The Church Bulletin Board

So far, Miranda is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. When Dougie disappeared without a trace, she obtained temporary custody. But now, Dougie has returned and Miranda is afraid he is here to take his son back. In the midst of that, a teacher is killed and Dougie is the prime suspect. Now, Miranda has to prove that he is innocent, if only for Waylon's sake.

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If you hear a rattle from the bushes, would you think it was a baby's rattle or a snake? Sometimes, that's how I feel about churches. Are they really there to help you with your soul or are they there to lead you by the nose? And, before you start throwing holy water at me, listen to what I'm saying. I've been to churches that were no more than glorified and sanctioned witch hunters. Anything out of the norm was cause for alarm. I've heard preachers say love thy neighbors, then tell you that gays are spawns of Satan. I've seen children shunned because their parents never married. These are the jokers I'm talking about. They are the ones who are making up the rules as they go along.

The Church of Mt. Olive is out on route 17. Its a cinder block building, void of any architectural details and it resembled a bunker more than a church. It is set back off the highway about an eighth of a mile, and the only way to get to it is to drive down a rutted road that is lined with oyster shells. By the time I pull into the parking lot, I run my tongue around my teeth to make sure none were jarred loose. Six cars are in the lot.

I try not to come up with an outlandish lie for the reason of my visit. I can tell them the truth but then my hand is played, and if they don't want to be forthcoming, I'll have wasted my trip. My stomach starts feeling queasy and I reach for a piece of Trident.

I tried to dress churchy, but I don't really know how to, so I just made sure no cleavage was showing, and my pants weren't too tight.

I hurry to the door and knock once before entering. "Hello," I call out, making sure the door doesn't slam shut.

I see a lady peek out of a doorway. "Can I help you?"

"Oh, I'm not sure, really. I'm out browsing at churches. I guess shopping for a good fit. I heard about Mt. Olive through a friend."

The lady waves me towards her office and welcomes me with a warm smile. "Oh, that's marvelous. Who's your friend?"

Her question catches me off guard. I scramble. The only name that comes to mind is Evanoff, and I don't even know her first name. "Oh, gosh, it was on the tip of my tongue, but now that you've asked me...," I shake my head and smile like Rita does when she forgets something.

She waves her hand and points to the over stuffed chair in the corner. "No matter. Have a seat. Do you live here in Patterson?"

"Yes, ma'am. Born and raised here."

"What church were you attending before, or are you just now coming to Jesus?"

"I didn't really go to any church. Kinda just talked to God when I needed to." I look away. While it's not really a lie, it's not really a regular thing.

"Well, would you like a tour?"

I smile, suddenly feeling off the hook. "That would be delightful."

She takes me to the sanctuary first, making sure to point out the one stained glass window. Assuring me that if they find enough in the budget they will add another one as soon as possible.

I study the window. It's a man and a woman, dressed in ancient garb, so clearly not Adam and Eve, and what looks to be a head on a platter. Both are smiling. The head, not so much.

"That's not Jesus, is it," I say, making sure to not phrase it as a question. "What, uh, is it?"


She reaches over to squeeze my forearm. "Heavens no. That's the scene of Salome getting the head of John the Baptist. It's from the book of Matthew. Just goes to show you how powerful sex is." She starts pointing out the choir box and where the baptismal pool was hidden.

"So, did you ever remember who mentioned our church?" she asks curiously.

"My son has a friend at school, Evanoff, I believe is his last name. Mentioned how he just loved this church."

She nods. "His mother, Mira, she's very active in the church. She leads a parenting teenagers class, right here, every Wednesday night. She is a good mother. She doesn't believe in all the foolishness that some parents let their children get away with. You know, spare the rod, spoil the child."

"Well, that is amazing. I had no idea. Might have to attend one of those."

"She and Reverend Foley are always brainstorming ideas to keep our younger members on the path to righteousness."

"You don't say."

"Oh, I do say. They have straightened out a lot of young people. And, when I say straightened out, you know what I mean. Young people are confused. They get their information from smut videos and those damn rappers. It can send them down the wrong path."

I nod, wondering how I can extricate myself from this uncomfortable conversation. "Well, I appreciate this. Thank you for taking the time to show me around. Is there a pamphlet for Mira's class? You know, something I can take with me?"

She leads me back to the main hallway and points to a five foot long bulletin board. "There are all kinds of information on the board. We have a lot of extra-curricular activities here at Mt. Olive. Help yourself to any of the information." She smiles at me and just before ducking back into her office, she calls out, "Hope to see you Sunday."

I start perusing the board, seeing everything from parent's night out, to Mira's classes, to a brochure for a sleep-away camp, The Narrows, a camp for enlightenment. I grab all of them and quickly make my way to my car.

I adjust my rear view mirror and hold my own gaze. "Maybe you do need a parenting class. Maybe you need to hear Mira's advice in person."

I pull out of the parking lot, and make my way back down the bumpy driveway. Come Sunday morning, I'm gonna be sitting in a pew. Question is, who is going to be sitting with me. Will it be Momma, Mitch, Waylon or Aaron?