Heavens to Betsy Read online

  Edna defiantly unwraps the foil from the blondies and shoves the platter toward The Judge. “People are clearly expressing their displeasure with Betsy’s presence in the pulpit. We have to do something now before she cripples the church financially.”

  Gus tugs harder at his bow tie. “I hate to disagree, Edna, but I’m not ready to leap to that conclusion. Perhaps we could devise some way to monitor the cash box in the sacristy. As a precaution. But I’m inclined to take a wait-and-see approach.”

  Marjorie takes a blondie as the platter passes by. “I can’t believe people would withhold their offering because of Betsy. She’s such a sweet girl.” She smiles and then closes her eyes in reverence while she takes a bite of the blondie.

  I’m twitching in my chair. How did a problem with the offering become a discussion about my competence or popularity? Strike that. I know how. Edna is the master of bait and switch. “I like Gus’s idea of monitoring the cash box, but I’m willing to bet its simply a timing issue. We’ve had a number of folks out of town the past two weeks. And there has been some restlessness because of Dr. Black’s abrupt departure. We just need to give it time.”

  Ed the Engineer nods. “I agree. Shall we vote?”

  Before Edna can object, he’s taking a vote. She’s the lone holdout against the wait-and-see approach, so the motion carries. It’s almost six o’clock, and David will be at my house in an hour. It will take the potatoes at least that long to bake. And for me to work up my courage yet again.

  “Shall we adjourn, then?” Like a farmer’s wife with the hens, I shoo the committee from the room. I make a quick dash to my office and grab my purse from my desk drawer. With a quick wave to the night custodian, I dash to my car.

  There’s no time for a luxurious soak in a scented bubble bath. In fact, there’s barely time to shuck my hose and sensible pumps and pull on jeans and a T-shirt. I shove the potatoes in the oven with alacrity and prep the asparagus. Then I realize I’ve forgotten to start the coals. Drat. And why did I agree to grill out in February? It’s freezing. Fifteen minutes later I reek of lighter fluid, but the grill is going. I’m getting more nervous with each passing minute, and it shows in my fumbling fingers as they try to stuff the filets with blue cheese and pesto.

  Five minutes to seven. I dart out into the cold to fling the steaks on the grill, then race around my living room lighting candles and stuffing old newspapers, catalogs, and library books underneath the couch and behind the stereo speakers. No, that’s too neat. It looks like I’ve made an effort. I dig yesterday’s paper out from under the couch and toss it onto my surfboard-shaped coffee table, a seventies relic I picked up for ten dollars at an estate sale.

  David knocks punctually at seven o’clock. He’s right on time, a personality trait I usually adore, but it doesn’t serve me well tonight.

  I take a quick look out the peephole and see two people standing on my porch. David, and a blonde who looks to be about sixteen. This is my surprise? He brought one of the kids from his youth group?

  I open the door as if I’m about to encounter a couple of Jehovah’s Witnesses. Like the ones who, when I introduced myself as the Reverend Betsy Blessing, asked me without batting an eyelash if I’d been saved.

  “Hey, Betz.” David is all smiles, and the girl with him is all hair.

  “Hey.” I manage to smile with just a touch of quizzical charm.

  “Here’s your surprise.” David puts his arm around the girl, and they step through the doorway.

  “My surprise?”

  David has the grace to look a little sheepish. “I told you on the phone I had a surprise for you.”

  “Oh yeah. That’s right.” I stick my hand forward. “Hi. I’m Betsy.”

  The next thing I know the blonde flings herself at me and hugs me like a druid bonding with a tree. “Oh, Betsy, I’m so glad to finally meet you. David’s told me tons about you.”

  I wipe hair out of my face and disengage myself as quickly as possible. “Really?” I shoot David my dirtiest look. “Sometimes he can forget to mention the most important things.”

  The blonde giggles. “He can, can’t he?” She looks at him adoringly and tosses her hair. “I’ll fix that, though.”

  Fix it? And since when do youth-group members look at their ministers like that?

  David’s gone a bit pink about the ears and neck. “Betsy, this is Cali.”

  “Cali?”

  She laughs, and the sound resembles a very high-strung donkey. “Cali. Short for California. That’s where I’m from.”

  At that moment a familiar odor reaches my nose.

  “The steaks!”

  I race from the living room, through the kitchen, and onto the small patio in the backyard. Shoot! The steaks are burning. With a quick twist of the barbecue fork, I flip the meat.

  And then I just stand there for a moment in the cold night air.

  I’m no fool. I know that girl’s not a member of David’s youth group. I know he’s had a couple of dates lately. And I know I’m a coward with a pathetic lack of timing.

  Deep breaths. More deep breaths.

  I have to go back in there and face them. Or I could just make a run for it. Out the back gate and from there to freedom.

  “Do you need any help?” The screen door bangs, and the perky, giggly voice behind me is like fingernails on a chalkboard.

  I turn with the world’s most fake smile pasted on my face. “No, just a minor meat emergency. Thanks, though.”

  “Sure.”

  I look back down at the grill. Two steaks. Two potatoes. Asparagus for two. Only the two for dinner tonight are David and Cali. Not David and Betsy.

  “Why don’t you and David make yourselves comfortable in the living room? I’ll be finished up here in just a minute.”

  “Okey-dokey.”

  Okey-dokey? Oy.

  The screen door slams shut behind her as she goes back into the house. I am a mature, competent professional. I will not cry.

  And I don’t, no matter how much it hurts. A few minutes later the steaks are more than done, and I shift them to a platter and head back inside.

  David and Cali aren’t in the living room. They’re at the little café table in my kitchen. The one with only two chairs and no room for more. How fitting.

  “I just need to do the asparagus, and we can eat.”

  David is oblivious. “Sounds great.”

  And I guess it does, if you’re David.

  After I drag a folding chair from the coat closet, we huddle around my little café table. The food situation resolves itself. Cali’s a vegetarian, so she passes on the steak. David announces he’s on a new low-carb diet, so he doesn’t want the potato. We each get four slender spears of asparagus. And somehow we make it through the meal.

  When Cali excuses herself to the restroom, David smiles ruefully and reaches across the table to take my hand. “Guess this wasn’t the best way to spring it on you, huh?”

  “When you said a surprise, I was thinking more in the range of a new preaching magazine.”

  David bows his head. “Blew it, didn’t I?”

  I have to play it cool. “No, not really. I just felt bad that I didn’t have enough food.”

  “But that worked out okay.” He pats my hand and releases it. I miss his touch keenly. And I know that with the advent of Cali, I’m going to miss it even more in the future.

  It’s too late now. And it’s my own fault. I had my opportunities, and I blew them. Too much fear. Not enough faith.

  “Give her a chance. I know she’s young, but you’ll like her.”

  “I feel like her baby-sitter.” The words slip out, and I regret them even before I see the hurt in David’s eyes.

  “Are we really going to begrudge each other a little happiness, Betz? I know it’s not perfect, but what is?”

  We are! I want to shout, but I don’t. Because if David doesn’t know that, then we aren’t.

  “She just seems so young.”

&nb
sp; “She’s twenty-three.” He pushes back from the table and crosses his arms across his chest.

  Cali comes back to the table, and she smiles at us both. “This is so great.” She reaches over to hug me again, and I get another mouthful of hair. “Betz, I just know we’re going to be BFF.”

  “BFF?” She’s speaking some kind of hip code language.

  “You know! Best friends forever!”

  Years of practice keep the smile nailed on my face. I have smiled at parishioners while they criticized me, condemned me, and insulted me. Surely I can keep the expression through the exuberant offer of friendship from the near-adolescent love interest of my best friend in the world. Just because I’d like to scratch her eyes out is no reason to reject her.

  “Oh yeah. BFF. Um, sure.” I rise from my chair and avoid making eye contact with David.

  David groans. “I forgot the dessert.”

  Of course he did. “No problem. I keep a little something on hand that I like to call Rocky Road Surprise.”

  Which just about sums up my evening so far.

  The next morning LaRonda meets me for an emergency session at Starbucks. I arrive first and manage to spill my latte on a nun. And not even a nun in a black habit. A Dominican in snowy white. Rats!

  “I’m so sorry.” I dab at her sleeve with a recycled paper napkin, which only smears the stain.

  “Please.” She jerks her arm away and grabs her venti House Blend. “You’ve done enough.”

  If she only knew.

  “I’m really sorry,” I say to the back of her wimple as she makes a beeline for the door.

  I slink to a table and try not to assume a fetal position while I wait for LaRonda. I pretend to read a copy of the Tennessean someone’s left behind, but I couldn’t care less about NASCAR results and how Metro government is going to cut more from the school budget so they can lure professional baseball to town. Priorities, priorities.

  “Sorry I’m late.” LaRonda slides into the chair opposite me. “Minor police emergency.”

  “Police emergency?”

  “Okay, I got a traffic ticket. I can’t believe I couldn’t talk the officer out of it.”

  LaRonda’s persuasive abilities should be immortalized in song and legend. They’re the reason she’s gotten as far as she has in the church, and why she’s managed to stay there. I wish they were contagious, like the stomach flu.

  “Guess you’ll just have to cop to it and pay the fine.”

  LaRonda scowls. “No way. I’ll try my luck with the judge.”

  “Forget it. I’ve tried, and it can’t be done.” My one and only appearance in traffic court felt like standing before God at the Last Judgment. The judge looked like Charlton Heston and only allowed you to plead innocent or guilty. You couldn’t say anything in your defense.

  “Guilty,” I had to reply. When I tried to explain the circumstances, the judge had glared at me.

  “Are you aware that sixty-five is greater than forty-five?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Then you’re guilty, aren’t you?”

  “Technically, yes.”

  “Technically is all it takes, Miss Blessing.”

  LaRonda slips her purse over the back of the chair and settles in. “So, David showed up at your house with another woman.”

  “Yep. Some surprise”

  “Well, what did you expect? If he doesn’t know you’re interested in him, he’s got every right to look around.”

  “But I tried to tell him.”

  “Trying isn’t doing, Betsy. Good intentions will get you a dateless Saturday night and not much else.”

  “It’s too late now.”

  LaRonda rolls her eyes. “Why is it too late?”

  “Ronnie, he’s with somebody else now.”

  “So? Do you want David or not?”

  “But that wouldn’t be ethical. I’m no man-stealer.”

  “No man was ever stolen who didn’t want to be. You have to keep trying.”

  “But what about the other girl?”

  “If David really likes her, he’ll stay with her. No matter what you say to him.”

  “I don’t know, Ronnie.”

  “That’s fear talking, girl. Not ethics.” She sips her coffee. “Did you get an invitation to the fund-raiser for the Nehemiah Project?” It’s a charity near and dear to my heart that provides transitional housing for struggling families trying to achieve self-sufficiency.

  “I mailed in a check and trashed the invite.”

  “Well, you’d better dig it out. ’Cause you’re going to invite David to go with you. Nothing like a black-tie ‘do’ to inspire a little romance.”

  “You want me to invite him to the fund-raiser?”

  “No, I’m telling you to invite him to the fund-raiser. And we are going to make you so gorgeous that he’ll forget all about what s-her-name.”

  “It doesn’t feel right.”

  “Betz, is this girl the woman for David?”

  “No. Even if I didn’t have feelings for him, I wouldn’t be happy about this. She’s too young and shallow. He’ll be bored in a week.”

  “Then you have no moral dilemma.” She swirls her coffee. “Now, let’s address the really tough issue. What dress are you going to wear?”

  See why I have LaRonda in my life? She makes everything so simple, while all I seem to do is complicate matters.

  Work used to be a refuge from my lack of a personal life. Now my lack of personal life provides no refuge from work.

  I continue to visit Velva in ICU, and she’s much the same—over-breathing the respirator, which is good, but not enough for them to take her off it, which isn’t so good.

  Another Sunday passes, less eventful than the one before, and once again the cash offering is very low. Now I’m beginning to worry without any help from Edna Tompkins. What if she’s right? What if people are voting with their dollars?

  Gus suggested finding a way to monitor the cash box in the sacristy. It’s kept locked, and only he and the church business manager have a key. At least, they’re the only ones we know of. But church keys are like bunnies; they reproduce at an alarming rate. People will give a copy of their church key to their best friend’s sister’s cousins bridesmaid who needs to get into the sanctuary early for a wedding.

  I absent-mindedly check e-mail as I wonder how, short of hiding in the closet with the clerical robes, we can monitor the offering box.

  And then the answer appears before me, right on my computer screen.

  Monitor anyone, anywhere, from any PC!

  A Web cam. That could work. I even know who could help me. David may be too cheap to pay for anything more than dial-up Internet access, but the boy does know his way around electronic stuff—except for his VCR, which for some reason mystifies him.

  I push the Speed Dial button on my phone, and he answers just as quickly.

  “St. Helga’s. Pastor David.”

  “You have a good voice for a receptionist. Bet you don’t know how to transfer me to voice mail.”

  “Hey, Betz.” I can hear his grin. “Fortunately no one’s asked me to do that so far this morning.”

  “Secretary out?”

  “Her kid has the vomiting virus. She offered to come in and bring him with her, but I declined.”

  “I need your help.” David’s used to my abrupt jumps from one subject to the next.

  “Personal or professional?” He sounds wary.

  “Professional. I need you to help me install a Web cam.”

  “Who are you spying on?”

  “It’s not a who. It’s a what. Can you meet me at someplace electronic this afternoon to pick out the camera? We’ll have to come back to the church tonight after everyone’s gone to set it up. I don’t want anyone else to know about it.”

  David sighs the sigh of the long-suffering. “Is this in any way illegal or immoral?”

  “It’s the work of the Lord, hon. I think someone’s raiding the offering.”
r />   “Ouch. Then count me in.”

  “Excellent. Circuit City at three?”

  “Sure. And, Betz?”

  “Yeah?”

  “How peeved are you on a scale of one to ten about dinner last week?”

  “Help me install this camera and all is forgiven.” That’s not true, but what else am I going to say? I’m supposed to invite him to the fund-raiser, so I have to play it cool.

  “I know you don’t approve of Cali.”

  “It’s your life, David. I shouldn’t have been so judgmental.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way.”

  I take a deep breath. “Do you think Cali would let me borrow you Saturday night? I need an escort for the Nehemiah Project ‘do,’ and since my only recent romantic entanglement has just been rein-carcerated, I’m desperate.”

  “Sure. I’ll even pull out my old tux for the occasion.”

  David looks like James Bond in a tux. It’s so unfair. He’s a preacher. He shouldn’t get to resemble a young Sean Connery. I remember when we bought that tux at a consignment boutique. It was for his wedding to Jennifer. The wedding that never happened. Partly because he was the kind of guy who would buy a secondhand tux, and she was the kind of girl who wanted to register at Tiffany’s because David’s family is from New York City.

  I try not to breathe my sigh of relief directly into the phone. I don’t want to sound like my obscene phone caller. “I owe you. In fact, I’ll spring for dinner. Somewhere nice.”

  “No chili dogs?”

  “Definitely no chili dogs.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  Oh, but I do, David. In excruciating detail.

  I drop the receiver back in its cradle with a thunk! I had no idea it hurts this much to be in love.

  In love! It’s not that bad, is it? But it is. My stomach does a full-twisting backflip with a 3.0 degree of difficulty. Why didn’t I see this before? It’s not just about having feelings for David. About being attracted to him.

  Dear Lord, I’m in love.

  And I mean that as the prayer of desperation and panic it sounds like.

  I manage to hide my newfound realization from David when we meet to buy the Web cam. And even late that night, when we rendezvous at the back door of Church of the Shepherd, I play it cool.