It was because she was more pious than he was, and he'd seized the necessity of praying in solitude. It wasn't because he didn't want to lay eyes on those filthy bastards. It wasn't because he wished to avoid unpleasantness. No, he told himself, wincing as a lightning bolt flashed across his head, he was doing the correct thing by isolating himself in humble prayer without permitting the intrusion of the telephone to disrupt his concentration.
And since it was Saturday, he mused as he eased himself back onto the couch, he needed even more isolation so he could work on his sermon. In fact, he was going to need isolation all day long. Comforted by the necessity of all that impending isolation, he mentally ran down the list of his favorite sermon themes: charity covering the multitude of sins; the wages of sin being death; the effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man avail thing much; by their fruits ye shall be knowing them.
None of them struck just right. As he rolled over, he saw the centerfold of one of his study manuals. The woman was clad in the typical sinful blacklace underthings, which never seemed to go under things since these harlots never wore things over them. He picked up the magazine and held it a few inches from his nose. Looking at the photograph inspired him in more ways than one.
"Shall I continue doin' this, my angel?" Kevin asked, raising his head so he could see his beloved's face over the generous contours of her body.
Dahlia gave him a tender smile. "You're doin' right well. Why, one of these days you're going to know exactly what to do without me having to tell you." She opened her lips to allow the escape of a tiny burp. "I'm beginning to feel like I'm in heaven."
"You are? Gee, that's great, honeybun." Gulping nervously at what he felt was an epic challenge to his manhood (and perhaps a civic responsibility as well), Kevin returned to work.
Dahlia entwined her fingers under her neck and gazed at the ceiling. She thought about how she loved Kevin, for his devoted diligence, if nothing else. Some might say he was kind of a slow learner, but she figgered they had all the time in the world-and then some. After all, wasn't nobody ever going to find them. Not Kevin's sharp-tongued mother nor his mean ole pa, not her own granny with the scary quotes from the Old Testament and her glass eye that all the time fell out and rolled under the recliner like a marble, not thundering Brother Verber, not even Arly, who might throw Kevin in jail for what all he did.
"Just a smidgen higher," she murmured contentedly.
11
"I thought you were going to Starley City to get the crystal shipment," Rainbow said, coming into the Emporium office.
Nate was sprawled on the couch, a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes. "I hafta to hang around for a call," he said through a yawn. "I'll get over there Monday."
"A long-distance call?"
"Just a call." Nate yawned again, and settled himself farther down in the cushions. "Don't bother to ask, because I don't want to discuss it. Or share it, as you'd say. It's personal business." And it would get him out of this godawful town and back into the pool halls of Farberville, where he belonged. Hell, he'd have enough bread to hit all the pool halls in the state, if not the whole damn country. Cold beer and hot women. No more of this aren't-we-centered crap. No more screwing a woman who shrieked about cosmic convergence when she came, or half listening to her discussion afterward about the starlit seeds vibrating in her womb, of all goofy things. No more nonsense-if, of course, his partner was right about being able to predict the moment the policewoman abandoned the stakeout long enough for them to chop the dope and get it out of there.
Too bad his partner was opposed to just going up there and doing whatever was necessary to the woman. They were already facing a murder-two rap at worst, a negligent homicide at best. They were waist deep in shit; one more death wouldn't make a whole hell of a lot of difference. He realized Rainbow was staring at him. "What's wrong with you?" he said, scowling at her.
"You're not one of us," she said as she crossed her arms and leaned against the doorway. "Your soul is still tortured from bad experiences in the past, isn't it? You're not capable of seeking a higher spiritual plane; you're not even able to explore the present physical reality. You'll never be able to counterbalance those discreative intentions or cleanse your inner channels."
"Blah, blah, blah. You know what-you make me sick. Every time you start gabbling about spiritual planes and cosmic harmony, I want to puke. Hell, maybe I'm pregnant like our fat little friend out behind the counter."
Rainbow's smile tightened until her lips ached. "Then why are you a member of our family, Nate? Why don't you pack your tattered duffel bag and find some new friends more like yourself?"
"When I get the word from my astrologer, maybe I will. Like when Capricorn rises in Gemini, the moon is in the seventh house, Jupiter aligns with Mars, and all that crap, maybe I will." Laughing, he turned his face to the back of the couch.
Rainbow went to the front of the store and dug through a drawer for her astrological miniguide. She was frowning at the squiggles when Poppy waddled over to her. "Capricorn doesn't rise in Gemini," she murmured, puzzled.
"I never said it did," Poppy said. "So what?"
"I was just checking. When's your appointment with the midwife?"
"I was supposed to go this afternoon, but Nate said not to take the truck. My ankles are so swollen I doubt I can walk all the way out there. I guess I'll try to go tomorrow or the next day." Poppy ran her hand over her bulging belly. "If it's not too late."
"You think…? This would be a very auspicious day for a birth, astrologically. Nate's mutters made no sense, but anyone can see that a child born today will have a very solid basis in Scorpio. Oh, Poppy, let's align our vibrations and see if we can induce labor!"
Poppy wasn't all that eager to induce labor, a.k.a. labor pains, but she managed a smile as she closed her eyes and began to hum through her nose. It would be nice to have a Scorpio baby; Scorpios could be very determined and levelheaded.
Mrs. Jim Bob realized things had gotten real quiet. She took the damp washrag off her forehead and sat up, her nose twitching like a rabbit approaching a trap. When she still didn't hear anything (especially along the lines of shrieked profanities or shattering glass), she went to the door and put her ear against it. Nothing.
But it was the kind of quiet that made you shiver if you were watching an old horror movie, because you knew in your heart that the monster was fixing to spring out of the bushes. It was the kind of quiet that comes between the flash of lightning and the boom of thunder, when you nervously count off the seconds under your breath. It was the kind of quiet that blankets a cemetery on a cold, drizzly day.
Mrs. Jim Bob looked outside at the desultory rain coming down. At last, unable to contain her curiosity, she opened the door and peered down the hallway. She took off her bedroom slippers, then crept to the top of the stairs, prepared to flee back to the sanctuary should she hear the slightest noise. No muffled giggles. No sudden gasps or snorts. Nothing. She made it halfway down the stairs without hearing anything but the thudding of her heart. She made it to the bottom.
"Bubba?" she whispered. "Are you nasty little bastards playing hide-and-seek? You're going to be real sorry if I find you."
She did some seeking, and determined that they were gone. Where, she couldn't begin to imagine, but she didn't waste a lot of time on it, either. Mr. Jim Bob had said, albeit with more snarling than anything else, that he'd better not find those bastards in his house if she knew what was good for her. She didn't believe some of his threats, partly because she was a good Christian woman who would never listen to that kind of language, and partly because he was so angry he was incoherent. It was pretty clear, though, that he didn't want to run a makeshift orphanage.