Offertory

Ah, that’s it. That’s the feel. Like slipping your fingers up beneath the elastic band

of Rachel Burnham’s dainties.

Not that Preston Howard’s ever done that. Not that he’s ever done more than

think about such a treat. He’s thinking of it now as he stares at Burnham’s sweet

can two pews up. He’s thought about that for long enough (and hard enough) to

more than make up for his total lack of experience.

And now here he is, practically doing it!

Furtive and quiet. Hand in pocket. The congregation on their feet all around,

eyes toward the altar where Father Ted reads the Gospel. He’ll finish soon though,

and it’ll be time to be seated for the Homily. Two pews up, Burnham will be

seated, her best feature out of sight. And no chance of opening the envelope while

seated for the Homily. No way to dig around the restricted confines of his pocket

while seated.

It takes a fine balance of speed and subtlety. The glue must come away

slowly or the girls in the rectory will see the thing’s been tampered with. He can’t

move his hand much without arousing the suspicion of his mother and other

parishioners nearby. Already he feels watched, just for keeping his hand in his

pocket. He’s standing right next to the dark little box where Father Ted made him

confess, for crying out loud!

But ah, that’s it. Slowly, slowly the cheap glue on the church envelope peels

away and Preston’s got two fingers in. A third. And with just a few slick

manipulations of his digits he’s achieved something great. Five extra bucks in his

pocket. A nice little supplement to his shabby under-counter pay envelope from the

East/All My Brother’s Keepers/2

country club where all those snobs from Sacred Heart and the other St. B’s, the

Episcopalian one at the other end of town, play golf and tennis or take a dip while

he scrubs away at their wedges.

The congregation is seated for the Homily. Preston doesn’t hear a word of

the Homily. Doesn’t need to. He’s got enough in his pocket to have J.D. Webb

meet him at 7/11 with a bag of weed. That’ll take the sting and shame out of being

who he is. Certainly more effective than putting his knees on the kneeler and

praying to the Lord about his prospects for the Afterlife while staring at Rachel

Burnham’s can as she kneels before him, two pews up.