Beneath her black leather skirt with the off-center slit, I found thong panty style sheer hose-all that stood between me and Eden. Pulling her black sweater off not only tossed her hair in the most seductive of ways, but revealed a sleek black satin Miracle Bra with a gold embroidered heart-shaped cut-out.
For a long breathless moment, I sat back and drank in her beauty like wine. Forget the bra, she was the miracle, and in no time I was intoxicated.
She leaned forward, reached back, unhooked her bra, tossing it in the front seat where it landed on the steering wheel.
“Bon appétit,” she said, then, cupping her hand behind my head, brought me to her breast.
When we had finished the appetizer, she said, “I brought you something.”
“That wasn’t it?” I asked. “Because I was thinking you could just give me that again.”
“I will,” she said. “Again and again and again. As often as you like. I’m the gift that keeps on giving.”
I smiled. “You are a-” I started, but stopped as my cell phone rang.
“Hello,” I said, my voice still hoarse with passion.
“Chaplain Jordan,” the unmistakably smooth voice of Bobby Earl Caldwell said.
For a long moment after I hung up, I sat there in stunned silence.
“What is it?” Susan asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Bobby Earl Caldwell wants to see me,” I said.
“What for?”
“Apparently to offer me a job.”
“Threatening you hasn’t worked,” she said, “so now he’s gonna try bribery?”
CHAPTER 45
Bobby Earl’s 19th Century plantation home was smaller than a Hollywood sound stage-if you didn’t count the garage-and as gaudy and distasteful as a televangelist’s studio set.
“I believe God’s children should have the best,” he said, leading me through large, lavishly decorated rooms with ornately hand-painted ceilings and faux marble fireplaces toward his back porch.
“Obviously,” I said, “but did you ask God how she felt about it?”
Ignoring me, he said, “I think our prosperity is directly related to our spirituality.”
The dingy little trailer I called home flashed in my mind, and I thought,
“What do you think?” he asked.
“That God wants what’s best for us,” I said. “Not necessarily for us to have the best.”
He nodded and looked as if he were intently considering what I had just said. “I like that,” he said. “But couldn’t that be the same thing?”
“Not often,” I said.
Taking the day off without explaining why, I had left early, driven fast, and arrived by midmorning.
Beyond his oversized pool, the sun-dappled back yard, which was canopied by enormous oaks, led down to a bayou whose mossshrouded cypress trees reminded me of home.
“You’re really a man of God,” he said. “I can tell. And you have a great reputation. Very well respected in Potter County.”
“Depends on who you talk to,” I said.
He smiled. “Ah,” he said, “but beware if all men speak well of you.”
I didn’t say anything. And he didn’t either for a minute. Then, “I wish chaplains made more money. Y’all deserve it. Do such important work.”
When I didn’t respond, he said, “You do. Don’t be ashamed of what you do.”
“I’m not,” I said. “If I were, I wouldn’t do it.”
“Right,” he said. “Integrity. That’s the reason I wanted to talk to you. I’d like for someone with your integrity, deep spirituality, and obvious knowledge of prison chaplaincy to oversee the outreach prison ministry of BECM.”
“BECM?” I asked.
“Bobby Earl Caldwell Ministries,” he said, as if I should’ve known. “We send in tapes and books to most of the major institutions. We conduct crusades and healing services, but I want us to do more. And I want you to help.”
I shook my head.
“You wouldn’t have to move here,” he said. “Could if you wanted to. Think about how much more good you could do. You’d be reaching so many more souls. You’d have enormous resources at your disposal. You’d be making six times what you make now. And you’d get to work with me.”
I smiled.
“Thanks,” I said. “But, no thanks.”
He was genuinely shocked. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Think about the opportunity I’m offering you. Think of what it could mean for your ministry.”
“I’m not a prison chaplain at PCI because I don’t have other options,” I said.
“I can’t tell you how much I respect that,” he said, nodding to himself, then looking off in the distance.
A white egret at the bank of the bayou stood perfectly still as a sun-baked man with long hair beneath a soiled baseball cap and a Ragin’ Cajun T-shirt glided by in a flat-bottomed boat.
“You’re right,” Bobby Earl said. “You don’t need to be anywhere other than right where you are. And they’re blessed to have you.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I know,” he said in a sudden burst of enlightenment. “How about letting me retain you as a consultant? You could sit on our board. Help us make decisions about our prison ministry. That way you could continue doing what God has called you to do, help us, and supplement your income as well.”
“I just can’t,” I said. “But thank you.”
“Think about it for a while,” he said. “The offer stands open. Just pray about it. You can get back with me any time. You could be instrumental in helping so many inmates.”
“Was there a chaplain who was instrumental in your life?”
“Actually there was. That’s why I believe in what we’re doing in prisons. My chaplain was truly a man of God.”
I nodded, and then we were quiet for a moment.
I had waited to bring up Nicole until now to see if he would. He hadn’t, so I did. “How are you and your wife doing?” I asked.
“Huh?” he asked, as if somewhere else, his forehead furrowing in incomprehension.
“Since Nicole died,” I said. “How are you?”
“Oh,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “I accept it as the will of God. I know she’s better off-a lot better off than us, right? But Bunny’s still all broken up about it. She believes in heaven and all, but she still misses her a lot. I do, too. She was such a special child.”
“Yes, she was,” I said. “We’d like to hold a memorial service at the chapel for her. She meant so much to all the men, all of us.”
“That’s a very lovely thought,” he said. “I appreciate that.”
“We’d like for you and Mrs. Caldwell to be there.”
“Oh, we couldn’t,” he said. “I’m sorry, but we’re way too busy and it’d just be too painful.”
“Perhaps you’ll feel differently when the time comes. I hope so,” I said. “I’m still trying to figure out what happened that night. I was wondering if I could ask you and Mrs. Caldwell some questions?”
“I’d be happy to answer them,” he said. “But Bunny’s not home right now. And I wouldn’t subject her to that even if she were.”
“I understand,” I said. “When you finished preaching and Bunny came back out to sing, was that
