The Big Bang (7 page)

“We’re all looking and feeling our Easter best,” Frank continued, as though reading her mind. “We’ve welcomed with open arms our old friends, the new faces in the Meadow Mountain Ranch community, and those of you whose schedules only allow a visit on the big ticket holidays.”

The crowd chuckled.

“We’ve reveled in the processional parade, rejoiced in our beloved Easter hymns, and relished the holy words.” Frank gave a thumbs-up to the choir and burst into a joyous smile. “Easter with all the trimmings!”

Hope’s
Amen
joined the eruption of praise, like vocal fireworks, exploding throughout the room.

“Amen is right, because today is just the beginning of God’s blessings for you!” Frank raised a hand skyward. “God loves you so much, He’ll keep handing out good things to all of us.”

She already had so many good things. Was it so wrong to ache for her 2.5 children more?

“God did not stop His Son from going to the cross,” Frank continued. “In fact, God showed that He loves us by giving His Son over for the judgment you and I deserve. Why? So God could lavish His abundant love on us. God demonstrated His love by giving us freedom from sin and eternal life. And these acts are not the end of His love. God still wants to hand out His blessings to you.”

As
Amens
from the crowd accentuated his every sentence, Hope spotted her impossibly big-with-child(ren) new neighbor, seated amid her cornucopia of offspring. The proud papa caught Hope’s glance and smiled with what was surely smug satisfaction.

A pang of envy forced her to look down at her persimmon colored skirt as he draped an arm around his wife’s and then his daughter’s shoulder.

“God spared His Son nothing in the way of pain that He might spare us no pleasure or bounty.”

What did she have to be jealous of, really? She wasn’t looking to have a passel of kids, though her neighbors’ were beautiful—especially the daughter, a lovely combination of her housewife-next-door pretty mom and the husband, who looked a little like Al Pacino’s not-quite-ready-for-primetime kid brother.

The wife rubbed her belly.

His unquestionably virile little brother.

“But God didn’t let His Son stay there. God lifted Jesus up from the grave to show His love to the world. After the resurrection, God said: ‘Now that act of love has been done and I can spend my love on my children. I can give them whatever they need.’” Frank paused. “Folks, for you, this could be renewed good health, extra bucks to furnish the house, finding that special someone…” He scanned the room, his gaze on the center section where Hope was seated. “Maybe adding a beloved soul to your family.”

Two rows ahead, a darling little girl of about six blew a bubble. She had blond ringlets the color Hope and Jim would surely make. She wore a powder-blue polka dot dress and white patent leather Mary Janes, just like she’d have dressed a daughter in for Easter.

The bubble popped and the little girl giggled.

Tears Hope swore she wouldn’t allow on this day of renewed dreams, spilled down her cheeks anyway.

“Maybe you’re thinking, God hasn’t given me what I want…”

Hope felt a rush of blood to her cheeks. After all the teary conversations she had with Frank, maybe he
was
talking directly to her.

“If so, maybe you’ve forgotten a thing or two about your relationship with God. Some of the ways he hands out his love may in fact be different than you would expect, but God is there, waiting to give to you.” He stopped to smile. “If you are ready, get your hands out, and look forward to receiving everything you need and more than you ever wanted…”

Jim stirred and grasped her hand.

“Because, our Lord wants you to have what you want.”

Why wouldn’t the Lord want her to have what she, what she and Jim, wanted too?

“In return, all He wants is your devotion and appreciation.”

A “
Thank you, Jesus
” rang from the audience, followed by a handful more.

“That’s a nice start.” Frank smiled. “Follow that up by throwing a few extra bucks onto the plate today and I think we may be on to something.”

The crowd chuckled with him.

“Seriously, I challenge all of you to dig a little deeper this Easter. Thank Him for the beautiful home and safe, family-friendly lifestyle he’s provided.” Frank grasped the heavy velvet drape behind him. “This humble servant wants to do for the Lord what he has already done for me—give him a home and a community to be proud of.” He rustled the collection plate next to the microphone. “There will be plenty of good surprises in store if you do the same.”

He motioned Maryellen from the front row to the side steps and leaned into the microphone one last time before she took over with the weekly announcements. “Say it with me folks,” he said over the end-of-sermon rustle. “The Lord wants me to have what I want!”

Hope’s voice joined the great multitoned voice that echoed through the room. “The Lord wants me to have what I want!”

And the choir burst into song.

Alleluia! Alleluia!

***

If the Lord wanted Tim Trautman to have what he desired, he wouldn’t have created Hope Jordan’s husband in the image of a Nordic god.

The amp screeched with feedback as Reverend Frank’s attractive, but breakable-looking, wife craned the mike to mouth height and unfolded her announcement list. “Tuesday night,
Cooking with Christ
will be hosted by Janet Jamison.”

Hope’s husband smoothed his thick, wheat-hued, nonreceding hair.

Not that ridiculous good looks could scare him off.

“Thursday night at six
P.M.
, weather permitting,” Maryellen Griffin’s nervous falsetto trilled through the auditorium as Rev. Frank, another member of the no-need-for-the-Hair-Club-for-Men, disappeared backstage, “any and all pet owners should bring their leashed and/or caged pets and meet at the community dog park for our annual Pet Blessing service.”

Usually, guys as good looking as Hope’s husband had no idea how to put out—especially in the personality department.

“I know you’re all planning to join our indoor egg hunt and raffle,” Maryellen Griffin said over the rustle of the crowd. “But if I don’t get a chance in the midst of all the hustle and bustle, I wish you a happy, healthy Easter.”

The Jordan aisle rose en masse.

Problem was, the dude had to be six foot four slouching.

Tim’s idea of a friendly, post-service hi-we’re-the-new-neighbors, hatched the moment Hope caught his eye from beside her
seated
husband, had to be scrapped for a more calculated hello on an evened playing field.

Before he began to scramble for a workable plan B, Theresa, God love her, reached a swollen hand into her purse and handed him the greatest of all height equalizers—his checkbook.

His daughter, Lauren, tugged his arm as their row stood. “I need to meet up with my friends in the cafeteria.”

Tim brushed a stray hair from her face and looked past her in time to catch a glimpse of Hope’s silk-covered ass. What he needed to do was time his meet-and-greet so the Jordans, already headed in that direction, were nearby to appreciate Reverend Frank appreciating the generosity of a Trautman Easter donation. “I want to introduce you to Reverend Griffin first.”

“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.

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.