their heads, and Harlan put his hands on the man's back and said a prayer for him. Jamie watched closely. For all she knew, the man could have been planted in the crowd to make it look as though Harlan was actually capable of healing the sick. For all she knew, there could be dozens planted in the congregation for the same reason.
After much praying, Harlan raised his hands and shouted, "Receive your miracle, brother!" Harlan ordered the man to touch his toes, and the man touched his toes, not once but several times. The crowd became jubilant as Harlan moved on to the next person.
After fifteen minutes of waiting in line, Jamie stepped up to Harlan. She was nervous, her palms damp. She wiped them on her denim skirt. "I am a sinner, Reverend," she said quietly.
"You're in the right place, sister. We welcome sinners here." Harlan perused her from head to toe, and his bright blue eyes flickered with interest. "Are you looking for a miracle tonight?"
She nodded. "I need to be healed of an addiction."
"What's your name, dear lady?"
"Jane." Jamie winced inwardly; it was the first name that came to mind. Probably would have served her better if she'd used a sexier name.
Harlan put one hand on her shoulder and held up the other. "Brothers and sisters, we have a woman here who wants to be cured from an addiction. Now, I don't know if she is addicted to drugs or alcohol or both, but God doesn't care, because he can whip the worst of them. You don't have to go to the Betty Ford Center to get well. God only asks that you kneel before him. 'Ask and ye shall receive,' the Bible tells us."
Harlan returned his gaze to Jamie. "Sister, what addiction would you like for the Lord to take from you tonight?" he asked.
Jamie covered the microphone with one hand. "It's, um, really, really personal."
Harlan didn't bat an eye. "The Lord forgives even the worst of us."
She hung her head. She could smell Harlan's cologne, feel the heat from his body. "I'm a, well, a woman who can't seem to get enough of ..." She didn't finish.
Harlan was obviously hanging on to her every word. "Say it, sister."
"It's an
s
word. I'm too embarrassed to tell you." It had seemed so easy when Jamie had rehearsed it in front of the mirror in the motel room and again in her rearview mirror as she'd applied her new lipstick called Oral Promise.
I'm a sex addict. I'm a sex addict.
But now the words wouldn't come.
And dressed as she was, with her breasts shoved up to her chin, she figured Harlan Rawlins had to be about as dumb as they came not to figure it out.
"Turn around and face your brothers and sisters and tell them, dear woman. The Lord says you must confess your sins in order to be forgiven. Tell us what this
s
word is that fills you with such shame you can't even utter it."
Jamie faced the expectant crowd. All eyes were focused on her. "I, uh, um ..."
"Say it, sister!" a woman yelled.
Jamie's heart pounded in her chest. "I like to, um ..." She paused and took a deep breath. "Shop!" she finally cried.
The people looked about as though confused.
Jamie did a mental head slap. She had blown it. People would see her as a fake; she would never get close to Harlan. She didn't dare look in Max's direction.
The crowd was quiet, the look on Harlan's face confused. Jamie's face burned with embarrassment. "I'm a shopaholic!" she shouted. "I know it doesn't sound so bad, but I can't control my spending. I see a half-price sale and I get all tingly. I'll buy everything on the table whether I need it or not. If I see a sweater on sale, I can't just buy one, I buy ten. My husband cut up all my credit cards, but I went out and got new ones. The bank foreclosed on our house. We can't afford food."
She finally had their attention. Jamie grabbed Harlan's microphone. "I am addicted to blue light specials and red dot sales. I can't resist a bargain."
"We understand, sister," Harlan said, reaching for his microphone.
Jamie held it aside. She was on a roll. "I'm so ..."
After much praying, Harlan raised his hands and shouted, "Receive your miracle, brother!" Harlan ordered the man to touch his toes, and the man touched his toes, not once but several times. The crowd became jubilant as Harlan moved on to the next person.
After fifteen minutes of waiting in line, Jamie stepped up to Harlan. She was nervous, her palms damp. She wiped them on her denim skirt. "I am a sinner, Reverend," she said quietly.
"You're in the right place, sister. We welcome sinners here." Harlan perused her from head to toe, and his bright blue eyes flickered with interest. "Are you looking for a miracle tonight?"
She nodded. "I need to be healed of an addiction."
"What's your name, dear lady?"
"Jane." Jamie winced inwardly; it was the first name that came to mind. Probably would have served her better if she'd used a sexier name.
Harlan put one hand on her shoulder and held up the other. "Brothers and sisters, we have a woman here who wants to be cured from an addiction. Now, I don't know if she is addicted to drugs or alcohol or both, but God doesn't care, because he can whip the worst of them. You don't have to go to the Betty Ford Center to get well. God only asks that you kneel before him. 'Ask and ye shall receive,' the Bible tells us."
Harlan returned his gaze to Jamie. "Sister, what addiction would you like for the Lord to take from you tonight?" he asked.
Jamie covered the microphone with one hand. "It's, um, really, really personal."
Harlan didn't bat an eye. "The Lord forgives even the worst of us."
She hung her head. She could smell Harlan's cologne, feel the heat from his body. "I'm a, well, a woman who can't seem to get enough of ..." She didn't finish.
Harlan was obviously hanging on to her every word. "Say it, sister."
"It's an
s
word. I'm too embarrassed to tell you." It had seemed so easy when Jamie had rehearsed it in front of the mirror in the motel room and again in her rearview mirror as she'd applied her new lipstick called Oral Promise.
I'm a sex addict. I'm a sex addict.
But now the words wouldn't come.
And dressed as she was, with her breasts shoved up to her chin, she figured Harlan Rawlins had to be about as dumb as they came not to figure it out.
"Turn around and face your brothers and sisters and tell them, dear woman. The Lord says you must confess your sins in order to be forgiven. Tell us what this
s
word is that fills you with such shame you can't even utter it."
Jamie faced the expectant crowd. All eyes were focused on her. "I, uh, um ..."
"Say it, sister!" a woman yelled.
Jamie's heart pounded in her chest. "I like to, um ..." She paused and took a deep breath. "Shop!" she finally cried.
The people looked about as though confused.
Jamie did a mental head slap. She had blown it. People would see her as a fake; she would never get close to Harlan. She didn't dare look in Max's direction.
The crowd was quiet, the look on Harlan's face confused. Jamie's face burned with embarrassment. "I'm a shopaholic!" she shouted. "I know it doesn't sound so bad, but I can't control my spending. I see a half-price sale and I get all tingly. I'll buy everything on the table whether I need it or not. If I see a sweater on sale, I can't just buy one, I buy ten. My husband cut up all my credit cards, but I went out and got new ones. The bank foreclosed on our house. We can't afford food."
She finally had their attention. Jamie grabbed Harlan's microphone. "I am addicted to blue light specials and red dot sales. I can't resist a bargain."
"We understand, sister," Harlan said, reaching for his microphone.
Jamie held it aside. She was on a roll. "I'm so ..."
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