I Can't Pay the Lord!

Excerpt from Small Pleasures: Mya's Story

"There is so much that the Lord has done for me."

They wait. If they bombard the kitchen, she will stop singing to tend to their needs.

Her voice is the alarm clock, bringing tears to tears that have already cried. Mandy hums along while Mya sobs quietly. Rachel is smiling, listening and inhaling. And Chestnut daydreams about the golden haired, blued-eyed boy who had carried her books on Friday.

"I could have been dead," the Voice continues. "Buried in my grave. But Oh, He spoke one word. And he made old Death behave."

Donovan stretches and yawns. He rubs the empty belly fussing for food. He takes to the bathroom first, washing face and hands. He stares at his reflection and wishes that time would go back and give him another chance to start over. He would like to right the wrongs that drove his taste to rum. He does this every morning that he is sober. He's in the kitchen before the girls.

"And though I can't, I can't pay the Lord. But I'd like to tell him, I thank you Sir."

The coffee is done. The eggs are as yellow and fluffy as a baby chick. There will be a pat of butter on the pancakes. The bacon is stacked like a tiny mountain on a white platter trimmed in delicate pink roses. He embraces her from behind and kisses the neck she offers without hesitation. The singing stops.

Interruption. Can you feel it?

God turns His head. His lover is gone. She has left her praises of Him to accept the kiss of a mortal. The Angels push back clouds to witness this infertility.

The girls rise."