LOYD BURL AND THE HOOTER’S GIRL

CHAPTER 4

Sunday, April 5, 1987

A FRIEND LOVES AT ALL TIMES (Proverbs 17:17)

            As my custom was, I drove my 1980 Ford Courier nineteen miles to my parent’s home in Cedar Rapids every Sunday. I would pick up my mom in my little pickup, and we would go to church. Then we would return to the house I grew up in and have lunch. Often a brother or two would join us.

            Upon returning to campus, my mind kept playing and replaying all of the dialogue I had with Cat. When I returned to my apartment at 2 pm, my roommate Kyle had just gotten out of bed, stumbling to the coffee maker as he scratched himself. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Yet it was he that was critical of me just one day ago for arising from slumber during a PM hour. I told him as much.

            “There is a clear difference, my good man,” Kyle told me. Then making a face, he released some flatulence, causing me to take a couple steps back from him. He continued, “I was up into the wee hours of the morning engaging in passion with a lovely female. You my friend had been up into the wee hours of the morning reading.”

            It was true. I had acquired a book called ‘Mere Christianity’ by C.S. Lewis, and I couldn’t put it down. I pursued the matter no further. I grabbed a white laundry bag that held a half dozen footballs, and headed to a field that used to be Whitney College’s practice field before they built a new facility. Thankfully, the grounds keeper kept the old one mowed.

            The field was behind a couple acres of woods with a trail in the middle leading from the road to the semi secluded field. I frequently retreated there to kick my footballs. It was peaceful and quiet, and I only saw other people from a distance walking to various buildings on the campus. But on Sundays, I rarely saw another human being while abiding there.

            So imagine my surprise when a person emerged from the woods right when I booted my third football high into the air. She was easy to spot in her bright orange shorts and white top that said ‘Hooter’s’ across her chest. You guessed it, it was Catalina Clutterbuck.

            With mouth agape, she watched the football I had just kicked sail high and far through the air. I watched her watching the oblong object. I was so stunned to see her standing thirty feet from me in this semiprivate spot, I didn’t know what to think.

            “Hello, Pebble,” she said.

            “Hello, Pebbles,” I returned. Trying to hide my sudden panic at the surprise of seeing her here where I have never encountered another person before, I resorted to humor. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

            To my chagrin, she didn’t laugh. She put her hands on her hips in a scolding posture. “Trying to discover why I watched you cross the road with a white bag hanging from your shoulder and entering into some woods.”

            “I give up,” I replied with sheepish grin.

            Obviously she had worked the lunch shift at her restaurant. I recalled our conversation about her, although seeming prudish, working at a place where she had to wear a sexy uniform. She had deferred it from being sexy to appearing athletic. Fair point, it did consist of sneakers and gym shorts. But as I gazed at her in the warm afternoon sunshine after a crisp morning, you could not deny the sensual aspect to the uniform.

            “By the way, would you mind calling me Cat? I don’t mind my work nickname, but I’m also not crazy about it.”

            “Same here,” I told her. “Call me Loyd or…”

            Shyness stopped me from adding other possibilities. But she urged it out of me, saying, “Or what?”

            I shrugged, “How about Stud Muffin?”

            To my delight, she laughed. It was a nice laugh, and it lit up her lovely face from the dark brooding countenance I had thus far become familiarized. She asked, “How about M and M?”

            “M and M?” I frowned. “Like the colorful chocolatey candy that’s very sweet?”

            “And has nuts in the middle.”

            “You mean peanut rather than plain.”

            “No,” she said, snatching a football from my hands. Grinning she said, “By M and M, I mean Mystery Man.”

            “I’m no mystery man,” I chuckled. “I’m a simple man.”

            “Simple my foot. I admit you had me thinking that when I agreed to go out with you. Then last night, you fearlessly do a Chuck Norris imitation. Now I discover that you’re actually on the football team.”

            “Last night I wasn’t fearless, and I’m not on the football team.”

            She frowned. “So that kick I just saw that went around sixty yards was a fluke?”

            “Well, no.”

            She tossed me the football. “Kick it again.”

            I got nervous at her demand, and observational critique. I shanked the ball. It didn’t even go twenty yards forward but went thirty yards sideways.

            “So it was a fluke,” she said with a touch of merriment.

            Embarrassment made me a little feisty. I picked up another football and boomed a high spiral almost seventy yards.

            “So tell me, M and M. Why do you practice kicking footballs if you’re not on the football team?”

            I shrugged. “I enjoy it. I like the exercise. Plus, growing up I acquired a football every Christmas right up until high school. So, I figured I might as well make use of them.”

            “Well let me tell you, a boyfriend from high school played football, and I dated a guy that played football for Whitney for six months. I’ve seen football. So let me tell you, you have a special talent!”

            I never thought of myself as the jealous type, but I guess I was. I had resented my co-worker Becky’s husband. When she divorced and began dating what I perceived as a controlling, macho prig, I hated it. When I overheard her talking lingerie purchases with another woman, I felt sick. So when Cat mentioned former boyfriends, I felt serious agitation.

            “Well, thank you, Cat. Two of my brothers have observed me kicking and told me the same thing.”

            “So why don’t you try out?”

            “I’m just not interested. Forgive me, but I’ve gotten my fill of macho jock types just from my family. I’d rather just focus on my artwork.”

            “You’re artist?”

            “Yeah, I told you I’m an art student.”

            “I thought you meant like art history or becoming an art teacher.”

            “Well, that too. Most artists can’t make a living off of it.”

            “What kind of art do you do?”

            “Mostly painting and drawing.”

            “Me too!” she cooed. “I want to see your work!”

            “I want to see yours!” I declared.

            “I bet you do,” she replied, her voice sultry, her eyes teasing. Then her face became serious, as if she regretted being flirtatious. “Did I see you leaving town around nine this morning in a little white truck?”

            “Well, yeah, I did leave town around nine this morning in my little white truck.”

            “Where were you going?”

            “Aren’t we nosey?” I teased.

            She didn’t seem to find my comment funny. She shrugged. “I just thought you might have another surprise up your sleeve. I mean, last night you do a really good Chuck Morris imitation. Now this afternoon I find you on this hidden field kicking like an NFL punter. So yes, I am curious what surprising thing you might have been doing in between.”

            “Nothing surprising,” I shrugged. “I’m from Cedar Rapids, and every Sabbath morning I go back home and take my mother to church.”

            “That’s very sweet of you,” she said with a genuine smile. She even touched my arm, but then her expression became serious. “But today is not the Sabbath.”

            Since we had first met only days ago, she had looked at me like I had two heads on more than one occasion. Now it was my turn. Puzzled, I asked, “What do you call it?”

            “The venerable day of the sun,” she replied merrily. “Also known as the first day of the week. Also known as Sunday.”

            “Yes,” I replied as if I was talking to a child. “And to most of the world it is known as the Sabbath.”

            “Most of the world be wrong,” she replied lightheartedly as she poked me in the chest. “The Sabbath is the seventh day according to the ten commandments. Do you know who wrote the ten commandments?”

            “Of course I do. God wrote it with his own finger.”

            “Correct, so how did most of Christendom end up keeping Sunday instead of the direct command of God?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “Well I’ll enlighten you, Brother Loyd,” she said cheerily.

            I didn’t like her calling me brother, when I wanted to be her lover.

            “Roman emperor Constantine made Sunday as the Sabbath prominent in 321 AD, when he made Christianity a legal religion. It wasn’t long after when the dark ages began, and this religious and political power put people to death if they didn’t follow their dictates. Look it all up in the encyclopedia.”

            “How do you know all this?”

            She shrugged. “My mom is pretty religious. She made me go to church with her, so I guess I picked up quite a bit.”

            “But you’re not religious?”

            She shrugged, and then shook her head. “I guess you could say that I lost my way.”

            “Why?”

            “Something happened when I was in high school.”

            “What?”

            “I don’t want to talk about it.”

            “Why?”

            A pained look came onto her countenance. “Let’s just say I’m not as pure as the wind driven snow, and it wasn’t necessarily my fault. Let’s say that’s the reason I come across as a witch and am very cautious with guys. So, you wouldn’t understand.”

            Her eyes began to fill with liquid, and she looked away from me. I then told her something I had never told anyone before. “Can you keep a secret?”

            She looked at me with a blank expression. A tear popped from her left eye and ran down her cheek. She shrugged. “Yeah.”

            “When I was an altar boy, a priest had me undress with him.”

            She looked stunned. “And?”

            “I fled before anything happened. But it left a scar, a deep scar. And it shook my faith.”

            Cat stepped slowly to me and said in a hoarse whisper, “I had a feeling God sent you to me.”

            We hugged then, and it felt really good. The feeling I had was more on the side of love, rather than sexual. But there was that sensual aspect. She looked almighty sexy in that Hooter’s uniform. I’d like to tell you she smelled like roses, but the predominant fragrance was burgers and fries. But it still felt beyond good! Other than the thing that was between us.

            I don’t mean the little bit we had confided to each other. I had nonchalantly picked up a football during the course of our conversation, and it pressed against both of our stomachs as we embraced.

            We held each other for a good minute. Then Cat snatched the ball from between us and took off running. I gave chase, and after about fifty yards, my arms wrapped around her, both of us laughing. I let her go, and our laughter evaporated into serious expressions.

            Before things could get awkward, Cat groping for something to say, asked, “Do you have a favorite Bible verse?”

            I took a breath and blew out a nervous sigh. “Right now I’d have to say Song of Solomon chapter one verse two.”

            She smiled and said, “Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth—for his love is better than wine.”

            So I kissed somebody on the lips for the very first time.

LOYD BURL AND THE HOOTER’S GIRL

CHAPTER 3

Saturday, April 4, 1987

A GOOD NAME IS TO BE CHOSEN RATHER THAN GREAT RICHES (Proverbs 22:1)

            “I’d like to get to know you, too,” I stammered as I gazed into Catalina Clutterbuck’s lovely green eyes that were staring intently into mine.

            The front door burst open, startling Cat and me. But the sight of Kyle and Mona brought me relief, as I was sure the next moments with Cat were to bring awkwardness.

            “Where did you guys go?” Cat demanded as she stood with hands on her hips.

            “Knucklehead here lost the tickets to the concert,” Mona said.

            “It was no big deal,” Kyle defended. “I just couldn’t remember where I put them.”

            “We found them above the sun visor of his car,” Mona said, rolling her eyes. “Why would you put them there?”

            Kyle grinned sheepishly and shrugged. Mona said, “Hey Pebbles, come to my room with me quick.”

            “What for?” I asked, puzzled why Kyle’s girl would want to see me alone.

            But Cat had started to rise, then stopped and looked at me like I had two heads, reminding me of her rejection of me the other day. Then she sat back down and said, “Why did you answer to Pebbles?”

            “Pebble, no S, is Loyd’s nickname,” Kyle explained for me. “That’s all I’ve ever heard his brothers call him when they’ve visited. Is Pebbles your nickname?”

            Cat nodded, but Mona explained. “We often call Cat Pebbles at work because she usually has her hair in a ponytail, and it reminds us of the Flintstone’s daughter Pebbles. Why do your brothers call you Pebble, Loyd?”

            I felt my toes curl. “Um, well, it stems from the initials PBL.”

            “PBL?” Cat frowned as if studying a deep problem. “The L must be Loyd, what’s the PB?”

            “Pretty Boy,” Kyle blurted.

            “Loyd is very pretty,” Mona said flirtatiously. Kyle looked at her as if to say, what about me? But Kyle wasn’t pretty. He was handsome sometimes. He looked a lot like nerdy Skippy from the sitcom ‘Family Ties’ that starred Micheal J Fox. So it was surprising how well he did with the ladies. But he did have charm and charisma.

            “Maybe we should start calling Loyd Bam Bam,” Mona giggled. “Do you want to be Bam Bam to Cat’s Pebbles?”

            I looked at Cat who was looking at me. She giggled because of the startled look on my face. But it was a warm reaction, so I said, “I do.”

            Cat took my hand as if to reassure me. “Just remember, Pebbles and Bam Bam were friends before they were lov… more.”

            The lost tickets put us a little behind for the concert, which worked out perfectly as far as I was concerned. Both Cat and I weren’t interested in the show itself, and it lasted around three hours. It was also too loud to start down the path of getting to know each other. Then after the show there was a bit of a hiccup with a bully encounter.

            Although an art nerd, I thankfully was never bullied. Sure, I was picked on by my older and much bigger brothers. But beyond sometimes feeling like a human Nerf ball, I knew they loved me. Not that they would have admitted their affection for me.

            My mom also started me in karate when I was eight, and I kept up with it all through school. So between the underlying threat of my older brothers and martial arts, I was left alone.

Also, I am not exactly a wimp, I just look that way next to my brothers. Much like standing next to position players when I was a punter in the NFL.

            So as we were walking to our car after the concert, six drunk rednecks harassed us. It was a new experience for me. Because it was new and unexpected, I just reacted. First we heard them mention two waitresses from Hooter’s. Then they began to say derogatory things. One was directed at my date. He mention her red hair, snootiness, and using profanity, called her a body part.

            I was torn between turn the other cheek by ignoring and hoping they went away or defend the honor of the woman I was escorting. Right or wrong, I chose the latter. I turned toward the guy who called Cat a vulgar name. “What kind of lowlife talks to a lady like that?”

            He sneered, showing me tobacco stained teeth. “What’re ya gonna do about it?”

            “Tell your mom.”

            His eyes squinted a bit. Forgive me, but I decided to provoke him a little, in the hope that he would attack me. “If she saw you now, she’d probably spank you.”

            “Yeah, why don’t you try to spank me,” he said, and then gave me that for which I hoped. His words coincided with a shove toward my shouldered. I grabbed his wrist just as it made contact. Using his own momentum, I yanked hard, stuck my left foot out, tripping him, and he went sprawling forward with his Nascar hat flying off his head. Although only in his early twenties, he was balding, and apparently wanted to keep it covered. In an attempt to retrieve it as he fell, his face took the brunt of the fall, and right on the gravel parking lot.

            I actually winced and was just in time to see another one of the brave gentlemen take a swing at me. I fell away to my right just in time. I purposely fell to the ground, continuing to move to the right and parallel with the bully. I kicked the back of his legs, right behind the knees.

            At that time no one was aware that I regularly practiced punting footballs, and between that and karate, my legs were rather strong. When I hit the valiant young man behind his knees with quite a bit of force, he went backward and for a couple seconds looked like he was exceptional at doing the limbo. Then one of his knees popped and he screamed.

            I wasn’t intending to do so much damage to these courageous men. I had never been in a street fight before, but we were outnumbered, so I didn’t hold back. Years of karate, coupled with years of wrestling with older, stronger brothers seemed to be adequate preparation.

            And we weren’t done yet. As I quickly arose to my feet, one of the thoughtful young men helped me. But I was wrong. He wasn’t helping me up. He grabbed a fist full of my shirt as if to hold me in place. His other fist was a weapon he intended to hurl at my face. But he left my arms free, and the fingers that gripped my shirt soon released when I put him in a move called an arm bar.

            Let’s just say with him in an arm bar, I could have easily and nastily broken his arm. He felt the possibility too as he shrieked, going to one knee. His three other unharmed friends took a step to assist, and I warned, “Take another step and I’ll break his arm.”

            They stopped and one even held up his hands. I continued, “Look, we were minding our own business when you guys decided to harass us. If I let him up, will you guys let us go on our merry way?”

            “Yes, yes, please, yes,” the guy whose arm I held in a precarious position declared. He seemed suddenly sober.

            “What say you three?”

            “Yeah, we’ll leave you alone,” one of them stammered.

            “Thank you, that’s very kind,” I replied. I let the arm guy go. I placed my hands together like a steeple, bowed slightly, and said, “Wax on, wax off.”

            As we walked away, I kept an eye on the rednecks. Never underestimate an angry coward who takes refuge in a group or gang, especially after they were humiliated. I hoped, and even figured that I would never see them again. But I was only half right.

            It turned out that the bullies were members of the Whitney college football team. It also was very soon to pass that a secret of mine that wasn’t actually a secret was about to be revealed to someone. That someone was to discover that a favorite exercise of mine was going to a vacant field with a bag of footballs and punting them back and forth up and down the field.

            I would be encouraged to try out for the football team. When I did, I was surprised at how surprised the coaches were with my kicking ability. With mouths agape, they watch how far I could boom a football. Also how accurate. I could usually place a football within a couple of feet of an attended target.

            Fortunately, half of the crew that courageously harassed a woman and her three companions were seniors, and I would never see them again. Unfortunately, I would not only encounter, but become teammates of the other three, thereby seeing them on a regular basis.

            As we walked away, Mona and Kyle heaped praise upon me, and I was indeed beginning to feel prideful. However, God as my witness, I certainly didn’t plan what happened. I just reacted to the rednecks not minding their own business and disrupting ours. I wasn’t even scared until after, when, as I marched along, my knees felt week, and my hands trembled a little for a minute or two.

            But Cat walked along as if disturbed, her arms crossed under her chest. I felt rebuked, and therefore didn’t say anything. We were only about a five minute drive from the arena to Cat’s apartment. She and I were silent, but Kyle and Mona were so talkative that they kept interrupting each other. I offered to walk Cat to her door, and thankfully, she didn’t protest. But she was still silent and brooding.

            With thumbs hooked into my jeans pockets, and head hung slightly, I said, “Look, Cat, I’m really sorry about that deal with those guys. I didn’t know what else to do.”

            She looked hard at me. Her eyes seemed to scold, but to my relief, she smiled. Then she quietly said. “You frightened me, Pebble… Good night.”

            She turned to go up the stairs to her second floor apartment. I spontaneously grabbed her hand, instantly regretting what seemed to be an aggressive move. After all, she had just said I frightened her. “Cat, I would never hurt you. I didn’t even want to hurt those guys. But what do you do when someone rudely interrupts your business? I don’t know if you were watching, but I didn’t punch any of those guys. I just, um, helped them fall down.”

            She pulled her hand out of mine and I doubly regretted grabbing it. But then she sat on a step and folded her arms under her chest, sighing. I took it as a good sign that she sat. A bad sign that she sighed. I had only been on three dates with three girls in my life. This one was my first with Cat and looking like my last.

            “That’s not why you frightened me,” Cat said. “It’s hard to explain.”

            She looked away from me, chewed on her lower lip, and angrily wiped a tear from her eye. She stood abruptly. “I need to go in.”

            “Cat, wait,” I pleaded. She ignored me, continuing quickly toward her door, so I tried, “Pebbles, wait.”

            She turned and smiled though her tears. Then she quietly said, “It seemed like a sign.”

            “No, it is a sign,” I said with a smile. “So is that Bible verse… I want to see you again, Cat.”

            “And I you.”

            Like the idiot I am, I had to stop myself from saying, ‘So you’re not breaking up with me?’

            “Then please tell me why I frightened you,” I said gently.

            She took a step toward me. “You frighten me because I’ve never been so drawn to a guy in my life. I too have practiced martial arts, ever since something really bad happened to me in high school. Yet I couldn’t have done what you did tonight. Not even close.”

            “I’ve been in it over decade, Cat. Plus I wrestled with bigger, stronger brothers all the while growing up.”

            “Did you like it?”

            “Mostly no. But now that we are older…”

            There was a long moment where we just looked at each other. I couldn’t get read on her expression, her feelings. But I perceived that she was broken somehow. Yes, we all are to some degree. But whatever she referred to from high school wounded her. I wanted to help her heal.

            “Mona and Kyle are waiting.”

            “Yeah,” I replied.

            She turned toward her apartment, saying, “Call me.”

            “I don’t have your number.”

            She rattled it off, expecting me to remember. Was it some kind of test? Thankfully, she didn’t say 867-5309. After the prefix, it was my birthday, making it quite easy to remember. 396-7866. AKA July 8, 1966. Was it another sign?

LOYD BURL AND THE HOOTER’S GIRL

CHAPTER 2

Saturday, April 4, 1987

AFTER THE FIRE A STILL SMALL VOICE (1 Kings 19:12)

            “I got you a date with Cat,” my roommate Kyle told me with delight.

            “What are you talking about? Why would I want to date a Cat?” I asked with a frown.

            “Not a furry feline, you idiot. I’m talking about Catalina.”

            “Who’s Catalina?”

            “You know that Hooter’s waitress you asked out the other day.”

            “Oh, you mean the snobby girl that looked at me like I had two heads.”

            “No, I mean that hot chick who reconsidered.”

            I am a rather shy person, especially around beautiful women. I tend to get tongue tied very easily. As a matter of fact, approaching Catalina in the first place was unlike me. But that’s how strong my attraction to Becky was, and Catalina looked like she could have been her sister.

            “Why would she reconsider?” I asked skeptically.

            “It seems Mona convinced her that you’re a gentleman.”

            “That’s why she reconsidered?”

            “Not exactly,” Kyle replied with a wince. “I won four tickets to the sold out country jamboree concert tonight.”

            “Tonight? Tonight’s only a few hours away. Plus, I don’t like country music.”

            “It’s not my fault you slept until noon. I won these tickets calling into a morning radio show and had these double date plans worked out before sleeping beauty woke up early this afternoon. As far as country music goes, you may not like the music, but you’ll like the arm candy you’ll be escorting.”

            I felt a surge of butterflies in my stomach before I replied. “It’s true that this Cat woman is beautiful to gaze upon, but she seems to be witchy to the max.”

            “Dude, she not only agreed to go out with you, she said you were cute and seemed sweet.”

            “She really said I was cute?”

            “Yeah man! I heard it myself over the phone as Mona pleaded with her to go out with you.”

            “Pleaded!”

            “No, no, I miss spoke. Just talked her into.”

            “Talked into! How exactly did the cute part come up?”

            “Well, when she reluctantly gave in.”

            “Reluctantly!”

            “Dude, do you want to go out with a hot chick or not?”

            “I don’t know. In light of her agreeing to see me, her initial rejection scares me.”

            Kyle looked at me sympathetically, and then spoke to me softly and slowly, as if trying to get something across to a child. “Listen old buddy. As a rule, Cat not only doesn’t date guys she serves at the restaurant, she has never dated a guy that has stepped foot into Hooter’s period.”

            “Why?”

            He shrugged. “It seems she thinks all guys that come into Hooter’s are creeps on some level. She believes their motives are primarily lust over the food.”

            “She’s a waitress there! She puts on that uniform and puts herself in a lustable position!”

            “Dude, I didn’t say she wasn’t a hypocrite.”

            “Why does she even work there?”

            “Well, I’m gonna guess a Hooter’s waitress gets better tips than just about anywhere else. But maybe you’ll find out when you get to know her.”

            “I don’t think I want to get know her.”

            “Oh, but I think you do, my dear friend.”

            “Why do you want me to go out with her so bad?”

            “Because I think you two are right for each other.”

            “Is that so, Cupid? Would you mind telling me why?”

            “Several reasons. One, I’ve never seen you ask a girl out. Two, I’ve never seen you go on a date. Three, you’ve never brought a girl back to our bachelor pad. And four, I happen to know that at one time you aspired to become a priest, thereby you would be taking a vow of celibacy. In turn, the lovely Catalina is chaste.”

            “She is? A Hooter’s waitress? How do you know that?”

            “See, you’re stereo typing just like she did. She confided to Mona just last week that she broke up with the guy she had been seeing for the last six months primarily because he was pressuring her to go all the way. Plus, Mona has caught her more than once reading a little Bible she keeps in her purse. I happen to know you frequently read the Bible. Don’t you see, old chum? I could start a match making business, and you’re getting my services for free. So how about it? Why not give the lovely Catalina Clutterbuck a chance? She’s giving you one.”

            I nodded reluctantly. Catalina wasn’t the only one. With great hesitancy, I said, “Okay.”

            Five hours later, Kyle and I entered Mona’s apartment. Mona was petite with long corn silk blonde hair with intense light brown eyes. She had a vibrant, bubbly personality and her cheerful smile probably won her more tips than any other waitress.

            Catalina’s long auburn hair was down, as she aimed her cool gaze on me. She was wearing faded blue jeans and a very soft looking white sweater. My breath caught at her beauty. It was as if the actress Diane Lane and I were looking at each other. Without even speaking, I could feel my tongue knot up, but managed to breath a ‘hello.’ She grunted a ‘hi’ as we shook hands, and her hand was surprisingly cold and limp.

            To my absolute horror, we had barely set foot in the apartment when Mona said, “You two make yourself comfortable. Kyle and I will be back in a few minutes.”

            “Where are you going?” Catalina asked with wide, concerned eyes.

            “We have to get… something,” Kyle stammered before the door slammed behind him.

            Catalina and I looked at each other. She looked angry, and I felt frightened. So I suppose I looked scared as well. She took advantage of my vulnerability.

            Catalina snorted and put her hands on her hips. “I don’t know why I agreed to this.”

            “Me neither.”

            She looked taken aback. “What do you mean, you asked me out the other day?”

            Her snooty attitude was making her unattractive, and therefore loosening my tongue. “It’s true, I did. You see you reminded me of a younger version of someone I’m quite fond of.”

            “A little advice when pursuing a woman. A lady will not be impressed that your interest in her is because she reminds you of someone you would rather have.”

            “Thanks for the advice, but your similarities stopped with how you look. As soon as you spoke, I knew your personalities were different.”

            “Meaning?” she asked with squinting eyes. If ever someone had lazers for eyes, it was Catalina Clutterbuck. The weird thing was how such pretty eyes could look so mean.

            “It’s as simple as she’s warm and friendly, and you’re cold and unfriendly.”

            For a second she looked hurt, and I almost apologized. But then the defiance doubly returned. “So why didn’t you ask her out instead of me? Or did she say no?”

            “She’s married. Or was, she’s going through a divorce. She’s also eleven years older than me, and we are co-workers.”

            “Where do you work?”

            I told her, then asked. “Speaking of work, why do you work at a place known for its young lusty waitresses in sexy uniforms when you resent guys, you know, lusting after you.”

            “For one thing, I don’t mind guys admiring my, um, attributes. I just don’t like them hitting on me or asking me out. Most of my customers don’t.”

            “Sure, because they probably hear you speak before they have an opportunity and noticed that your personality is the opposite of your appearance.”

            Not only did I get the lazers, her jaw tightened. What got in to me? I didn’t talk this hostile to anyone, let alone an exceptionally pretty girl.

            “I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.”

            “Pretend all you want.”

            “As for the uniforms, they are of an athletic nature, right down to the tennis shoes.”

            “Give me a break, athletic?”

            “Speaking of tennis,” she continued with a stiff face and bitter tongue. “Put any of our waitress’s in a tennis outfit, and she’s probably even more, as you say, lusty.”

            “Fair point,” I replied mildly. “Look, it seems you and I both don’t want to be paired together. You want to go this concert, and I guess I just didn’t want to disappoint Kyle.”

            “Disappoint Kyle? Why would you disappoint Kyle?”

            “He literally begged me to go to this thing,” I said with a chuckle. But then I immediately regretted my words when I saw the incredulous look on her face.

            “You seriously had to be begged?” she asked aghast.

            “It seems like you did too. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. Whatever that means.”

            “But my situation is different.”

            “What? Like you’re better than me?”

            “Yeah, I guess so,” she replied with a shrug, and as if I wasn’t being sarcastic.

            “Aren’t we full of ourselves.”

            “No, you’ve got to understand something. I’ve never ever went on a date with a guy that I know has come into Hooter’s.”

            “Wow, you must want to go to that concert pretty bad.”

            “I don’t want to go to that stupid concert.”

            I was stunned, my mind whirled with the reason why, so I voiced it. “Given the very little I know about you, Clutterbuck, why are you here?”

            She looked at me with wide, cautious eyes. It was so much better than the cold, witchy lazers. Then she bit her thumb, and I got a lump in my throat. She was adorable! “Would you call me crazy if I told you I think the Lord wanted me to go out with you?”

            “No, I wouldn’t call you crazy, but I’d call me curious.”

            “You believe in God, right? Mona told me you were kind of religious.”

            “Yes, I believe in God,” I replied a little baffled. I sure didn’t expect our cantankerous conversation to do a complete one-eighty and end up in a spiritual discussion.

            “Well, I heard a still voice, you know, like Elijah. I couldn’t get you out of my stupid mind for some reason.”

            I frowned, wondering if I should be flattered or insulted by that last sentiment.

            “Anyhow, I kept thinking about how Mona said you were different, coupled with, well, I hate to admit it, but you are pretty cute.”

            It felt like my cheeks were coloring. I also sensed that my tongue which had been loosened by her snootiness, was tightening up from her now open, friendliness. She leaned toward me, and although a shy fellow by nature, she had me intrigued and I leaned toward her.

            “So I’m pondering whether to give in and go to that lame concert thing. I’m praying over and over as I’m doing the dishes in my apartment. When I finish, I go to my Bible, open it up, and do know what verse my eyes land on?”

            She looks at me as if waiting for an answer. How could I possibly know? So although my tongue now feels like it has been injected with Novocain, I say, “Wah-wah what?”

            She didn’t seem to notice my nervous response, or so I hoped. She pulled out a Bible from her oversized purse. She opened and flipped through pages. She handed me the Good Book, and I took it from her, hoping my fingers wouldn’t tremble. It was opened on the book, the Song of Solomon, chapter one.

            “Read verse two,” she said.

            It read: Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth—For your love is better than wine.

            I looked up at her. I was both excited and terrified. She was staring at me with intense, but warm eyes. She slowly licked her lips, not trying to be sensual. She seemed to be in deep concentration before she said, “Loyd, I think I’m supposed to get to know you.”

            My heart rate had increased so much, I’ve always wondered how I didn’t pass out.

LOYD BURL AND THE HOOTER’S GIRL

PROLOUGE

June 25, 2024

FOR WHAT IS YOUR LIFE? IT IS EVEN A VAPOR THAT APPEARS FOR A LITTLE TIME AND THEN VANISHES AWAY. (James 4:14)

            Time is deceptive. How can it move so slow and yet so fast? How can you remember so many things throughout your life, and yet ask, where did the time go? I shook my head as I read her tombstone. Thirty-five years ago she had been murdered. Killed by jealousy. Stabbed more than a dozen times in chest and abdomen.

            1988 had started me on an eventful year. I was in love with two women, and I was drafted into the NFL. I was an aspiring artist, born into a family of sports fanatics. My brothers, cousins, father, and uncles were all bigger, faster and stronger than me. Most had played college sports at some level. But it was I, nicknamed Pretty Boy Loyd by one of my brothers, that made it to the top echelon of sports. For I was employed as a punter by the Chicago Bears for more than a decade.

            I suppose you could say I had a type. For both of the women I was in love with in 1988 had auburn hair, and large, lovely green eyes. I put my arm around the thirty-five year old woman standing next to me. She had large, lovely green eyes just like her mother. But I guess because of my blonde hair, my daughter’s hair was a golden-red.

            “It’s so weird,” my daughter said quietly. “The mother that birthed me, and the mother who raised me sometimes look like the same person in pictures. Did you ever date anyone besides my two moms?”

            “I guess sort of, but not really. Your mother was the first woman I ever kissed.”

            “Which one?”

            “You know the story… Your mother.”

            She laughed and bumped her hip into mine. “Tell me about 1988 again.”

            “Well actually, I met your mother in 1985. But I met your other mother in 1987.”

            “Okay, so tell me about the 1980’s.”

            I gazed up into a big tree and watched the wind rustle the leaves. “Once upon a time, long, long ago…”

CHAPTER 1

Wednesday, October 31, 1984, to April Fool’s Day, 1987

            “Wow,” my voice emitted, unable to contain its awe of the beautiful woman to whom I was just introduced. She wore a short purple dress, and her shapely legs were covered by pink tights. A light purple band held in place her silky dark red hair. “You’re Daphne from Scooby Doo.”

            Her eyes twinkled, and she aimed the most beautiful smile at me as she extended her hand to shake mine. “Actually I’m Becky. I’m just dressed like Daphne for Halloween. The rest of the mystery gang is around here somewhere. Gary Middleton even brought his Great Dane with him to be Scooby.”

            I was a freshman a Whitney Junior college, and it was my first day at my part time job as an afternoon parts delivery person for a truck dealership. Becky Dankworth wasn’t exactly my new boss, but she was the person who invoiced my deliveries, causing us to see each other on a daily basis.

            “So you’re a Weasel?” Becky asked me with mirth in her tone.

            “Excuse me?”

            She laughed, and that beautiful smile was aimed at me once again. “I was a Weasel a decade ago. Back then our sports teams were less than stellar. So instead of the Whitney Westar’s, we started calling ourselves the Weasels. We even had shirts made.”

            “Oh, you’re graduate of Whitney college then?”

            “No,” she replied, shaking her head, and showing me the wedding band on her left hand. “I got married after my sophomore year. I was actually a parts runner like you back then. But I went full time after I got hitched.”

            I don’t know why I felt a surge of disappointment when she told me she was married. After all, she was almost thirty, and I was still a teenager. But as we got to know each other, and became friends, there was an undeniable chemistry between us that transcended work buddies. There was an ever so subtle, extra friendliness, if you know what I mean?

            Yet we were both moral people. I had been an altar boy, who was even considering the priesthood. But then a priest who got fresh with me, soured my devotion. Becky, at some point in her girlhood, had considered becoming a nun.

            Anyway, over the next two and a half years, I saw Becky’s lovely smile less and less. Then one day I noticed her wedding band was gone. Not long after that a breakdown on my delivery route got me back two hours later than average. Becky was the only one left at the office. That’s when I noticed her quietly weeping at her desk.

            “Are you okay, Becky?” I gently asked.

            Even though I was quiet, she jumped as if a firecracker had suddenly exploded by her desk. “Oh my goodness, you scared me!”

            “Sorry.”

            “No, that’s alright, but I thought everyone was long gone,” she replied, wiping quickly at her eyes as if to hide the fact she’d been crying.

            “I broke down and Gary had to come out with a different van for me to finish my route.”

            “I see.”

            An awkward silence ensued, then I became bold. “Look, I know it’s none of my business. But I’ve noticed that you’ve been awfully sad lately. Now I just found you crying.”

            She gave me a hard cold stare and Loyd Burl felt his toes curl. In the time I had known Becky there had never been a crossword or an unfriendly look between us. Although we had gotten to know each quite well, we had never gotten, shall we say, personal.

            But the panic I felt led to me to do just that. I went on one knee in front of her and took her left hand in my right. “Look, Becky, I care deeply for you. It hurts my soul to see you in such pain. But I also understand if you don’t want to talk about what’s going on. On the other hand, if you do, I’m always available for you. Okay?”

            The glare left her face as her eyebrows arched. Her chin got that cottage cheese look as her lips tightened, and then her lower lip trembled. A sob she had been holding back suddenly burst from her mouth. Her arms wrapped around my neck, and we stood, embracing each other as she cried into my shoulder.

            I turned my head and most of my face became buried in her silky dark red hair. I breathed in the scent as I gently rubbed her back. I wanted to hug her pain away. Yet it was because of her pain that I found myself connected to this woman I was so infatuated with.

            I could smell the faint rose fragrance of her shampoo, mingled with the scent the Salem light 100’s she began smoking a few months ago. When I mentioned what seemed like a new habit of smoking, she had shrugged it off, telling me she had stopped and started smoking several times over the years. But I now knew her relapse was due to some inner turmoil.

            Back then I was myself an occasional smoker. But what I smoked was usually wacky tobacky, rather cigarette tobacco. On more than one occasion when Becky and I chatted in the break room, she would snuff out her cigarette and go back to her desk. I would pick up the butt, eye the pink or red of her lipstick and place it between my lips, relishing the moistness her own lips had left on the filter.

            “Sorry,” she choked as she finally pushed away from me. She sat back and crossed one shapely leg over the other. The split on her denim skirt rode high up on her thigh, but she did nothing to correct it. Always when she sat, she would tug her skirt down. Always! This was a habit of hers whether it needed to be or not. Believe me, I studied her pretty thoroughly.

            She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. Forgive me, but I took this opportunity to examine her legs. Her chair was now turned the opposite way from her desk, and her shoes were underneath it. I was gazing at the red of her painted toenails that you could see through her sheer black nylons when she abruptly lifted her head, saying, “How embarrassing!”

            “Yeah!” I blurted. “I mean no, don’t feel that way. You know… Whatever you’re going through… You know, it’s…”

            “My husband and I are getting a divorce,” she said quickly.

            I refrained from saying ‘that’s wonderful,’ and replied, “I’m sorry,” instead.

            She nodded, and then opened up a verbal flood gate. She told me how three or four years into their marriage they decided to have kids. That she had always wanted kids, lots them, four or five. But after a year of being off of birth control pills, no children were forth coming. It turned out the problem was with him.

            He took it hard, and his pride seemed to change his personality. He became verbally abusive. Then to add insult to injury, she recently discovered that he was having an affair with one of her close friends. A divorced mother of two.

            She was willing to forgive, and suggested counseling. But he wanted a divorce, and the two adulterers intended to marry. Instant family she supposed. I wondered if my own infatuation with Becky was a type of adultery. You know, like when Jesus said if you look upon a woman to lust after her, you’ve committed adultery in your heart.

            I had certainly done quite a bit of lusting over a married woman. Although I never figured it would go anywhere. Right then I still didn’t despite her divorce, what with our age difference. She had recently turned thirty last spring, and I turned nineteen during the summer.

            “Can I ask you something?” she said.

            “Of course.”

            “How come you don’t have a girlfriend? I mean, you look like you could be Robert Redford’s son, and I bet you get a lot of female attention.”

            I shrugged. “I’m just picky I guess. And I haven’t met, you know, that special someone.” Other than you, I thought. But you’re married, for now anyway, and too old. “So, I figure why waste the time dating someone if it’s not gonna go anywhere?”

            “Most guys your age would say they just want, how should I put this? Some action.”

            “I’m not most guys. I don’t want to just use some girl for sex.”

            “Are you saving yourself for marriage then?”

            I shrugged. “At least for the woman I’m going to marry.”

            “You’re a special young man,” she told me with a look of fondness. “I’ve always known you were. I believe that special someone is out there for you. Maybe you shouldn’t be so picky and give a girl a chance.”

            How about you, I thought. Instead I smiled and nodded.

            “I’d love to see some girl sweep you off your feet. You deserve it!”

            It was almost as if Becky had uttered a prophecy. My roommate had recently started dating a waitress from Hooter’s restaurant. I had never been to the establishment, for I didn’t want to appear to be there to lust after the waitresses who were known for their chestiness and short shorts.

            But low and behold, Kyle somehow talked me into it. I was so glad he did! Becky had said I looked like I could be Robert Redford’s son. Well, Catalina Clutterbuck could have been Becky’s younger sister!

            The only problem, and it was a big one, Catalina put up a big time snobbish front. It was hard enough for me to talk to beautiful females. So when I approached her about a date, I was mortified when she looked at me like I had just vomited on her shoes. Which I actually kind of felt like doing.

SELFLESS OR SELL OUT?

CHAPTER 11

Tuesday April 29, 1980

I WILL MAKE YOUR DESCENDANTS MULTIPLY AS THE STARS OF HEAVEN (Genesis 26:4)

            Mary Jean awoke kissing the crook of her arm, gave a start, sat up, glanced at her clock, read a time of 6:08, and plopped onto her bed as she sighed heavily. Her head spun in confusion, what a dream!

            She usually didn’t remember her dreams, but this one was profound. She also didn’t know if it was the most wonderful dream ever or a nightmare. How could that be?

            She looked at the pillow where her left arm was cradled. That must have been what made the baby she held seem so real. Her baby! She looked at the crook of her right arm she had been kissing. That’s what had made the kiss from the man seem so real. That man was John! 

            She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as if he had really kissed her. And why had she been kissing him back? It had only been three days since he confessed a habit of looking at Playboy magazines. It had only been three days since he expressed a concern that part of his motive in his proposal to her had been inspired by the erotic photos of young women. It had been only been three days since she reared her hand back to slap him, but ran off instead, and out of his life for good. Or so she thought.

            The dream started with a visit from an angel of God. How did she know it was an angel? After all, Satan himself transforms himself into an angel of light (2 Corinthians 11:14). But she knew in her heart that this dream was from God, believing her connection with God through intense prayer told her so (1 Corinthians 2:13-16).

            The angel had explained that John had been dwelling in spiritual darkness for a long time. He had been hiding from God in religion for years. How ironic! And although outwardly disciplined in the morals common to decent men, he had secretly given in to the carnal lusts common to carnal men. The angel assured her that John had repented. His confession to her cleansed his heart, wanting no secrets, and freeing him to love her as a man of God should.

            The angel also explained that his sister had planted seeds of truth a decade ago. But pride and a judgmental attitude had been poor soil. Then along came the wholesome beauty that captivated his heart. Mary Jean became aware of the fact that his attraction to her, although there were certainly aspects of a physical nature, was primarily spiritual.

            “Your union will multiply your descendants as the stars of the sky,” the angel had told her delightedly as she waved a hand toward the heavens.

            “But how can that be?” Mary Jean inquired. “We are living in the time of the end!”

            “Ah,” the angel said delightedly. “We are all the family of God. And they who win souls is wise (Proverbs 11:30). Your offspring will lead many precious souls to Christ. Your influence has also watered the seeds in John’s heart, planted by his sister Abby. If you marry him, his family tree will bear much fruit. If not, he will ultimately decide against marriage, children, and remain in spiritual darkness, albeit through a religious veneer.”

            “But he’s so much older than me,” Mary Jean declared. “Why couldn’t the Lord yoke me with someone closer in age?”

            “No one in your sphere of influence was found worthy, save for John McQueen. A man who has aged well, is handsome, wealthy, and will be given a second lease on life through your union. His new wealth will be your shared children, which are of infinitely more value than his millions of dollars.”

            “How can these things be?” Mary Jean asked with a frown.

            The angel smiled, and as she touched her forehead said, “Be blessed, my dear child.”

            The next thing she knew, she was in a hospital bed, holding a baby. Her baby! John’s baby! A banner above a door read, ‘Welcome John Jr.’ Then the door opened, and in came the father, grinning from ear to ear. He sat on her bed, kissed their son, and then kissed her on the mouth. It wasn’t unpleasant, quite the opposite, yet after a few seconds of a dream induced lip lock, she had awakened with her mouth on her arm.

            After she rubbed sleep from her eyes, she recounted the last conversation she had with John. It was a rather heated exchange that she now regretted. But how could it be otherwise? This man, her fiancée, was old enough to be her grandfather. This age difference already bothered her. Then he admitted that part of his attraction to her might have been influenced on some level by an erotic magazine. A periodical whose founder boasted of bedding many of the young women that appeared in his magazine.

            Mary Jean sighed as she laid in bed on her back, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She stared at the ceiling, as she listened to the even breathing of her sister sleeping. Then she replayed her last conversation with John. It started moments after they left his Pastor’s office and entered his car.

            “So I saw that money exchange between you and your Pastor,” Mary Jean said with a huff as she folded arms.

            “Yeah, so?”

            “So, what? Did you feel the need to bribe him?”

            “No… I guess I just wanted to ensure that we have no problems. We are going to want to marry fairly quickly. His old friend, who happens to be your Pastor, refused to marry us, and we are going to want to be married in said friend’s church. I simply wanted him to know it would be worth his wile.”

            “Well, it made me feel like I’m being bought after all.”

            “No, it’s not that at all.”

            “Is that right, not at all?”

            “Look, a man in my position greases palms from time to time. You could say it is sort of a habit of mine. When you have the means, it is simply a way of assuring you get what you want.”

            “Yeah,” she snorted. “It sure is.”

            “Look, Mary Jean, to be blunt, me slipping Reverend Paynton a Bengi cost me about as much as you giving a friend a quarter. Okay? If I was doing something covert, I would have asked to speak to him privately. The folded bill slipped by handshake was for any embarrassment he might feel. But just to be clear. I wasn’t hiding it from you at all. When we are on our honeymoon, you will see me grease a lot of palms. Our luggage handler, room service, meals, drivers. Do you understand?”

            Even though she nodded, she kept her eyes straight ahead as they drove.

            “Well, if you need to be in a snit, I might as well take you home,” John said.

            “No,” Mary Jean said mildly, touching his arm and smiling. “It’s a nice day. Let’s go for a walk.”

            Mary Jean and John hiked on the same trails they normally rode horses. Something laid heavy on John’s heart. He had felt the need to come clean with Mary Jean ever since his initial proposal. He had tried to tell himself that what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. But it was something he knew, and he wanted it out in the open before they said their ‘I do’s.’

            Not one typically to waste time, John broached the subject only fifty feet into their walk. “Mary Jean, I need to get something off my chest.”

            “Okay,” she replied cautiously.

            He stopped walking and faced her. Why did he feel the need to tell her this? Because of the old adage, ‘Can three people keep a secret? Yes, if two are dead.’ And he simply didn’t trust Max to keep his mouth shut. He had already told him more than once to not send anymore Playboy magazines. Yet they had still arrived via UPS afterward. What if more were forth coming after their wedding?

            He explained Max’s ‘gifts’ over the last decade. At first, she shrugged it off. After all her own father had hidden copies of the popular men’s magazine. She and her siblings had discovered them by accident while playing hide and seek. But her dad was less than a favorable example. Then a thought occurred to her, and she frowned.

            “Are you saying… You became interested in me, a much younger woman, because of looking at Playboy?”

            “Here’s the thing, but it’s complicated, and I don’t even understand myself,” he tried to explain. “You see, I don’t think I would have pursued you, and made the offer of marriage that I did without the influence of Max, and, well, Playboy. That said, and on the other hand, it was primarily your wholesome character that led me to choose you. Do you see?”

            “No, right now I don’t see beyond what you just said,” she responded angrily. “A girlie magazine lowered your decency instincts enough to offer a teenage girl a proposal of marriage.”

            “No, no, no! If that were merely the case, I would have pursued somebody like your friend Sylvia. You know, all voluptuous, tight pants, chest spilling out of her top.”

            This was when Mary Jean thought about slapping him, but merely told him that they were done, the intent to marry was off! She left him saying ‘but’ several times with his open palms out in front of him.

            Three days after Mary Jean declared the marriage was off, she went to John’s place in an attempt to put it back on. That’s how profound her dream was. She was relieved to find John saddling a horse when she drove up.

            “Saddle one up for me?” Mary Jean asked with a smile.

            “You bet,” John replied, returning a smile.

            They looked at each other for several seconds, then at the same time, they both said sorry.

            “I guess I put my foot in my mouth by trying to own up to my sins,” John admitted.

            “I’m sorry for acting in an unforgiving manner,” Mary Jean said.

            “Just so you know, I haven’t looked at, you know, an inappropriate magazine since before I met you at Abby’s the first time.”

            Mary Jean nodded. Then John asked, “So… Are we back on?”

            Mary Jean wrapped her arms around his neck, went on to tip toes, kissed him, and then asked, “What do you think?”

EPILOUGE

            Mary Jean and John resumed the rest of their courtship without incident. They had several premarital counseling sessions with both of their pastors. A few days before their small wedding, Pastor Kirk Samson, along with his old comrade Pastor Paynton, asked the engaged couple a question in Captain Kirk’s chapel.

            “What would you think of both of us performing the ceremony?” Pastor Samson asked.

            Mary Jean was wide eyed. “Do you mean it!”

            “Yes, my dear,” Captain Kirk chuckled.

            “What changed your mind about marrying us?” she asked.

            “I concluded that as unconventional as your marriage would be, that you two really do love each other. I still think you’re rushing things, but now that it’s crunch time, and you are going through with it… I want you to have my blessing.”

            John shook his hand vigorously, and Mary Jean hugged Pastor Samson fiercely. “Will you give me away, too?”

            “I’d be honored.”

            On June 8^th, 1980, John and Mary Jean McQueen were married. They honeymooned for three weeks in Europe. Two months later, they took a Caribbean cruise to celebrate the conception of their first child, a son they named John. He was actually named in honor of the comrade that saved John’s life during the war, and secondarily John himself. He was born March 8^th, 1981.

            On March 1^st, 1982, a second son, Jason, named after John and Abby’s brother who was killed in the war was born. This made for Irish twins.

            On February 25^th, 1983, a daughter named Mary Ellen was born. She was named after both her mother and maternal grandmother. Her birth made for Irish triplets.

            On July 8^th, 1985, another daughter named Erin after Mary Jean’s sister was born.

            On August 19^th, 1987, a son named James after the other brother of John and Abby who was killed in the war was born.

            Five children were fathered by John McQueen between the age of sixty-one and sixty-nine. He not only witnessed all five graduate college, he was alive to meet ten grandchildren. When John died one month after he and Mary Jean’s 40^th anniversary, all of his offspring were over thirty years of age.

WRITER’S NOTE

            Next week I will be starting a new story called ‘Loyd Burl and the Hooter’s Girl.’ This story will be told by Loyd, a mostly ethical seeker of truth. He will relate his testimony of being led toward a Christian conversion experience by a young woman who is a backslidden Christian, working as a waitress at an establishment known for it’s chesty and leggy servers.

SELFLESS OR SELL OUT?

CHAPTER 10

Saturday April 26, 1980

FEAR THE LORD AND DEPART FROM EVIL (Proverbs 3:7)

            “No, I’m sorry. I will not marry you two,” Pastor Kirk Samson told Mary Jean and John.

            The man affectionately known as Captain Kirk by his congregation, due to his military service, had stunned his parishioner. He could see it on her face with her wide eyes and gaped mouth. Her head rotated toward her fiancée, who sat next to her in the Pastor’s office. Pastor Samson also turned his gaze on John McQueen.

            He felt a twinge of anxiety from the cold hard stare of the business tycoon. But Captain Kirk gazed steadily into the wealthy man’s eyes. He braced himself for a verbal beat down, and prayed for a peaceable, wise response. But John remained calm and silent, and let his young fiancée ask the reason for his refusal.

            “Pastor, may I ask why?” Mary Jean asked meekly.

            “Do you really need to, my dear?” Captain Kirk replied with his own question, yet he answered it himself. “You just told me that two weeks ago Mr. McQueen proposed marriage with the incentive of financially helping your family.”

            “Yes, that’s right,” Mary Jean explained. “However, a few days later, the deal was off. Then Mr. M… I mean John took care of my family anyway. This stirred my heart. It told me a lot about his character, and I actually approached him about resuming our, um, courtship.”

            “I see,” Captain Kirk replied. “That was indeed very generous of Mr. McQueen, but it is still a small fraction of his overall wealth. By marrying him, you will become entitled to half of his vast empire. How much of that factors into your consideration?”

            John’s jaw tightened with dislike. But then he relaxed with Mary Jean’s bold response. Her chin lifted as she replied, “That wasn’t a consideration of mine.”

            “I see, so you’d marry Mr. McQueen if he was a grocery sacker who lived in your trailer park?”

            “That’s not a relevant question,” Mary Jean replied. “I wouldn’t marry the best-looking guy in my class, even if he was a Godly man, if he only aspired to be a grocery sacker.”

            “Okay, good, so you’d have no problem signing a prenuptial agreement?”

            “What’s that?” Mary Jean asked.

            Captain Kirk glanced at John, who’s jaw was as tight as a vice once again. “So, is there going to be a prenuptial agreement Mr, McQueen?”

            “That’s none of your business,” John replied with quiet menace.

            “Well, if you’re asking me to marry you two, it certainly is my business! Our church is not a quicky chapel in Las Vegas.”

            “What are you talking about, a prenuptial agreement?” Mary Jean asked with a frown.

            “It would be a document drawn up by Mr. McQueen’s lawyer, whereby you would agree to not take half of his worth if you two would divorce. Instead you would agree to a much smaller settlement.”

            “If a divorce were to happen, which is unlikely, I don’t want half of his worth,” Mary Jean insisted. “If we had any children, I would want them taken care of. That’s it! But as for me, I would want nothing! Therefore I would gladly sign any such agreement. I wouldn’t be willing to marry John if I didn’t trust him.”

            John’s face relaxed, and the Pastor noticed a look of admiration come into his eyes as he looked at his bride to be. He took hold of her hand and kissed the back of it. “Just so you know, I have no intention of a prenuptial agreement. What’s mine is hers!”

            John had in fact been in discussion with his lawyer about just such an agreement. But he was in love with this young woman. Much to his lawyer’s chagrin, he was going to have him tear up the agreement they had discussed. Even one week sharing a bed with this incredible beauty with stellar character would be worth half. Especially if she ended up pregnant with his child, his heir.

            “Okay, very well,” Pastor Samson responded, as he leaned back in his chair and stroked his long salt and pepper beard. “I suggest at least six months of premarital counseling.”

            “But Pastor, I told you we wanted to be married Memorial Day weekend,” Mary Jean pleaded.

            John looked at her with raised eyebrows, for he had agreed, per her wishes, to wait until the end of June.

            “You said a couple months,” Captain Kirk replied mildly. “That’s more like a couple weeks.”

            “No, it’s four weeks,” Mary Jean replied.

            “And I’m telling you that isn’t enough time.”

            “It is for us.”

            “Not for me.”

            “But it’s our wedding.”

            “Which I’d be a part of if you want me to officiate.”

            “Sweetheart,” John called Mary Jean. To Pastor Samson it sounded phony, and he fought hard not to judge this man that his human instinct coaxed him to dislike. “If Pastor Samson doesn’t want to officiate, I know that Reverend Paynton will. Let’s go talk to him.”

            “I’m sure he will,” Captain Kirk replied as the couple arose to leave his office. He instantly regretted his words.

            “What’s that supposed to mean?” John asked defensively.

            Although John loved his friend and mentor like a brother, he often perceived during their time in the Army as chaplains that Colonel Paynton seemed more concerned with rank rather than the souls to whom they ministered. “Nothing more than I expect that he will marry you two.”

            “Does that bother you?” Mary Jean asked with a concerned frown.

            “Yes, it does, on two counts. I believe that you are rushing into this, and I always hoped that if you got married that I would have the honors.”

            “Well you could if you complied with our wishes,” John said with the cutthroat businessman coming out in his tone.

            “It’s a two-way street, Sir. Yes, it is your wedding. However, I would be the one joining you before God and witnesses.”

            As they stepped from the office and into the sanctuary, Mary Jean looked around with sentiment, her eyes welling with tears. She said quietly, “I always hoped that if I got married, it would be in this church that I love.”

            “You still can,” Captain Kirk said.

            “Yes, if we follow your orders,” John replied coolly.

            “No, I don’t need to be the one officiating for you to use our fine chapel.”

            “You mean you’d let us use your church?” Mary Jean asked hopefully.

            “My dear Child,” Captain Kirk said with a warm smile, but calling her child on purpose. “This is your church as much as mine. You’re a baptized and faithful member.”

            Pastor Samson walked with them out to John’s car. He did admit to himself that he was a little impressed that it was a Mercury Marquis rather than a Lincoln or Cadilac.

            “So you’ll let Reverend Paynton officiate from your pulpit?” John asked with admiration.

            “It’s the church’s pulpit, and like I said, Mary Jean is a member. Of course Pastor Paynton can use it.”

            “Why don’t you call him Reverend?” John asked. “I believe he has earned it.”

            “Nobody can earn that title,” Captain Kirk replied.

            “What do mean?” John frowned. “The title is simply one of respect for a man of the cloth. Even though you and I seem to be at odds, I have no problem respecting your position by referring to you as Reverend Samson.”

            Pastor Samson chuckled but waved a dismissive hand. “Now, please don’t call me that. The Bible declares that Holy and Reverend is God’s name. That’s found in Psalm 111:9.” (King James version. Other translations such as New King James changed reverend to awesome.)

            John frowned, reached into his car, picked up his Bible and turned to the scripture quoted. “Well, I’ll be… It still seems a little nitpicking, though.”

            “Suit yourself,” Captain Kirk replied with a smile. “That’s what free will is all about. We seek, search, hopefully ask wisdom from God for guidance, and make our decisions based on prayer and the Holy Scriptures. The conclusion I have come to is no man is worthy to be revered.”

            “Suit yourself,” John replied defiantly. “The title Reverend is simply respectful, as well as tradition.”

            “In vain they worship Me…” Mary Jean began before John put his arm around her as he cut her off.

            “Teaching for doctrines the commandments of men. Matthew 15:9”

            Mary Jean giggled and put her arms around his waist. John kissed her forehead. Captain Kirk looked away, a little embarrassed. Maybe he was being hasty in his refusal to officiate. However, his refusal was mainly due to time. Yes, he was very uncomfortable with the age difference. But if they had a proper length of courtship, with Mary Jean declaring love and still wanting to yoke with him, he would willingly officiate. To be clear, willing, not gladly.

            Because of her best friend Sylvia, Mary Jean had been in John’s church a couple of times. So she knew it was larger, more ornate, had a fancier altar, and comfier pews than her church. As they approached the Pastor’s study, they heard his voice talking. The door being open, they saw him sitting at his desk, speaking into the phone. He smiled and waved them in.

            She noticed several awards and certificates adorning the walls. The Pastor himself wore an expensive looking suit. His silver hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place. On his left hand’s ring finger was a gold wedding band. On his right hand’s ring finger was some type of class ring. Next to it, he wore a gold pinky ring. A thin mustache almost seemed drawn on over his upper lip.

            She had seen Pastor Paynton several times before actually talking with him this day. She rebuked herself for disliking him in the past for his “just so” appearance and his seemingly “superior than thou” attitude. Especially when he couldn’t have been friendlier as he greeted them.

            However, her temptation to judge persisted when she perceived that his warmth was due to John’s presence. Especially with what happened after the two men greeted each other, and John introduced Mary Jean to him. It gave Mary Jean pause, causing her to take heed to her own Pastor’s council.

            While Pastor Paynton shook her hand, burying it with both of his as if he adored her. She noticed John’s hand go into his suit’s breast pocket, pull out his wallet, and retrieve a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill. When the Pastor released her hand and shook her fiancée’s, she noticed the bill, now folded twice, transfer hands from John to the Pastor.

            Just when she was feeling genuine love for her much older finance, she now returned to a feeling of being bought. She also examined her own heart. Just how much did his money, his home, and the security he offered play into her feelings of love?

            The conversation that ensued when they were alone would lead to the second deal breaker in the fifteen days since the initial proposal.

SELFLESS OR SELL OUT?

CHAPTER 9

Friday April 25, 1980

FOR THE WORD OF THE LORD IS RIGHT, AND ALL HIS WORK IS DONE IN TRUTH (Psalm 33:4)

            It had been a good week! Mary Jean’s sister had taken over her role working for Abby. This change allowed Mary Jean to spend every afternoon and evening with John. Their time together usually began with a horseback ride, followed by a delicious supper prepared by Rosarita, and then capped off with prayer and Bible study.

            Their spiritual connection thrilled Mary Jean more than anything. Young as she was, she had given several Bible studies, and her potential fiancée had been her best student yet. She could see the concentration on his face as they flipped from scripture to scripture. She was especially impressed when they studied prophecy in conjunction with the end times.

            She had explained that prophecy had been mostly fulfilled, and that humanity as a whole were poor students of history. That’s how the majority of people end up wondering after the beast (Revelation 13:3) and receiving the mark of the beast so they can buy and sell. (Revelation 13:17).

            She showed John how scripture predicted four world empires, Babylon, Greece, Medio-Persia, and the Roman empire. Then how the Roman empire, especially under Constantine, would become both a religious and a political power, ruling for over a thousand years. This time period famously became known as the ‘Dark Ages’. This would lead to the Protestant reformation. Probably the most famous of the reformers being Martin Luther. Although there were many others. A large percentage of these people giving their lives as martyrs as they boldly and faithfully stood for truth.

            At one point John arose from their study, went to the bookshelf and began thumbing through the pages of his encyclopedias. After several minutes reading about the ‘Dark Ages,’ he proclaimed, “How had I not seen this before?”

            Mary Jean smiled. His reaction reminded her of Nicodemus saying to Jesus, “How can these things be?”

            John had sat back down next to Mary Jean. He looked both dazed and filled with wonder. He frowned, gazing at Mary Jean. “Where do I go from here?”

            “How about to church with me the day after tomorrow?”

            “And you with me Sunday?”

            “Deal!” she said with a big grin, offering her hand to shake.

            “We can do better than that,” he replied, and kissed her on the lips.

            She didn’t kiss him back. It had been a week ago that he had kissed her for the first time, and just like now, she hadn’t kissed him back. He was troubled. How were they gonna make babies if she wasn’t even comfortable with a quick kiss? However, she was a very devout young lady. Maybe she felt premarital kisses were not kosher.

            “I’m sorry, Mary Jean,” he said meekly. “I wasn’t trying to get fresh just now, or last week for that matter.”

            “Oh, I know,” Mary Jean replied with wide eyes as she touched his arm. “It’s, just, well, they both just took me by surprise, that’s all… Plus, the one boyfriend I had before you. Well, we started off with chaste kisses, then they evolved into deeper kisses, and then he wanted even more.”

            John felt a strange twinge of jealousy before he asked, “Did you give him more?”

            “No,” Mary Jean blurted. “That’s why he broke up with me.”

            “Were you disappointed?”

            Mary Jean shrugged. “Not really. Even though he professed to be a Christian, his eyes glazed over when I tried to study the Bible with him.”

            “I hope you didn’t think that about me.”

            “Not at all,” she smiled, giving his hand a squeeze. Then she both surprised and disappointed him by kissing him on the cheek. Oh well, he thought, a kiss is still a kiss.

Saturday April 26, 1980

            Mary Jean awoke with nervous excitement. She stretched and then recounted the last week with delight. She had thoroughly enjoyed her time with John. But some things gave her pause. Once again, she had to consider just how much his wealth was a factor in her consideration of marrying him.

            On Tuesday, as they looked over the vast distance up on the bluff, John had asked her preference of a potential honeymoon. A couple weeks touring Europe, or a Caribbean cruise! As she marveled at the possibility of both, she was speechless. Then he said that whichever one she chose, they could do the other in celebration of a pregnancy. Or their first anniversary. Whichever came first.

            Then on Wednesday, she got him to open up a little on his military service. It started with him talking of his desire for flying leading him to join the Army Air Corps right out of high school. It ended with a choked-up voice as he told her how a comrade had lost his life getting two German aces off of his tail during a dog fight.

            “Do you ever miss flying?” Mary Jean had asked. Then in response to his puzzled frown, she added, “I mean, I know you fly on jet liners from time to time, but I mean flying yourself?”

            He laughed. “I guess I haven’t told you. I have a twin prop Cessna.”

            “Oh,” she had replied with her own puzzled frown.

            “Do you want to go flying?”

            The thought gave her an adrenaline rush. She had never flown before, let alone on someone’s personal airplane.

            “Sure,” she said delightedly.

            So Thursday, instead of horseback riding, John took her up flying. As they taxied to the runway, she felt a nervous excitement that she had never felt before. Then when the tower cleared them, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up when John throttled the plane and they speed down the runway. They went faster and faster until they lifted off of the ground and soared skyward. She squealed with delight, making John smile.

            John flew them over her trailer park, then over her school, then over his estate. Mary Jean marveled at seeing the trails they rode from a thousand feet up. Then he talked her into taking the controls. Now her nervous excitement turned into supreme concentration.

            He even coached her into taking the plane in for a landing. They approached a side runway that ran southeast, or northwest from the other direction. This runway intersected with the main runway that ran east to west, or west to east.

            As she followed his instructions on lowering their altitude, John blurted, “Oh no!”

            Mary Jean glanced to her right and saw a jet liner landing on the east west runway. “Oh no! John, what do we do!”

            “I don’t know!”

            “John, take the controls!”

            “No, I’m scared,” he replied, but with a calm, matter of fact tone, which contradicted his words.

            “You’re scared, I’m scared!”

            John laughed as he took over landing procedures. “Don’t worry, Honey, they will have been past a full minute by the time we get to where the runways intersect.”

            “You poop,” she said laughing. “That was mean.”

            “Well, calling me a poop was mean.”

            “You deserved it. I’m nervous enough not only flying for the first time but driving the plane too!”

            “Driving the plane?” John laughed. “Fair point though, that was mean. I’m sorry.”

            “I forgive you. I guess.”

            Friday, they exercised their favorite past time by horseback riding. They were looking over the bluff when John suddenly swiped the back of his hand on Mary Jean’s upper arm. “Tag, you’re it.”

            John galloped off, leaving Mary Jean with a puzzled frown. But then she grinned and gave chase. John was slightly faster, but then Mary Jean caught a break when John ducked for a tree branch. He narrowly missed conking his head, but his straw cowboy hat was brushed from his head.

            Mary Jean quickly dismounted, grabbed his hat, put it on her own head, and galloped away in the other direction. She made her way back to the corral, dismounted, and ran toward a barn, turning their game into a foot race. Mary Jean squealed with delight as John touched her arm but failed to grasp hold.

            Rosarita looked out of the kitchen window to see what was causing the commotion. Then she smiled when she saw the couple running and laughing. John finally caught Mary Jean, and she placed his hat back on his head. He immediately took it off and returned it to her head.

            “You wear it, you’re cute as button with it on,” he told her.

            They gazed fondly at each other when Mary Jean surprised him. She looped her arms around his neck, went on her tip toes, and kissed him on the lips, letting it linger a couple seconds. Looking him the eyes, she said, “John, I truly am falling in love with you.”

            “Mary Jean, those words are right up there with the most beautiful I have ever heard. I am in love with you.”

            “Tomorrow, after church, I’m gonna ask the pastor if he will marry us,” Mary Jean told him.

            “Mary Jean, those words are right up there with the most beautiful I have ever heard.”

            She laughed as she gazed up at him. He lowered his face to hers and kissed her. This time, she kissed him back.

SELFLESS OR SELL OUT?

CHAPTER 8

Thursday, April 17, 1980

GREAT PEACE HAVE THOSE WHO LOVE YOUR LAW (Psalm 119:165)

                        When John McQueen answered the door, he couldn’t speak for a few seconds as he was captivated by Mary Jean’s beauty. Her long red-gold hair was pulled back in a braided ponytail. Her large green-hazel eyes were framed with just a hint of mascara. Her pouty lips had a slight sheen of pale pink lipstick.

            John had never seen her wear any makeup whatsoever. And to most, the subtlety of her beauty enhancers would have gone unnoticed. But John had given careful study to the young woman with whom he was smitten. More and more, right or wrong, he thought of her as angelic.

            This thought troubled his carnal attraction to the young lady that was a fraction of his age. Yet if he could convince her to willingly say ‘I do,’ it would thereby place them in a committed relationship. He could exercise all of the physical desire he felt for her as they attempted the making of offspring using God given biology.

            “Hello, Mary Jean,” he greeted with a pleasant smile, as he covered the nervous unease he felt. “Please come in.”

            “Thank you,” she returned with a shy smile. She ran her tongue lightly over her upper lip, as if she was not used to the beauty enhancing goo that adorned her small mouth. 

            This view gave John a little thrill. For he saw the subtle makeup as an attempt to appear enticing to him. If true, it already seemed to be a better start than their previous date. As he closed the door behind him, he noticed the gaudy red cowboy boots that he knew were not even hers. He hoped and prayed that his next move wasn’t too forward.

            He gently took Mary Jean’s right hand in his left. He noticed her eyes widen a little. The unexpected contact did give her pause as well as a little thrill.  “Mary Jean, I bought you a little gift today. Well, actually my housekeeper, Rosarita, bought it. If you don’t like it, please don’t feel obligated to wear it.”

            “Okay,” Mary Jean replied cautiously, wondering what ‘wear it’ meant.

            John felt himself stiffen. He hoped he wasn’t making a presumptuous mistake. However, he went ahead and called out to his housekeeper, “Hey Rosie?”

            A heavy-set Hispanic woman, around fifty years of age, emerged from the kitchen. With a Spanish accent, she inquired, “Yes John, what can I do for you?”

            Mary Jean immediately picked up that his hired servant called him John, rather than Mr. McQueen or sir. Being on a first name basis with his servants impressed Mary Jean even more that her suitor was a decent man of noble character.

            “I’d like you to meet the young lady I’m entertaining. Rosie, this is Mary Jean. Mary Jean, meet Rosie.”

            Although Rosie offered her hand with a pleasant smile, Mary Jean clearly saw suspicion in the woman’s eyes.

            “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Mary Jean greeted meekly.

            “Likewise, Miss, is it Patrick?”

            “Yes, yes, it is, but please call me Mary Jean, or just Mary.”

            “Please come with me and I will show you your gift from John.”

            “Yes, Ma’am.”

            “I’ll go get our horses ready, Mary Jean,” John said as Mary Jean trailed after Rosie.

            The two women entered a large bedroom with Victorian décor. It wasn’t overly extravagant but very comfortable looking. She very badly wanted to ask Rosie if this was John’s bedroom. The place were in a little more than a month she very well could enter the path to motherhood.

            “Mr. McQueen had me shop for these today,” Rosie said coolly. “He described your size, so I got three options. You decide which fits best, and it’s yours. What size foot you have?”

            “Nine.”

            Rosie’s eyes roamed down Mary Jean’s body. She noticed the older woman’s eyes fill with scorn as she took in the tight jeans and gaudy boots. Without a word, Rosie left the room. Mary Jean thought this a cue to try on these new clothes. When she was in nothing but her undergarments, Rosie reentered the room carrying a beautiful pair of light brown, leather riding boots.

            Rosie dropped the boots on the floor and dropped her rearend in a chair, watching Mr. McQueen’s date skeptically. Mary Jean felt uncomfortable disrobed in front of her best friend, Sylvia, let alone this strange woman. Mary Jean began to dress quickly.

            “You’re in the full flush of womanhood,” Rosie commented. “I see why John has chosen you out of his many options of women to possibly carry on his name.”

            Not knowing what to say, or even understanding Rosie’s attitude, she ignored Rosie’s comment and remained silent. Once dressed, she looked at herself in a full-length mirror. The tan pants fit like an incredibly soft glove, and the green satin blouse felt silky against her skin.

            “You like?” Rosie asked.

            “Yes, thank you.”

            “Don’t thank me, thank Mr. McQueen.”

            “I will.”

            “I’m sure you will, Miss Patrick,” Rosie responded blandly. “Is there anything else you need, Miss Patrick?”

            “No, thank you… Is it Mrs. or Miss?”

            “Mrs. Rodriguez.”

            “Thank you again, Mrs. Rodriguez.”

            “You’re welcome, Miss Patrick.”

            As Rosie turned to go, Mary Jean called. “Mrs. Rodriguez? I just wanted to say from the last time I ate here. You are a very good cook. I look forward to supper tonight!”

            Rosie turned with a scornful look, and Mary Jean kicked herself for not just remaining silent. But then Rosie smiled, although her eyes remained skeptical. “Thank you, Miss Patrick. I just hope the man I not only work for, but love like a second father, is in a better mood the next day, compared to your last encounter.”

            “That is my hope too. Not only that, my expectation.”

            Rosie eyed her blankly, but as she turned to leave said, “Enjoy your evening.”

            Mary Jean and John had a nice horseback ride. Before going to the bluff that overlooked the river and beyond, John showed Mary Jean some of the side trails. One of them went down to the river, where the water babbled pleasantly over a couple dozen large rocks. There was a bench under a large oak tree where they sat and enjoyed nature’s music.

            “Did you make this bench?” Mary Jean asked.

            “No, my pastor did. He does woodworking as a hobby.”

            “Your pastor and my pastor are old friends.”

            “Yeah, they were both Army Chaplains.”

            This fell right into Mary Jean’s lap. “I understand you were in the Army.”

            “I was, the Army Air Corps, what’s now the Air Force.”

            “When did you join?”

            “Right out of high school in 1937,” John told her. Then glanced at her uneasily as the date of his high school graduation displayed just how much older he was than she.

            “How long were you in?”

            “I was discharged in 1945. I had thought about a career, but after the war, I just wanted out.”

            “You were a fighter pilot?”

            “I was.”

            “Did you see a lot of action?”

            “I did.”

            “What was it like?”

            He crossed his arms. “I’m just very blessed to be here. My guardian angel worked overtime. Well, let’s hit our saddles. I told Rosie we’d be back to the house by six for supper.”

            Rosie cooked Italian as well as she did her own ethnic cuisine. It was the best lasagna Mary Jean had ever tasted. There was also salad, and the softest, tastiest garlic bread ever. Rosie was generous with the garlic. She wondered for the first time if he would kiss her good night. Probably not, but if he did, she would offer her cheek.

            As they began eating, Mary Jean said hesitantly, “Abby told me that it is one of your brother’s birthday today.”

            Mary Jean was relieved to see a sentimental smile spread onto John’s face. John opened up about his two deceased brothers, then asked Mary Jean about her own siblings.

            “Are they as devout as you?” John asked gazing at her fondly, as he rested his chin on his fist.

            “Oh, I don’t know, only God knows that,” she replied humbly. “Speaking of God. There’s one thing I need to know regarding our, um, potential children.”

            “Okay?”

            “I know you said you would go to my church as much as I go to your church.”

            “I plan to honor that.”

            “Good, me too. But I want to make sure you are okay with me teaching our children the whole Bible?”

            John frowned. “Why would I object to that?”

            “Because most religions follow traditions rather than plain Bible teachings. No offence, but yours included.”

            “Is this about the Sabbath?”

            “Yes, among other things… You know, during this period of getting to know each other, would you want to study the Bible with me?”

            “Sure,” he said with a shrug. Then he smiled, thinking that he would straighten out his prospective bride on her miss guided doctrine.

            “How about now?” Mary Jean asked cheerily.

            “Why not?” John said happily. When dinner was consumed, he was concerned that she would want to call it a night. Now he would get to spend more time with this little beauty.

            “Great! Get your Bible and I will go to the car to get mine,” she said perkily.

            Although an elder in his church, a faithful tithe payer, and a regular attendee at Sunday worship, John wasn’t a regular Bible student, or a faithful searcher of the scriptures like the noble Bereans (Acts 17:11). So it took him a minute to locate the inspired Word of God on his bookshelf.

            John burped garlic, and then kicked himself when he agreed to Rosie’s suggestion of an Italian meal. It wasn’t beyond his notice that Rosie put extra garlic on the bread. It also wasn’t beyond his notice that she didn’t approve of him dating a teenager. But she would have to discover for herself that Mary Jean was not your typical teenager.

            John quickly stuck a piece of Wrigley’s double mint gum in his mouth. Unbeknownst to him, Mary Jean was sucking on a few Tictacs when she came back in.

            “Do you want to study at the table or the couch?” John asked.

            “It’s up to you,” Mary Jean said with a shrug.

            John suggested the couch for the study, and she suggested the Sabbath for the topic. He nonchalantly put his arm around his prospective fiancée. But it was short lived as he soon found himself turning from scripture to scripture. Starting with the Ten Commandments in Exodus chapter 20, the one part of the Bible that God wrote with His own finger. In particular, they looked at the fourth commandment found in verses 8-11.

            Deep in John’s subconscious, his sister Abby had planted the seeds of Biblical truth. But they had laid dormant due to John’s pride, stubbornness, and quite frankly his judgmental attitude toward his once wayward sibling.

            Abby was a beatnik in the fifties, a free love hippie in the sixties, and a jazz singer who hung out in clubs for thirty years, smoking, drinking, and sampling drugs. She had one fling after another with both men and women. She never had a romantic relationship last more than a year. She became disloyal to their family church while still a teenager. A denomination passed down from their ancestors. Then seemingly overnight, she suddenly changes her ways and then has the audacity to tell her brother that his religion was misguided.

            However, John was an intelligent man who had a heart that wanted to walk on an upright path. Now as he sat hearing some of the same arguments his sister had put a few years ago, his heart was softening. It helped that he was smitten with the young beauty that was boldly proclaiming the particular doctrine that they were studying.

            But although softening of the heart was occurring, it had become stone in many ways over the years. So in the breaking of the heard deposits, arguments sprang forth. But Mary Jean had a reason for the hope and love that was within her. So every time John had a reproach, she had a ‘thus saith the Lord.’

            “We keep Sunday in honor of the resurrection,” John declared first.

            She asked where that was found in scripture. He couldn’t tell her, so she showed him Malachi 3:6, which says, ‘I am the Lord, I do not change.’

            “But I can tell you in history where a change was attempted,” she told him. “To be honest it was a pretty successful attempt because the vast majority of professed Christians do honor Sunday rather than the real Sabbath which honors our Creator. The counterfeit to the true Sabbath instituted in Genesis 2:2, and 3 really took off in the fourth century when Emperor Constantine made Christianity a legal religion. In the process, much of the pagan beliefs were brought into the church. The most diabolical was aspects of sun worship. In particular, the so-called venerable day of the sun.”

            “Yeah, but keeping Sunday has been a tradition for hundreds, even over a thousand years,” John countered.

            “Jesus said, in vain they do worship Me,” Mary Jean told him. “Teaching for doctrines the commandments of men. (Matthew 15:9) Also, in the last chapter of Isaiah, verse 23, it is declared that in the earth made new after Christ’s second coming, we will still be keeping the Sabbath the Lord instituted. So why would God change it to Sunday only to change it back after the second coming of Christ?”

            Although John’s intellect was being challenged, and his conscience pricked, John declared. “That’s all fine and dandy, Mary Jean, but the bottom line, and I’m used to bottom lines, is that we are not under the law, but under grace.”

            “You’re absolutely right! And our obedience to God needs to stem from love. Love because God is our Creator and our Redeemer. As a matter of fact, the Sabbath is a sign and seal of God’s Creatorship. As opposed to the mark of the beast, which we will get into at a later date, if you want to. Another reason we obey is because of what Jesus did for us on the cross. We love Him because He first loved us (1 John 4:19) and Jesus even said, if you love Me, keep my commandments.” (John 14:15)

             “And to your point about not being under the law but under grace, look at Romans 6:1, and 2. It says what shall we say then? Shall we continue in sin that grace may abound? Certainly not!”

            “Okay, fair point,” John conceded. “But when it comes to the Sabbath, a good historian knows the calendar was changed by something like ten days.”

            “True, but the weekly cycle still remained the same. Sunday was still the first day of the week, followed by Monday.”

            “Okay, so have you perfectly obeyed God’s law then?”

            “No,” Mary Jean replied meekly. “But it’s my standard. Jesus kept it perfectly, and He’s my example, our example. He’s also my Advocate when I fail (1 John 2:1). Look at Psalm 19, starting with verse 7. The law of the Lord is perfect converting the soul…”

            Mary Jean began to practically sing the next half dozen verses. When she looked at John, she gave a little start. He bore a resemblance to Clint Eastwood, and just then, it looked like Dirty Harry staring intently at her. But then she noticed him wiping a tear from his eye.

            “I’m unworthy of you,” he said quietly.

            She took hold of his hand, smiled warmly. “Something has occurred to me today. My mother has said that I’m like a middle-aged woman trapped in a teenager’s body. You are definitely not like a typical sixty-year-old. So maybe we are well suited for each other.”

            John almost corrected her by saying that he’s sixty-one but thought better of it. He liked what she said, making him feel better about their huge age difference.

            “If we do end up married, you know it’s gonna raise a lot of eyebrows. People will think you are a gold digger, and I’m a dirty old man.”

            “Let em,” she said with a defiant grin. “They don’t know us if they think that.”

            “You really are serious about marrying me, aren’t you?”

            “I guess I am,” she said with a little smile, and shrug of a shoulder.

            “He leaned in smooth and swift, kissing her for the first time. He noticed that she didn’t kiss him back, and when he pulled away, her eyes looked a little startled. Then she said, “It’s getting late, I better go.”

SELFLESS OR SELL OUT?

CHAPTER 7

Wednesday April 16, 1980

FOR WE WALK BY FAITH, NOT BY SIGHT (2 Corinthians 5:7)

            “Hello, Jennifer?” John McQueen tried for a second time across the telephone line.

            Mary Jean was frozen. How embarrassing! Why did she take his phone number from Abby? Even worse, how did she let Sylvia talk her into dialing it? She had suspected that he would move on to someone else as soon as he put an end to their arrangement. Her first instinct was to hang up, but that somehow didn’t seem right, especially after what he did for her family. “Um… Mr. McQueen… This is Mary Jean.”

            Another long, awkward pause ensued before John replied, hesitantly, “Oh, Mary Jean, I didn’t realize I gave you my private number.”

            Mary Jean felt her toes curl. “I, um, got your number from Abby.”

            “I see. Well, what can I do for you?”

            “Nothing,” Mary Jean blurted, then closed her eyes and slapped a hand to her forehead. This was so humiliating! She quickly said, “I mean I shouldn’t have called. Goodbye.”

            “Mary Jean, wait! Are you there?”

            “Yes,” she replied meekly.

            “Good, now surely there was a reason you called me. Please talk to me.”

            She sighed. “I was just, you know, was hoping you hadn’t moved on yet.”

            “Moved on from what?”

            “You know, your proposal, last Friday.”

            More awkward silence before John inquired, “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Why were you hoping I haven’t moved on?”

            “I was just thinking, you know, if you hadn’t, maybe we could continue getting to know each other.”

            “Really, why?” John wasn’t trying to be rude with his next enquiry, he was genuinely interested. “Wasn’t what I already did for you and your family sufficient?”

            “Oh, yes, more than sufficient, thanks again! But more than how your money helped, it showed me a great deal about your character. It proved you weren’t just some rich guy trying to buy a young bride.”

            “Well, thank you, Mary Jean. But to be perfectly honest, it did feel like I was trying to buy a young bride. That’s one of the reasons I put a stop to it.”

            “So, how much older is your new woman?” she asked, feeling something like jealousy.

            “What new woman?”

            “You know, the name you spoke when you answered the phone, Jennifer.”

            John laughed. “Jennifer is past childbearing years. She’s also married with three grown kids and six grandchildren. Jennifer is in charge of a charity I recently started.”

            “I see.”

            More awkward silence before John said, “Let me get this straight. You were hoping that we could continue our, shall I say, courtship?”

            Mary Jean cleared her throat, now wondering if she was making the right decision, but went ahead and said, “I am.”

            “May I ask why?”

            “Like I said, what you did for my family, without expecting anything from me, spoke volumes of what kind of man you are. Also, when you put an end to the possibility of marriage, it made realize just how much I too would really like to be a mother.”

            “I see. What about college?”

            “To be honest, I don’t really want to keep going to school right now.”

            “I see.”

            Yet another awkward moment of silence before Mary Jean said, “So… Are you interested in continuing?”

            “I’m sorry. This was so unexpected. I’m just trying to get my mind around it.”

            “Okay… Do you want me to let you go so you can think about it?”

            “No, no, Mary Jean. But let me ask you, how serious are you about my original proposition? Another one of the reasons I put a stop to things was you were leaning toward not going through with it. And I got the vibe on our da… encounter, that you very well would keep leaning toward not going through. Forgive me, but I’m not a man that likes to waste time. So once again, just how serious are you? I know that ‘no’ needs to be an option clear up to a wedding. However I need to know that you are serious.”

            “I’m definitely serious, otherwise I wouldn’t have called you.”

            “So right now, as long as the path of getting to know each other goes well, and you progressively feel more comfortable, you would still marry me over Memorial Day weekend?”

            “Yes, I would. Even though I would prefer waiting a couple months longer.”

            “How about we compromise? You said a couple months past your birthday. How about one month?”

            Mary Jean did not believe in compromising truth. But compromise in a relationship was different. A couple from church who recently celebrated forty years of happily married, said that the key to a good relationship was compromise. They counseled to be patient with faults, allow differing opinions, and putting the other first. So she liked that John was willing to meet in the middle on the speed of their potential nuptials. He was wealthy and powerful, yet clearly not completely a ‘my way or the highway’ type of man.

            “That sounds good, thank you.”

            “You’re welcome. Thank you for wanting to give us another go.”

            “You’re welcome.”

            Yet another awkward pause before John suggested, “How about dinner tomorrow night?”

            “I have to work for Abby.”

            “I’ll pay Millie triple time if she covers for you.”

            Mary Jean giggled. “I’m sure she’ll jump at it… But John?”

            McQueen smiled at hearing her call him by his first name. “Yes, my dear?”

            Mary Jean frowned and bit her lip at hearing this much older man refer to her with a term having romantic implications. But this was progress. She had called him by his first name, and he returned it with a term of affection. She asked, “Can we go horseback riding again, too?”

            “Of course,” he grinned. “It’s one of my favorite things to do.”

            “I guess that’s one thing we have in common.”

            “Yes, I’m sure we’ll discover more. Another one off the top of my head is our faith.”

            “Yes and no.”

            Yet another awkward pause before Mary Jean said, “So, after school, should I change for riding, and come over?”

            Now John frowned and chewed his cheek. Seeing her in those tight jeans last Sunday, although extremely tantalizing, spoke to his conscience. It was yet another one of the factors in him ending things before they got started. His lust for her made him aware of the side of his attraction inspired by his friend Max and the Playboy magazines he had shared with him. He should have never gone down that road. Lord have mercy on his double mindedness.

            John wanted to only focus on his attraction to Mary Jean that stemmed from the wholesome, devout, church-going young lady in long skirts and dresses. The person who was a diligent worker for his sister. The caring woman who gave every indication that she would make an incredible mother and a devoted wife.

            “That sounds fine,” John replied. “So what time should I expect you?”

            Mary Jean wanted to talk to Abby before her, okay, she would acknowledge what it was, her date with John McQueen. She needed to put the age difference behind her once and for all if she was going to do this. She needed to dwell on the positive aspects.

            John was in fact very handsome and in great shape, Lord help her, for his age. He would provide abundant security for her and however many children they had. He was a man of character, and he seemed to have a pleasant disposition.

            “Would four be okay?”

            “Four works for me. I’ll see you then.”

            “Great,” Mary Jean replied. Then she analyzed if what she thought to say next would be a lie. But she recalled the freedom she felt in the saddle. The peace and quiet of where they had ridden. John’s gentle way with his horses, and yes, also how capable and manly he looked riding. “I will look forward to tomorrow then.”

            “Yes, me too, my dear. Very much so.”

            ‘My dear’ again, she thought as they said their goodbyes. What was she getting herself into? Oh the contradictions in life! Was this was going to be several weeks of ‘she loves him, she loves him not?’

Thursday, April 17, 1980

            “Oh my,” Abby said with a coy smile as she eyed Mary Jean in her too tight pants and red cowboy boots. “Wouldn’t a lot of the ladies at church have a heyday chastising you over your attire?”

            Mary Jean felt herself blush. “I’m going riding with Jo… Mr. McQueen. A skirt isn’t very conducive to sitting on a saddle, and I don’t have any jeans that fit right now, so I had to borrow these from my friend Sylvia. I take it you don’t approve?”

            “Of what, riding with my brother, or your painted on pants?”

            “Both,” Mary Jean replied as her blush deepened.

            “You know I want you to get to know my brother. And I don’t disapprove of a woman wearing pants, just maybe what they might reveal. You can certainly tell that you have a nice figure though.”

            Mary Jean felt like she must have been three shades of red by this point. She sought to change the subject and saw it sitting in Abby’s lap in the form of a photo album.

            “Looking at old pictures?” Mary Jean asked, hoping to see some of John.

            “Today would have been my brother Jason’s sixty-fourth birthday. So I was reminiscing.”

            “Was he the one killed in World War 2?”

            “We had two brothers killed in World War 2.”

            “Really!”

            “Jason was a Navy Corpsman, killed at Pearl Harbor. My other brother Jim was studying to be a doctor when the war started. He was an Army Medic who was killed during the invasion of Normandy.”

            “I’m so sorry, Abby. God bless their bravery.”

            “Thank you, dear,” Abby replied, and then pulled a picture out of a protective cover to show her young friend. “Look here, this is the last photo taken of my three brothers before Jason died. It was only two months before Pearl Harbor.”

            Jason was in the middle, wearing a sailor uniform. Jim was on his left wearing a college sweater and a big smile. John was on Jim’s right. His eyes were intense, but a cocky smile played at his lips. He was wearing an army uniform. All three brother were handsome, but she thought John was the most attractive, like a movie star from that era.

            “John was in the military?” Mary Jean asked.

            “Yes, the Army Air Corps, which became the Air Force. He was a fighter pilot.”

            “Wow! Really?”

            “He sure was. But you’ll never get him to talk about it.”

            “Why not?”

            “A lot of men who saw combat are like that. But I think another element for John is guilt.”

            “Guilt, why guilt?”

            “That he survived the war, and his two brothers didn’t. That he survived the war, and many of his comrades didn’t. He flew over one hundred missions.”

            “Wow! So he’s like a war hero then.”

            “He’s highly decorated to be sure. His time in the military also paved the way for him to become rich.”

            “How’s that?”

            “Do to their experience with airplanes, he and two army buddies started an aviation technology company right after the war. They sold it for millions fifteen or so years later. Then John became a land developer, first in California, and then back here in Iowa.”

            “Do you think it would be alright to ask him about your brothers, and about his service to our country on our horseback ride?”

            “He’ll gladly talk about Jason and Jim. But you’ll get nothing about his own military service. I’ve tried different ways over different years to ask him what it was like being a fighter pilot. His only reply was always the same. ‘I’m only here but by the grace of God.’”

            Mary Jean had wondered as she approached John McQueen’s home if she could get him to open up about his war experiences. If she could, it would go a long way in answering her prayers about whether or not marrying him was approved by God. Was it wrong to want a sure sign before she said ‘I do’ in front of God and witnesses?  

SELFLESS OR SELL OUT?

CHAPTER 6

Wednesday April 16, 1980

A GOOD NAME IS TO BE CHOSEN RATHER THAN GREAT RICHES (Proverbs 22:1)

            Mary Jean did not feel like being in Abby’s company this evening. Quite frankly, she was disturbed that the sixty-five-year-old woman wanted seventeen-year-old Mary Jean to call her sixty-one-year-old brother. Especially after Mary Jean confirmed that John McQueen not only had romantic interest in the teenager, but marital interest practically the minute after she turned eighteen.

            True, John reneged on the offer of marriage two days after he literally proposed the arrangement. And true, Abby’s intention was spiritual rather than carnal. She wanted the young lady to befriend her brother in hopes of a spiritual transformation, rather than wed him for his hopes of procreation and the extension of the McQueen name.

            But she knew Abby would ask if she called her brother, and she just wasn’t in the mood to discuss her waffling emotions. Besides Mary Jean figured that John McQueen had little to no interest in friendship with a teenage girl. Although he seemed a decent enough man, who wanted to do things proper, his interest in Mary Jean seemed to be in her ability to provide him heirs.

            So she called Millie and asked if she would switch days with her, of which her older counterpart gladly accepted. So a couple hours after school, Mary Jean found herself entering her best friend’s bedroom instead of her employer’s house.

            She and Sylvia were about the same size. Both were around five foot nine, and one hundred and thirty-five pounds. But that was where the similarities ended. Whereas Sylvia had black hair and dark eyes, Mary Jean was strawberry blonde hair with light colored eyes. Sylvia had angular facial features with a lean, athletic build. Mary Jean was cute, soft, and feminine, but deceptively strong. Sylvia was bold and brash, while Mary Jean was shy and timid. But the two girls had been best friends since grade school.

            “So you’re playing hooky from the rich lady’s maid?” Sylvia asked, as she and Mary Jean plopped onto her bed.

            “I guess,” Mary Jean shrugged, not liking the description of Abby, but saying nothing.

            “So what’s got you in a funk?”

            Mary Jean knew she was out of sorts and probably couldn’t hide it, and actually wanted to talk about it. But ironically, now that the opportunity came, she was reluctant to share her dilemma with a third person. The first two being her mother and Abby. So as she reined in her chaotic mind, she just shrugged.

            “Come on, talk to me,” Sylvia pleaded, nudging Mary Jeans foot with her own.

            “What’s been going on the last few days is pretty weird,” Mary Jean offered.

            “I like weird,” Sylvia laughed. “When have I not kept a secret?”

            True, Sylvia kept secrets. However, she sometimes had a way around them, which was a concern. But Mary Jean wanted to get her tale of both intrigue and woe off her chest with someone her own age. So she spilled the beans. Sylvia’s mouth gaped open so far, she spilled saliva down her chin.

            After wiping her lower face with the palm of her hand, Sylvia asked, “What are you gonna do?”

            “What do you mean what am I gonna do? Did you miss the last part where Mr. McQueen put the kibosh on his proposal?”

            “I heard the last part as Abby giving you his private number.”

            “I’m not gonna call him!”

            “Why not?”

            The two young ladies stared at each other for a long moment. Mary Jean thought Sylvia would be creeped out by the thought of yoking with a man three times her age. But she seemed to be giving a different vibe. Hesitantly, Mary Jean asked, “Why should I?”

            “Oh, I don’t know?” Sylvia responded sarcastically, as she rolled her eyes. “Maybe because you could become an instant multi-millionaire by simply saying, I do.”

            “You really think it’s that simple? Marriage is a serious thing! It’s about love, and I can’t just force myself to love someone because they’re rich and want me to have babies with them.”

            “Do you realize what you just told me?”

            “Huh?” Mary Jean responded with an anguished frown.

            “You said after what he just did for your family, even though he cancelled his proposal, your feelings for him shifted.”

            “Yes, but more like fondness, not, you know, falling in love… I don’t think.”

            “See!”

            “See what?”

            “You’re heading in that direction.”

            “So, are you telling me that if you were in my place, you’d marry him?”

            “You’re darn tootin’ I would! He’s not your average old guy with a beer belly and bald head. As a matter fact, I’m a little offended he chose you over me. After all, we go to the same church, and I’ve known him ever since I can remember.”

            “What about your boyfriend?”

            “Do you see a ring?” Sylvia replied, showing Mary Jean her left hand. Then Sylvia shrugged. “I guess it’s probably that I feel like a relative to him. You know, like a niece or something. My family has been to his place numerous times. As a matter of fact, you went horseback riding with us at least once.”

            Mary Jean nodded, her emotions churning more than ever.

            “Girl, you need to go for it before it’s too late. Call him!”

            “It’s already too late. John McQueen doesn’t waste time. I’m sure he moved on to someone else already.”

            “Maybe that’s true, but I bet he hasn’t married them yet. Therefore it is not too late.”

            “Look, Sylvia, he decided against me for a reason. Besides, even though his ending things gives me pause, the reality of committing my life, do you hear me? My life to a man I hardly know in less than two months is quite a leap of faith.”

            “And you are the most faithful person I know. As a matter of fact, I bet you have been praying earnestly over this matter.”

            “Of course I have!”

            “Yeah, and look, you are not only still anguishing over the matter, you clearly haven’t felt a clear no. As a matter of fact, it seems you are more willing than ever to tie the knot with John McQueen.”

            “Listen, Sylvia, I’m gonna talk slowly. He ended things, he likely has moved on to someone else.”

            “Then why aren’t you moving on?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “That’s why you need to call him and at least tell him you want another chance.”

            “But you don’t seem to get that I don’t know that I do. I mean this all happened so fast. A man suddenly pursues me to the point of offering marriage. Two days later he basically says, ‘nope, you’re not the one.’ It’s probably more of the why of the rejection, than the lost opportunity itself.”

            “Is it? Mary J, how long have we known each other?”

            “Pretty much our whole lives.”

            “So we know each other pretty well, right?”

            “I guess,” Mary Jean replied with a shrug.

            “You guess? How about you know we know each other really well. Now, we can’t always see ourselves, and best friends can give us an extra set of eyes outside of ourselves.”

            “What’s your point, Dr. Sylvia?”

            “I know you really don’t want to go to college. There was actually a side of you that seemed quite pleased that you were forced to get a full-time job after high school. Now that John McQueen has paved the way for you to pursue higher education, you don’t want to go down that road.”

            “You do make a fair point, but that’s no reason to marry him.”

            “No, it’s not the reason, but it’s a reason. Here’s another reason. You will instantly become a multi-millionaire.”

            “That’s an unfair point. One should never marry for money.”

            “True but being secure is certainly a factor. Look what your own dad did to your mother.”

            Mary Jean pursed her lips and nodded.

            “Here’s the big one. You have always wanted to be a mother. Remember when you and the moronic nerd broke up? Your biggest lament to me was the fear that you would never find a decent guy to father your children. I know firsthand that John McQueen is an upstanding and decent man.”

            “Yeah, and also, once again, three times my age!”

            “Nothing is ever perfect. You can’t look at one negative when there are so many positives.”

            “Well, it’s a pretty big negative. I’d say it counteracts five to ten positives.”

            “Seriously? It’s a variable. John is what? Sixty.”

            “Sixty-one. And at least sixty-two when our first child would be born.”

            “See, you’re coming around,” Sylvia grinned.

            “Huh?” Mary Jean frowned.

            “You said ‘when,’ not ‘if’ your child is born. This is meant to be, girl.”

            “I said ‘would be,’ not ‘will be.’ Besides, what if the reason he couldn’t have kids was his fault, and not his wife’s? The I’m stuck till death does us part with an old man.

            “Well, find that out. If he wants to resume things with you, you’re not getting hitched instantly.”

            “It feels like it.”

            “And back to him being old, being variable. He’s got a full head of hair, he’s trim and in great shape, he’s handsome, so he’s really more like, say, thirty-five. And you have always been the most mature girl in our class. So you’re more like, say, thirty. So you two are really more like five years apart.”

            Mary Jean frowned. Didn’t Abby say something similar?

            “Yeah, I bet that’s what everyone’s gonna say if they hear I married a man in his sixties two minutes after I graduate high school?”

            “So that’s it, you’re afraid of what people will think?”

            “Well, yeah, especially my mom.”

            “Since when have you worried about what people think?”

            “Since I’ve never heard of anyone as young as me marry a man over sixty who wasn’t wealthy.”

            “Tell me this. Would you be marrying him just for his money? Is that why you’re feeling regret.”

            “No! He already put my family and me in a position to not worry about money. What I didn’t realize when he put a stop to the potential arrangement was how much I liked the idea of being a mother.”

            “Let me throw a hypothetical at you.”

            “Sylvia, I hate hypotheticals. I’m all about reality. That’s why I follow the Bible rather than the theories and traditions of men like so many churches do.”

            “Mary J, don’t go down a theological path on me.”

            “I’m not, but that is another factor, our differing religious beliefs.”

            “Why? You’re a Christian and he’s a Christian. You and I’ve been best friends forever and I go to his church, not yours, right?”

            Mary Jean recalled what Abby said. How resuming a courtship, or at least a friendship, would be an opportunity to open up the light of Bible truth to John McQueen. Mary Jean had that same impression as she prayed earnestly over this whole situation. So her reply to Sylvia was simply, “Right.”

            “Okay, so indulge me with a hypothetical.”

            “Go ahead,” Mary Jean said with a sigh.

            “So, pretend it’s the same situation, only McQueen has a fraction of the money. He’s not millionaire, but quite comfortable. An acreage with horses, a modest ranch house with no mortgage, and a hundred thousand in the bank. Would you be willing to marrying him and have a couple babies?”

            Mary Jean shook her head. “This is why hypotheticals are ridiculous. The truth is, I never would have gotten to know John McQueen if it wasn’t for his money. I initially considered his offer primarily to give my mother a good life. Free her from debt and make it so she didn’t have to work two jobs. That’s the reason I ended up getting to know him, and finding out he wasn’t a dumpy old rich curmudgeon, but rather a distinguished, handsome gentleman with values.”

            “Girl, you just have to shift your imagination a little bit. Pretend he was a member of your church, and you’ve known him for years. But like I said, comfortable, not mega rich. Would you consider his proposal?”

            “Money is still a factor with your hypothetical, just not as much.”

            “You just said you are all about reality. Are you gonna tell me the security a man brings isn’t a factor in choosing a life mate? Even if its simply a younger man with drive?”

            “Fair point.”

            “So answer my hypothetical. Would you marry an older man under the circumstances I just laid out?”

            “I would,” Mary Jean said with a lift of her chin.

            “Then just call McQueen, and say you’d like to continue your, shall we say, friendship. Not instantly marry him, just get to know him better. Do you have his number with you?”

            Mary Jean dug in her skirt pocket and revealed the number. Sylvia snatched it, took her best friend by the hand, and led her to the kitchen phone. As Sylvia began to dial, Mary Jean pushed the receiver hook and said, “No.”

            Sylvia removed her hand and said, “Yes, you’ll thank me later.”

            It happened so fast that Mary Jean didn’t have time to be nervous. But when she heard John McQueen’s soft, deep voice say hello, her pulse quickened as she said. “John?”

            “Jennifer, hi. Thanks for getting back to me so quickly. What do you think of my proposition?”

            Jennifer? Proposition? Mary Jean’s first instinct was to hang up. But instead she froze and listened to awkward silence for several seconds until Mr. McQueen spoke again, “Jennifer?”