“Well, that’s one endless rumor about the Gast House, Jiff. But in truth…no. I really don’t think so.”
“I hope not.”
“It’s ironic, though: the content of your nightmare as well as the history of your mother’s inn. That man from the TV show is quite interested in the topic. He’s almost obsessed with the Gast legend.”
Jiff eyed his client with suspicion. “Yeah?”
“Seems quite odd, doesn’t it? A book writer and celebrity from California, so taken by a Southern ghost story.”
Yeah, I guess it is…“He’s a nice guy and all but this town definitely ain’t the place for him.”
“Southern pride.” Sute managed a smile. “I’ll call you again soon.”
For a split second, he had the most noxious vision: Jiff was shoving Sute into the furnace’s fiery maw. His hand was shaking when he grabbed the doorknob. And, no, he wasn’t going to tell Sute yet that he was dumping him as a client. The tricks were so much easier at the Spike. He’d simply had enough. I’ll tell him next time he calls, he decided, and just said for now, “See ya later.” Then Jiff turned to leave.
“Gracious, Jiff. You really are out of sorts, aren’t you?”
Jiff turned. “Huh?”
“You were about to do something you’ve never done before.”
Jiff was getting irritated. “What’cha talkin’ about?”
“You almost walked out of here without your money,” Sute informed him and smiled. Then he gave Jiff a check for one hundred dollars.
CHAPTER TWELVE I
“There’s no gray area here, folks,” the minister said. “You can’t get more cut-and-dry than the Ten Commandments. There’s no interpretation necessary to understand Christ’s Golden Rule, ‘Do to others as you would have others do to you.’ When Jesus said on the Mount, ‘Blessed are the merciful for the merciful shall be shown mercy,’ we don’t need a literary analyst from Harvard to tell us what that really means. The Word of God is simple. It’s like boiling rice. If you follow the instructions on the bag, it works. God’s Word works, too, but our problem is we don’t really listen. We may try to, or we tell ourselves that we’re listening, but we really aren’t because as humans we exist in error. We’re unworthy in the shadow of our sin…”
Collier felt inhibited throughout the service, as out of place as a Washington Redskins jersey in a Dallas sports shop. The minister reminded him of the Skipper on Gilligan’s Island but was bald as Telly Savalas. He interestingly mixed fire and brimstone with lackadaisical good humor: “We’re all premeditated sinners worthy of nothing but hell, but God’s a pretty cool guy and he cuts us slack if we earn it. He knows we’re all screwed up but he loves us anyway! He doesn’t want heaven to be full of nothing but stone-faced boring pilgrims and monks who haven’t cracked a joke in their entire lives!” Collier figured heaven would indeed be Dullsville if exclusively populated by such folks.
Dominique held his hand through the entire service, save for intervals for hymns. She as well as most everyone there listened to the minister with the same attention that Collier had paid to those Girls Gone Wild commercials: with rapt veneration. Maybe that was the difference.
The minister pointed his finger at the congregation, like an accuser, then slowly aimed it at himself. “My friends, there really are seven deadly sins: wrath, lust, pride, greed, envy, sloth, and—my personal favorite—gluttony…” He stepped away from the lectern and hoisted a considerable belly beneath his vestments, which summoned laughter from the pews.
“But the other day I was thinking that maybe that’s why God put seven days in the week—a day for each sin. Why don’t we reserve each separate day to atone for one, and stick to it. Monday can be pride, Tuesday can be envy, Wednesday can be sloth, and so on. And today? Sunday? Let’s assign greed to Sunday, and use the Lord’s day to try to redeem ourselves of this sin. Let’s remember Jesus’ story of the widow’s mite, how a destitute woman gave her last two leptons to the offering box—only a fraction of a cent. That’s not much money but to Christ that woman’s selfless sacrifice was worth more than a mountain of gold.”
Collier grew suspicious. Here it comes. Open up your hearts and open up your wallets…
“Let’s remember that for every dollar we give, we get back a hundred in spirit. Let’s remember the word of James: ‘Every act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above,’ so that when we give in the name of God, we become like God. And the words of Matthew: ‘Freely we have received, so freely we must give.’ Just go out and give—let’s do that today instead of watching TV or washing the car—”
The collection plate’ll be making the rounds any minute now, Collier thought.
“—and for you wise guys out there who think I’m just pumping you up for the collection plate, I’m asking you to not give a penny to this church today. Give it to someone else instead—”
Collier frowned.
“—and if you’ve got no money, give your time. Or maybe we can follow our best examples”—he pointed to someone in the pews—“like Mr. Portafoy who spends every Friday night helping terminal patients at the hospice, or Janice Wilcox who runs the local clothing drive, or Dominique Cusher who prepares a hundred meals before her restaurant opens and drives them all the way to the Chattanooga homeless shelter every Sunday—”
Collier looked at her…then wondered if he’d ever given anything as charity in his life…
“Let’s be like those wonderful people, and also remember Corinthians: ‘God loves a cheerful giver.’” Next the minister stepped away from the lectern again, hoisting his belly. He seemed to be looking right at Collier when he said, “And for you wise guys out there wondering what I’m going to give? I’m not going to eat today, but instead I’m going to go drop a hundred dollars on pizzas and take them to the Fayetteville soup kitchen. I’m gonna drive those people at Domino’s nuts…and I’m not even going to snitch a slice for myself. I swear!”
More chuckles from the crowd.
“Go to the hospital and give a pint of blood! Go to the underpass and dole out a backseat full of Quarter Pounders! Go online and throw some of that MasterCard at the Red Cross, or fill out that organ-donor form and drop it in the mail. You’re not gonna need your liver when you’re dead, are you? So go on and do it!” Then he scanned his finger across the pews and barked like a game-show host, “And until next week, go in peace to love and serve the Lord!”
Everyone said “Amen” while they were still laughing, then a jazzy organ kicked in to signal the final procession.
“Wow,” Collier whispered. “Church has changed.”
“When was the last time you went?”
“Ah, you would ask. I’m too ashamed to say. When was Oliver North shredding documents for Reagan?”
Dominique chuckled. “Being here is a start, isn’t it? And, yeah, Father Grumby gets a little gung ho sometimes but he’s a great pastor.”
Collier’s throat felt thick when he noticed two young girls in white dresses filing out behind their parents. Couldn’t be, he thought. He still wasn’t sure if he’d really seen the girls or if it was a booze-triggered phantasm.