wall, knocking himself unconscious. The removable showerhead swung like a pendulum on a grandfather clock ticking down Roger’s final seconds. An arcing stream of water filled his open mouth and drowned him as he sat upright in the tub. Joan discovered the body fifteen minutes later.
Thank God for Jesus. If it weren’t for His little pep talks, Joan probably wouldn’t have gotten through it.
Don’t you worry about a thing, He told her the next morning. Roger’s with me now. And just so you know, he’s already the number-one insurance salesman in Heaven. Joan never asked why angels needed insurance. She didn’t have to.
Joan ran her fingers through her grandsons’ mops of hair and picked out small sticky pieces of cherries they had flung at each other. “Do you want to start your lessons now, or do you want Nana to give you haircuts?”
“Can we just watch TV today?” Junior asked. “I’m not in the mood to learn anything.”
“Yeah,” seconded J.J. “No learnin’!”
Gazing into their big angelic eyes, Joan’s heart melted like butter over hot grits.
“Of course,” she said calmly.
The boys leapt from the table and ran into the living room. Joan called after, “But nothing too violent and none of that Disney Channel garbage! Walt Disney was an anti-Semite, and Israel is our friend! We’re gonna need the Jews when Jesus comes back!”
Joan dropped the day’s lessons on a growing stack of previously untaught schoolwork and pulled a deck of cards from the junk drawer.
Deal me in.
“Okay,” Joan warned, “but I’ve been practicing.”
Jesus laughed. I’m sure you have. I’ll try and stay alert.
As a wrestling program blared from the living room, Joan slowly lowered herself into the chair and dealt two hands of cards.
chapter five
Miranda and Bailey arrived at the Knoxville Crowne Plaza Hotel a little after 6 P.M. , only thirty minutes behind schedule. The parking lot was gridlocked with minivans, suvs, and overflowing luggage carts. The first real challenge of any pageant weekend was transferring the contents of your vehicle to your hotel room, and whoever parked closest to the entrance could claim the first psychological victory. Miranda just shook her head. “Amateurs.” Smiling, she hung a placard she’d lifted from Joan’s rearview mirror, and whipped into a handicapped spot.
Bailey was passed out in the backseat. She’d fallen asleep somewhere around Harriman, Tennessee, after inhaling her dinner of McSalad, small fries with no ketchup, and large Diet Coke. On average, Bailey drank six Diet Cokes a day, which was acceptable under the complex meal plan Miranda had put together. Anything with the word “diet” or “fat free” on the label was allowed in unlimited quantities. Everything else had to be approved.
A bellman approached the minivan but was abruptly waved off.
“No! No, thank you! We got it!”
Miranda groaned. She was constantly disappointed by how the host hotels insisted on nickel-and-diming their guests. Everyone expected a tip for doing a job they were presumably already paid to do. It was frustrating and embarrassing, especially when the hotels refused to give a significant discount to pageant attendees.
“Ten percent is not a discount,” she’d written to the president of Marriott. “It’s a slap in the face. And I’m not the only one who thinks so. With all the publicity these pageants bring your hotels, contestants and families should be asked to stay for free .”
Slowly lowering herself off the inflatable hemorrhoid donut, Miranda brushed french fry crumbs from her shirt and rubbed her belly just in time to feel Brixton laugh. It was the full, rich laugh of a happy, well-adjusted baby. During the trip, Miranda had told Brixton some of her favorite knock-knock jokes, and the kid could not get enough.
“You’re such a smart little girl, Brixton,” she cooed. “And funny, too.”
Miranda tapped the back window of the minivan with her
Thank God for Jesus. If it weren’t for His little pep talks, Joan probably wouldn’t have gotten through it.
Don’t you worry about a thing, He told her the next morning. Roger’s with me now. And just so you know, he’s already the number-one insurance salesman in Heaven. Joan never asked why angels needed insurance. She didn’t have to.
Joan ran her fingers through her grandsons’ mops of hair and picked out small sticky pieces of cherries they had flung at each other. “Do you want to start your lessons now, or do you want Nana to give you haircuts?”
“Can we just watch TV today?” Junior asked. “I’m not in the mood to learn anything.”
“Yeah,” seconded J.J. “No learnin’!”
Gazing into their big angelic eyes, Joan’s heart melted like butter over hot grits.
“Of course,” she said calmly.
The boys leapt from the table and ran into the living room. Joan called after, “But nothing too violent and none of that Disney Channel garbage! Walt Disney was an anti-Semite, and Israel is our friend! We’re gonna need the Jews when Jesus comes back!”
Joan dropped the day’s lessons on a growing stack of previously untaught schoolwork and pulled a deck of cards from the junk drawer.
Deal me in.
“Okay,” Joan warned, “but I’ve been practicing.”
Jesus laughed. I’m sure you have. I’ll try and stay alert.
As a wrestling program blared from the living room, Joan slowly lowered herself into the chair and dealt two hands of cards.
chapter five
Miranda and Bailey arrived at the Knoxville Crowne Plaza Hotel a little after 6 P.M. , only thirty minutes behind schedule. The parking lot was gridlocked with minivans, suvs, and overflowing luggage carts. The first real challenge of any pageant weekend was transferring the contents of your vehicle to your hotel room, and whoever parked closest to the entrance could claim the first psychological victory. Miranda just shook her head. “Amateurs.” Smiling, she hung a placard she’d lifted from Joan’s rearview mirror, and whipped into a handicapped spot.
Bailey was passed out in the backseat. She’d fallen asleep somewhere around Harriman, Tennessee, after inhaling her dinner of McSalad, small fries with no ketchup, and large Diet Coke. On average, Bailey drank six Diet Cokes a day, which was acceptable under the complex meal plan Miranda had put together. Anything with the word “diet” or “fat free” on the label was allowed in unlimited quantities. Everything else had to be approved.
A bellman approached the minivan but was abruptly waved off.
“No! No, thank you! We got it!”
Miranda groaned. She was constantly disappointed by how the host hotels insisted on nickel-and-diming their guests. Everyone expected a tip for doing a job they were presumably already paid to do. It was frustrating and embarrassing, especially when the hotels refused to give a significant discount to pageant attendees.
“Ten percent is not a discount,” she’d written to the president of Marriott. “It’s a slap in the face. And I’m not the only one who thinks so. With all the publicity these pageants bring your hotels, contestants and families should be asked to stay for free .”
Slowly lowering herself off the inflatable hemorrhoid donut, Miranda brushed french fry crumbs from her shirt and rubbed her belly just in time to feel Brixton laugh. It was the full, rich laugh of a happy, well-adjusted baby. During the trip, Miranda had told Brixton some of her favorite knock-knock jokes, and the kid could not get enough.
“You’re such a smart little girl, Brixton,” she cooed. “And funny, too.”
Miranda tapped the back window of the minivan with her
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