“The county?” she said. “The county? It’s a pretty damn small county.”
“I meant the state,” I said. “May I?” I asked as I held up the corsage.
She hesitated, then looked around. “You seem to be my only suitor. Go ahead,” she said in mock exasperation.
As I pinned it on her dress, I said, “I seriously doubt I am your only suitor.”
“Well, maybe not my only one. Watch your hands there, Priest. I wouldn’t want to be an occasion of sin for you.”
“More like an occasion of grace,” I said almost to myself.
She let that one go. Then she said, “Speaking of priests, you don’t look half-bad without that silly collar on. I might just dance with you tonight.”
“Now that you mention it, you look lovely, not that you don’t in your FedEx shorts, mind you, but even lovelier tonight.”
“Thank you,” she said softly. Then, “How long is this going to take?”
“I’m almost finished.”
“Poor priest. Is this your first time?”
I looked up with surprise.
“Pinning a corsage on a woman,” she said. “Is this your first time pinning a corsage on a woman?”
“Of course not, but it has been a while.”
“I’m sorry I’m giving you such a hard time,” she said.
“No, you’re not. You’re loving every minute of it.”
“Are you finished playing with my breasts yet, Preacher?” she said rather loudly.
Before I could respond, Laura’s sister walked back from where she had been giggling with some of her friends.
“This is Father John,” Laura said. “He’s the priest who wants to have an illicit affair with me.”
I smiled-I could do nothing else. “Hello, I’m John Jordan, and I’m not a priest. As to the affair, well let’s just say that your sister is the one who keeps mentioning it.”
She laughed. “I’m Kim,” she said. “And she likes you.”
“She has a funny way of showing it.”
“Well,” she said and then hesitated, “she just needs someone to settle her down a bit.”
“Have you tried Ritalin?”
Kim laughed.
Laura punched me in the arm.
“Hey, JJ,” Ernie yelled from where he stood with the rest of the kids waiting to enter the field.
“Well, I’ve got to go,” Kim said as the last seconds of the first half were ticking down.
“Good luck. You look great,” I said.
Later that night we danced slowly to Boz Scaggs’s “Look What You’ve Done To Me” and to other songs, most of them unfamiliar to me. It reminded me of high school-distant dances and young love. She danced close to me, but not too close. Actually, not nearly close enough.
“I think your dress is overpowering me,” I said as we danced to a ballad Richard Marx had written for his wife.
“Why do you say that?” she whispered, seemingly in some sort of trance herself.
“Because I would swear that your hair smells like peaches.”
She smiled.
Still later that night, I took her home and kissed her good night-a perfect first kiss: gentle, slightly lingering, and hinting of more, much more. It was a perfect night.
Even later that night, I went to bed with a smile on my face and dreamt of picking peaches in what must have been paradise, maybe even the Garden of Eden, but I assure you they were not forbidden fruit.
They were fruit from the Tree of Life.
Chapter 23
The great fiery eye in the sky was covered in a thick asbestos blanket of rain-threatening clouds. Relief. It was the coolest morning in weeks-still, it never dipped lower than ninety. Many of the Native Americans in our area had been doing a ceremonial rain dance for weeks. Had we known how to do it, many of us Other Americans would have joined them. Perhaps today our prayers and dances would be answered.
Laura and I were driving east on Highway 20 toward Tallahassee in my dad’s new Ford Explorer. It was white with tan leather interior that still smelled new. My old Chevy S-10 was not an appropriate chariot for the Lady Laura. The Lady, who was less talkative than the previous night, looked regal in her long, fitted black dress, her hair down, small gold loop earrings, and a single gold chain around her neck. Her look was as understated as it was devastating.
For the first part of our trip she said very little. She looked and sounded sleepy. I couldn’t help but wonder what waking up beside her would be like. I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to get out of bed if I did.
“When are you going to tell me why we’re dressed like this?” she asked.
I was wearing a black Mark Alexander suit with a gray pinstripe, a black shirt with an Episcopal collar, and black wing tip shoes.
“Did you bring a change of clothes?” I asked.
“Yes, but that doesn’t answer my question,” she said, her eyes twinkling though they still looked half-asleep. I guess I should have said half-awake.
“You don’t like surprises?” I asked.
“As a matter of fact, I don’t,” she said. Her face, besides looking slightly sleepy, looked pure and childlike, due in part to its sleepiness and in part to its natural look. If she had any makeup on at all, it was not visible-with the exception of a small amount around her eyes.
“That figures,” I said.
“Oh, really,” she said, leaning forward preparing to engage. The new leather creaked as she moved. “And exactly what does that mean?”
“You’re just too guarded, too addicted to control to like surprises,” I said.
“Listen,” she said, her irritation showing, “I’m pretty close to getting my master’s degree in psychology, so I don’t need some prison priest who’s taken a few psychology classes spouting off psycho babble to me.”
“I see,” I said.
We were silent for a while. I couldn’t help smiling.
“Why are you smiling so big?” she asked behind a smile of her own.
“I enjoy your company,” I said. “I also enjoy giving you a dose or two of your own medicine.”
“I am working on my OC tendencies,” she said. “How about you?”
“What about me?” I asked. I felt the muscles in my stomach tighten.
“Are you actively working on your recovery? I’ve heard a few things about you, you know.”
“Been checking up on me, have you?”
“A girl has to be careful these days.”
“You’re not a girl, and I have no doubt that you can handle yourself quite well. As to your question, I do not miss my two AA meetings each week, I have a sponsor, and I read a lot of recovery books.”
“I know. I just wanted to see how honest you were about it. You think I would go off with a recovering alcoholic without being sure that he was, in fact, recovering.”
“It seems you know a good deal about me. Tell me about you.”
“I will. Just as soon as you tell me where we’re going.”
“Okay,” I said trying to think of how to tell her. “Here goes. We are going out to eat and to a jazz concert in the park and to spend a leisurely afternoon in our state’s beautiful capital.”
“Don’t you mean lovely?” she asked. “And, I am talking about this morning. What are we doing this morning?”
