“Woe to him who is alone when he falls and doesn’t have another to lift him up. Ecclesiastes 4:10,’’ he recited.

He turned to me. “You’re certainly a good daughter, a companion for your mother.’’

Placing one of his boy-sized hands on my shoulder, he gazed at me. His green eyes were piercing, especially against those white teeth. His hand lay there so long, I started feeling uncomfortable. His clammy fingers wriggled. I shifted my shoulder, trying to get out from under what felt like a flopping catfish. Then, just before he removed his hand, he kneaded the bare skin on my upper arm like it was dough and he was a baker.

Could I have imagined it? I searched his eyes, and saw the slightest flicker. “C’mon, baby. I’m ready if you are,’’ it said.

Ewww.

Grabbing Mama’s elbow, I moved her as a barrier between Pastor Bob and me. I backed out the door of his office and into the church.

“PleaseCallMamaIfYouHearAnythingAboutEmmaJean,’’ I said, the words squirming out like tadpoles in a creek. “We’veGottaGo.INeedToGetToWork.’’

I rushed Mama past plastic lilies and pulpit, across dark blue carpet and out the door.

“My stars and garters …” she protested as I pushed her onto the sidewalk. “What in the world?’’

“Don’t ask questions, Mama. Just get in the car.’’

Pastor Bob stood in the church’s front window. He pulled open the blinds, watching us go. He looked just like Ollie the alligator— right before I toss a raw chicken into his waiting jaws.

Mama’s head swiveled like a one-eyed dog in a butcher shop.

I was telling her all about Pastor Bob’s stroking and come-hither stare. She’d look at me for a second, then snap her head toward Abundant Hope, disappearing in the distance behind us. Me, the church. The church, me. I think she expected the minister to jump in his car and chase me down for some nookie-nookie.

“Well, I never!’’ Mama’s lips formed a disapproving line. “That is just about the awfulest thing I ever heard, Mace. I knew there was something off about that man. He’s a predator in pastor’s clothing, plain and simple.’’

“Oh, c’mon, Mama.’’ I laughed a little at how naïve she seemed. “It’s not the end of the world. He thought he saw the chance for a little somethin’ on the side, and he decided to go for it. He’s not the first man to do it. He won’t be the last.’’

Once I’d put a few blocks between me and the lecherous Pastor Bob, I eased off the gas. Unclenching the grip she’d had on the window crank, Mama snapped her seat belt shut.

“He’s not just a man, Mace.’’ Her face was as serious as a sermon. “He’s a man of God. There’s supposed to be a difference.’’

“Tell that to Jim Bakker and Jimmy Swaggart. I seem to remember they were famous ministers, and they had a little trouble with the ladies, too.’’

She ran a hand through her hair. I imagined stray strands scattering in the wind. “That’s not fair, Mace. Those scandals happened a long time ago. And the majority of religious men are good, righteous leaders. They’re not out to jump the bones of anything that moves.’’

“Thanks for the compliment, Mama. Maybe my knockout looks and sex appeal tempted that poor pastor, just this once. Did you ever think about that?’’

She took a long look at me: sleeveless collared shirt in park-department green; shapeless matching trousers in olive drab. I wore heavy-soled black boots, laced up past my ankles. No lipstick or blush. No perfume, either. The park’s animals don’t like it, and it draws mosquitoes.

“Honey, I love you to death.’’ Mama put her palm on my cheek. “You can be an awful pretty girl, when you try. But let’s face facts. You’re no Marty.’’

Mama had a point. My little sister draws men like flies. Usually, I just draw the flies.

Mama put her hand over mine on the stick shift and patted. “I feel guilty, Mace. If I hadn’t dragged you to church, you wouldn’t have had to put up with that awful man attacking you. Just disgusting, that’s what he is. And how about those DVDs? It’s not right for a pastor to be so intent on selling himself.’’

I turned on the radio. Another weather report. Still hot.

“Maybe he wants to be a celebrity, like everybody else in America,’’ I said. “And he didn’t really attack me, Mama. Honest. It was no big deal. We’ll tell my sisters, and it’ll give us something to laugh about. Lord knows we haven’t had too many laughs these last few days.’’

“I like that idea, Mace.’’ Another pat to my hand. “Now, I’ve already put you out more than enough this morning. Why don’t you let me out of the car, up there at the corner? Right there by the pawn shop and your cousin Henry’s law office. I can walk the rest of the way to the beauty shop.’’

I glanced down at her sandals with their three-inch heels. My feet felt sore just looking at them.

“That’s four blocks, at least. You are not walking to work in those shoes, Mama.’’

“It’s okay. I don’t want to put you out.’’

I rolled my eyes at her. “Mama, asking me to drive a hundred and seventy-four miles, round-trip, to the airport in West Palm Beach to pick up a relative I barely know is ‘putting me out.’ Dropping you off at Hair Today on my way to work is not. Still, I don’t know why you insist on wearing heels. It’s not like people don’t already know you’re short.’’

“Easy for you to say, Miss Five-Foot-Ten.’’ She put her foot up on the dashboard to admire her lemon-hued shoe. “These are ridiculously uncomfortable. But haven’t you ever had a shoe that you loved just for the way it looks, Mace?’’

I ran mentally through my footwear inventory: leather ropers for riding, waterproof boots for work, sneakers or loafers for any other occasion.

“Nope. Can’t say that I have.’’ We passed Pete’s Pawn, with its roadkill armadillo sign. “Now, are we agreed that it’s not too much trouble for me to drive you what’s now three remaining blocks to work?’’

She straightened herself in the seat; her hair barely grazed the headrest. “I’m just trying to be considerate, Mace. You don’t need to get snippy.’’

“I could use some of that consideration the next time Cousin Whatever-her-name-is flies in to visit, and you volunteer me to pick her up at the airport.’’

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared out the windshield.

All of a sudden she reached out, turned down the radio, and yelled, “Stop! Stop right there, Mace. Stop the car!’’

“Mama, I can’t stop. I’m doing forty miles an hour. I’ve got cars in front of me and cars in back of me.’’