“I don’t think so, baby. What is it?”

“I’m meeting a girl tonight and I forgot to get her one.”

“Here,” she said and, began to pull the pin out of hers, “take this one, baby.”

“No, I couldn’t,” I said.

“Don’t argue with Miss Tanya. Now go on—take it, boy. Go on now. Take it to her.”

“Thank you,” I said, and gave her a hug. “I’ll see you in a little while,” I said to Merrill.

“If things don’t go well, you’ll see me in a little while. If things go well . . .”

“I’ll see you Monday.”

As I walked over to the visitors’ side of the field, I thought about how generous Miss Tanya had been. Every time I wondered why I was living in a place like Pottersville, something like this happened to remind me.

Laura was straightening the corsage on her sister when I reached her. She wore a peach sundress with shoulder straps and light brown sandals. Her summer tanned skin contrasted nicely with the dress and the sandals. Her toenails were painted to match her dress. Her light brown hair, roughly the color of her sandals, was held in a ponytail by a peach bow.

“Prettiest woman here needs a corsage,” I whispered when I came up behind her.

She spun around, her brilliant, deep brown eyes twinkling flirtatiously.

“Here?” she said. “Just here? Not the county? Or the country?”

As I pinned Miss Tanya’s flower on her dress, she said, “Watch your hands there, Priest. Wouldn’t want to be an occasion of sin for you.”

“More like an occasion of grace,” I said.

“How long is this going to take?” she asked. “This your first time? Pinning a corsage on a woman.”

“Of course not, but it has been a while.”

“I’m sorry I’m giving you such a hard time,” she said.

“No you’re not.”

“Are you finished playing with my breasts yet, Preacher?” she said, her voice louder than it had been.

Before I could respond, Laura’s sister walked back from where she had been giggling with some of her friends.

“This is Father John,” Laura said. “The priest I was telling you about.”

“I’m Kim.”

“Hey, Kim. I’m John Jordan. And I’m not a priest.”

“I know. She likes you. That’s just her obnoxious way of showing it.”

“Hey, JJ,” Ernie yelled from where he stood with the rest of the kids waiting to enter the field.

“Well, I’ve got to go,” Kim said. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” I said. “You look great.”

Later that night we danced to Boz Scaggs’s “Look What You’ve Done to Me.”

It reminded me of high school—distant dances and young love.

“I think your dress is overpowering me.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” she whispered.

“Because I’d swear you smell like peaches.”

She smiled.