everything we’ve seen around here so far,” Tim said. “I’m anxious to get involved in the community.”
“So I’m told. I plan to hold you to that.” Frank smiled and turned to the Trautman kids. “You three read
y to get involved in an Easter egg hunt?”
“Can we go in?” the bouncier of the two boys asked.
“Can I go, Dad?” The daughter looked longingly toward the teens clustered around Evangeline in the corner. “I’m already supposed to be helping.”
Frank patted the daughter’s shoulder. “Can you tell Evangeline to start handing out baskets and to make sure the big kids don’t hog everything when things get rolling.”
“Sure.” Their pretty, raven-haired daughter disappeared into the crowd.
“Can we go too?” the other boy asked.
“We probably should give him our check,” Theresa said. “The kids are anxious.”
The bathroom door squealed open.
Frank turned to watch Hope emerge and join her husband.
“Tim?” Theresa said to her husband, who also seemed distracted by the Jordans.
“Of course.” Tim reached into his suit coat without looking down.
With the Jordans in near handshaking distance, Frank found himself torn as to whether he should greet them before accepting the Trautman donation, or hold off until just after. He settled on a friendly, no-hard feelings wave while Tim fumbled for the check.
“I think we’re holding up the line, honey,” Theresa said.
Hope and Jim made their way over and stopped directly behind the Trautmans.
A folded slip of safety-blue paper appeared between Tim’s fingers. “Got it. A token of our commitment to our new community,” Tim said, loudly enough for Frank to anticipate a healthy number.
“Hope.” Leslie Pepper appeared beside the Jordans. “I have a friend you need to meet. She loved the furniture you picked out for our family room and patio and she wants to talk to you about doing some work in their master.”
Before Frank could either catch a glance at the check, or give an approving smile to Hope, she was being led away.
Trautman, who was holding his check and seemed about to hand it over, turned and instead placed it atop the collection pile.
Face up.
***
Eva Griffin leaned against the cool tile corner of the cafeteria and inhaled the last of her second donut before her dad spotted her and called her out for gluttony. The tangy jelly threatened to congeal in the back of her throat while she watched him shake people down for money. “I can’t believe the spell didn’t work.”
“My mom told me that your dad told her he was super sick and stuff.” Libby Estridge grabbed a chocolate egg from its hiding place on the windowsill, unwrapped the foil, and popped it in her mouth. “I say that counts for something.”
Her dad’s booming, fake-friendly laugh bounced across the room as he glad-handed Lauren Trautman’s parents and pushed them through the cafeteria doors so he could move on to his next victim.
“Not enough,” Eva said.
They all watched as Lauren, fully working it, with straightened hair, a killer black skirt, and ballet flats, appeared from behind her mountain of a mother and scanned the room.
“Her top totally rocks,” Hannah said.
“So does her skirt,” Margaret said. “It’s Abercrombie.”
Eva waved her over.
“Do you think Tyler was right about the new people not being ready or powerful enough or whatever?” Libby asked as Lauren started toward them.
“The book said all we needed were thirteen willing souls.” Eva shrugged. “We definitely had them.”
“Maybe it was a full moon problem,” Margaret said.
“The moon phase shouldn’t affect nuisance abatement spells.”
“Maybe we missed a chant or an ingredient or something?” Hannah asked.
Eva gave her the evil eye.
“Well it did rain.”
“Made it worse. Mom and I had to redo like everything for an indoor Easter egg hunt.”
Hannah took another candy from the kiddie stash. “Just saying…”
“Hey.” Lauren joined the group. “Your dad wants us to start handing out baskets to the little kids and stuff.”
Eva rolled her eyes.
“Eva’s bumming about the spell,” Hannah said.
“At the moment, I’m bumming more about dealing with all the booger-nosed monsters all hopped up on sugar.”
“Speaking of which, are you wearing Pink Sugar?” Margaret asked.
Lauren nodded and stuck out her wrist.
“Smells like strawberry candy on you.”
And popularity. With her shiny hair and sweet dimples, Lauren was so anti-witch, her presence alone should have been enough of a catalyst for the spell to work.
Across the room, while her poor mom slaved away selling raffle tickets and baked goods she made but wouldn’t eat, her father was practically drooling all over Hope Jordan and that smokin’ husband of hers.
“Tyler was right about one thing; the spell definitely didn’t go how it was supposed to.”
Lauren looked up and around the room. “Have you guys seen him yet, today?”
“Tyler?” Hannah asked.
“Like here?” Margaret asked.
Lauren’s cheeks seemed to color. “Since it’s Easter and all, I figured…”
“Reverend Griffin and Mr. Pierce-Cohn are full-on enemies,” Libby said.
“He’s also half-Jewish,” Eva said.
“My bad.” Lauren opened the napkin she was clutching in her palm and began to chow down on a chocolate bunny like she hadn’t eaten in a week.
Eva sighed and started toward an unmanned table full of Easter baskets. “My dad’s going to bite my head off if we don’t get to work.”
***
Frank shook hands with Jim Jordan, but looked past him at the collection plate.
He hadn’t imagined that extra zero on the Trautman check.
One Thousand and xx/100.
Despite the statement inherent in leaving a big check faceup for all to see, the sudden, exhilarating boost in funds made it that much easier for Frank to slip a friendly arm around Hope. “I think I may owe you an apology.”
Never mind that Pierce-Cohn owed her the bigger apology for being a desperate letch in the first place. Or that no matter what her current state of mind, the Jordans would one day thank him when they had children who spent countless hours enjoying blissful outdoor play in plain sight of home. And, if by some sad twist of The Lord’s plan, Hope was never blessed with the offspring she so wanted, the real estate appreciation, especially with a never-to-be obstructed view, would certainly ease the pain of a move to a loft in LoDo or some other trendy, more adult-oriented community. “About the playground going in across the street…”
It took everything he had to merely hand her a Kleenex and not wipe away the stray tear that drifted down her cheek as she looked up at him with her clear, blue, already contrite eyes.
Surely, her apology would follow.
“I want you to know I do understand the construction process may be stressful in the midst of your attempts to start a family. And, for that, I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m sure it’ll be nice when it’s done.”
Jim, who seemed unmoved in one direction or the other, nodded.
“I prayed on this and I’ve been assured that, in the long run, you’ll enjoy all the benefits of having such a strategically placed playground across the street.”
Hope’s pretty face still seemed awash in pain.
He reached out, gently placed his hand atop her silk headband, and bowed his head. “Lord, help Hope to conceive a healthy baby. She asks for your intervention in everything she tries and has faith in you, for you said none shall be barren, may your will be done. Amen.”
Both Hope and Jim smiled.
“The Lord wants you to have what you want,” Frank said, anticipating the apology for her shortsightedness in signing P-C’s ill-fated petition that would soon follow.
She merely nodded in agreement.
CHAPTER EIGHT
With new, state-of-the-art top-flight school
s, libraries, and educational facilities you’ll rest even easier knowing your children are getting the education of a lifetime.—From the Melody Mountain Ranch initial offerings brochure.
Laney reclined in her Jacuzzi tub, a library copy of Bring It On in hand, Celine Dion on the CD player, and her head on a lavender-scented aromatherapy pillow.
Happy thoughts or your favorite tunes can instantly transform your well-being.
She added a capful of organic bubble bath to the water.
If you want to change your life, think positive!
She’d opened the book before bed. The idea of drawing happiness, good health, and abundance through positive thought hooked her on page one, and she couldn’t put it down. Instead of her usual irritation over being congested, overweight, short of cash, and relegated to mat Pilates at the rec center, she’d fallen asleep picturing herself with clear sinuses, taut and toned as Hope Jordan, and working out at the private studio on Parker Road. Her hot-yet-enlightened instructor, complete with washboard abs and tan legs, would flash his approving grin as she stretched across the Reformer machine. From there, who knew what exercises were in store?
For the first time in months, she awoke in the morning before her alarm. She went downstairs, fully expecting to find Steve slurping his coffee like he was in a hurry to go somewhere besides the recliner, and the girls foraging for their usual breakfast of a Red Bull and a PowerBar. Instead, they’d all left early: Steve probably for an early tee time he’d sleep off the rest of the day, and the girls for a makeup test or bring-your-grade-up extra-credit session.
Still…
She decided to show The Universe she meant business by substituting her morning toast for egg whites and heading to the gym for a workout during the 8 A.M. time slot she planned to someday enjoy with Justin.
Or, maybe, his name would be Julian.
Start with something small, like willing a checker to open up the line for you on a busy day at the grocery store and see what happens.
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