The Lost Causes of Bleak Creek(6)

“All right,” Rex said with a firm nod, trying to seem like he’d had some directorly epiphany. “I’ll stay over here, just past the tables, and you guys head all the way back over there toward the parking lot entrance. As soon as Pastor Jingle finishes saying grace, I’ll throw up my hand and you’ll start running.”

“I’ll have Tucker by the collar until I see your signal,” Leif said.

“Right. Then Tucker will run, and Alicia, you’ll be screaming and saying your line.”

“Yep,” Alicia said.

“All right, all right.” C.B. Donner’s voice crackled through the sound system. “It’s the moment we’ve all been waitin’ for. Chef Whitewood, if you please…” C.B. pointed to Whitewood, who, with a flourish, lifted the cover of the grill. “His glorious pig hath been cooked!” C.B. said, to cheers from the crowd. “I’d like to introduce Pastor Jingle and our special guest today, Pastor Mitchell, from First Baptist. They’re gonna say grace…together.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Pastor Mitchell’s presence was notable, seeing as a main tenet of the Second Baptist Church was the silent judgment of congregants of the First (and vice versa), to which Rex and his family belonged. No one could remember why it had once seemed so necessary to start another church, especially one that held to the same precepts as the first, but that did little to temper the hushed rivalry. In fact, Whitewood’s barbecue was likely the only reason that so many Firsters had shown up and donated six dollars to an organization they despised. This surprise tag-team blessing may have been Second Baptist’s way of thanking them for coming. Or, it may have been more about establishing a subtle yet united front against the Presbyterian church that had just been built outside of town. Either way, no one had seen this level of cooperation between Pastor Mitchell and Pastor Jingle since they both insisted that the Bleak Creek High School chorus not perform John Lennon’s “Imagine” at their regional competition.

“We gotta get going or we’ll miss our moment,” Rex said, trying not to be thrown by the dual prayer or by Sheriff Lawson, whom he’d noticed standing by the tables, his hands rubbing his bulbous gut like he was preparing his stomach for the imminent feast. Shooting a movie in public without a permit wasn’t an arrestable offense, was it? Guess he’d find out soon enough. “Head over there, and as soon as I signal, you go.”

Alicia nodded, and as they started to walk away—the pastors walking into position and C.B. Donner telling all the women in the crowd that leopard print seat covers were twenty-five percent off through Labor Day—Leif stopped.

“Wait!” he said. “We need to put the ghost tail on Tucker.”

Rex frantically dug in his backpack, mortified that he’d forgotten something so vital. He passed Leif the white felt tail and a roll of Scotch tape and breathed a sigh of relief as he watched him stick it on, realizing how close they’d come to disaster. It wouldn’t be PolterDog if the dog wasn’t poltered.

After Leif used what looked to be half the roll of tape to firmly secure the tail, he and Alicia jogged with ghost Tucker to their starting spot as Pastor Jingle, a rail-thin man who blinked a lot, began to speak. “Hello and thank you, everyone, for being here today. As you may have heard, Pastor Mitchell of First Baptist has been kind enough to join us to say grace during this pipeless time.” He gestured to Pastor Mitchell, a round, handsome man with a dark beard. (Rex had always thought he looked like a fatter, more conservative George Michael.)

“It is a blessing to be here as we unite for such an important Baptist cause,” Pastor Mitchell said in his deep, familiar voice. The emphasis on Baptist was hard to miss. “Let us pray.”

“We thank you, Heavenly Father,” Pastor Jingle said, “for this delicious barbecue and for providing us with so capable a grillmaster.”

“Yes, Lord,” Pastor Mitchell said, as Rex looked into the camcorder and adjusted the lens, zooming in and out on Alicia to properly frame the shot. “Though First Baptist has many capable grillmasters as well, we are grateful to be here to benefit from the talents of Mr. Whitewood.”

“Indeed, since we all know Mr. Whitewood is the most capable,” Pastor Jingle added. “And, Lord, we also ask that you open the hearts of those present and compel them to give generously, even beyond the minimum six-dollar donation, to help restore the wonderful sound of praise-filled pipes to your house.”

“And, dear Lord, maybe even more importantly,” Pastor Mitchell interjected, “we ask you to open the hearts of those at Second Baptist to installing a state-of-the-art security system like the one we have at First Baptist to prevent Wendell from stealing their precious pipes yet again.” Rex didn’t hear what Pastor Jingle said next, or what Pastor Mitchell said after that, because, as he took in the features of Alicia’s face, he was distracted by a ping in his chest. He found himself fixated on the gentle curve of her lips.

He was snapped out of it, though, when he realized Pastor Jingle had just said Jesus, more than likely as part of the phrase “In Jesus’ name,” which was always the last thing said before “Amen.” Rex went to throw a panicky hand in the air when he realized the pastors were still dueling.

Phew. It must have just been a random Jesus mention.

Rex couldn’t believe how disoriented he’d gotten in such a crucial moment. And because of Alicia? He shook it off, knowing he needed to focus, and gave a confident thumbs-up to Leif and Alicia, like Get ready and also like Everything’s under control, I wasn’t just distracted by the beauty of someone who’s been my best friend for years. Not wanting to accidentally forget later, Rex pressed the red record button, and, knowing the “In Jesus’ name” was coming any second now, held his signal hand at the ready.