Page 22 of No More Heartbreakers

“Let me get this straight—you’re lying to your husband, who’s a pastor, to get out of going to church.”

Phil had left my father’s law firm three years earlier to follow the calling of his heart and go into ministry.

While a lovely life choice, the career change had been a complete shock to Jane Elaine, who was also a lawyer at the firm, and to everyone else who knew him. Phil had been the firm’s pit bull, the guy they put on the dirtiest cases no one else really wanted to touch.

Maybe that’s what had sent him the other way—the need to be cleansed or something.

“It’s not church on Sundays that bothers me,” Jane Elaine explained. “It’s being there every other flippin’ day of the week. When did I sign up for this? I mean, choir practice—come on—you know I can’t carry a tune with a backhoe.”

She had a point. Whenever my family did our yearly Christmas caroling, the neighbors tended to shove candy canes and hot chocolate at us after the first verse in hopes of returning to a silent night.

“And, in my defense,” she continued, “I lied to the church council first, and that’s why I had to lie to my husband.”

My sister, the perfect pastor’s wife.

“Oh yes. Sounds like an air-tight defense, counselor.”

“I know it’s bad, but I’m a desperate woman. If I keep being ‘busy,’ maybe the council will eventually get tired of asking and find someone else to run the music program, and the nursery, and the ladies’ prayer breakfasts, and the annual Tag Sale, and the Zumba Praise exercise group, and the—”

The laundry room door swung open to reveal Phil’s friendly but confused face.

“Hello ladies. Catching up?”

“Yes. We were… folding towels,” I said, reaching behind me and feeling around on top of the dryer for some sort of fabric.

“And discussing our plans for tomorrow. Tell him, Heidi.” Jane Elaine strutted past her bemused husband, leading the way out of our hiding place.

I followed, not quite looking at his face. “Yes. We, ah… we’re really looking forward to, um, book club.”

“Our church has a wonderful book club.” Phil beamed. “You should join. In fact, I believe they’re looking for a new leader.”

“Oh no, I only read, um, romance novels.”

“Erotica,” my sister offered helpfully.

My face colored, and I gave her a look that said she owed mebig time. “Yes. That’s me. Can’t get enough bondage and domination.”

Phil made a small choking sound, clearly shocked and dismayed to learn that his young sister-in-law was so wayward.

“Well.” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps leadership wouldn’t be right for you, but you might still consider attending. It might offer a… positive influence. Okay then, I think I’ll check on the boys.”

As soon as he was out of earshot, I hissed at Jane Elaine. “Erotica? Really? You heard him—now he thinks I’m some kind of depraved mommy-porn addict.”

She chuckled. “If I’d known it would work that well, I would have played the erotica card alongtime ago. Nobody’s going to be askingmeto teach Sunday school anymore.”

She grabbed a bowl of fried okra off the kitchen counter and headed for the dining room, beaming and humming a tuneless hymn to herself.

My sister wouldn’t mention erotica in their conservative church circle any more than I would announce to my family I was having regular sex dreams about the Swedish-Italian god of love.

Jane Elaine might not be the world’s most enthusiastic preacher’s wife, but she’d never embarrass Phil or undermine his new career.

I grabbed the plate of cornbread and followed her. My younger brothers, Gordy, Tee, and Benjamin were already at the table, plates piled high in front of them and forks at the ready.

The oldest two were two years apart, both in high school, both enormous, and always on the verge of starvation. Benji wasn’t far behind in age, size, or appetite, already six feet tall at age fourteen.

Jane Elaine set the bowl of okra on the table, and they each grabbed for the serving spoon, turning this, as they did every activity, into a wrestling match.

“Is Mom at rehearsal?” I asked.

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