Free The Happy Hour Choir by Sally Kilpatrick

was drawn to him even though a good four inches separated us.
    â€œBeulah? Ready to go?”
    Dammit, Ginger.
    Luke took one step back and then two.
    â€œYeah, I’m ready.” It was so stupid to be leaning toward Luke Daniels. Especially in the middle of a church with an audience.
    Ginger tugged on my arm and pulled me back in the direction of the choir loft and out of the earshot of exiting church members. “Now why’d you have to do that?”
    â€œI wanted to know why no one was in the choir.”
    â€œNo, you didn’t.” Ginger shook her head. “I should have thought about how petty people could be. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe I should have left well enough alone and found someone else to play the piano.”
    â€œOh, now you decide that,” I muttered. It was irrational to feel she was disappointed in me when she was so clearly disappointed in her fellow church members, but I felt tiny. “No, Ginger. I promised you I would play for you, and I’m going to do it. If Miss Lottie and her friends want to pretend we’re in junior high, that’s their problem.”
    Ginger squeezed my hand. “That’s my Beulah. Let’s go get some lunch.”
    The sanctuary was empty except for the two of us and Luke. He looked out at the parking lot, his face sad and pinched. Ginger dropped her purse, and his head snapped toward the two of us and he summoned a smile. “Just had to get me alone, didn’t you?”
    â€œOh, you know us, we’re a couple of wanton hussies,” Ginger said as I stooped to get her purse. “I was hoping you might squire us to lunch again—with me paying this time. It’s the least I can do now that Lottie’s going to sic Dartmouth on you.”
    My eyes cut to Ginger. “Who’s Dartmouth?”

    I had to wait until after we’d ordered at Las Palmas before I could get the answer to my question.
    â€œThomas Dartmouth is the district superintendent. He was planning to come sometime in the next three weeks, depending on his schedule.” Luke dipped his chip into salsa and took a huge bite.
    â€œAnd?” I couldn’t help but notice Luke was being very sure not to brush knees with me.
    â€œAnd I need to show County Line in the best light possible,” Luke said. “Remember what I said about increasing attendance to keep both churches going? As long as County Line has at least fifty members and shows signs of growing, I don’t think there’s a problem. But I have a bit of a complication.”
    â€œA complication?” I thought everything had gone well. Except for the part where I’d cussed Miss Lottie.
    He looked away. “Miss Lottie has complained to the superintendent that she doesn’t feel comfortable singing in the choir as long as you are playing piano. Now I have no one in the choir and the church’s overall attendance is down.”
    â€œWhat?” I looked at his eyes for some sort of confirmation or denial that he saw me as a problem. I found neither. “Well, I guess that settles it. I quit.”
    About thirty seconds into staring at the little cast-iron bowl of salsa, I realized I wanted him to tell me no. I wanted Ginger to say no. I wanted both of them to tell me how much they needed me and that everyone else needed to get over themselves. Instead, Luke was looking at Ginger with an “I told you so” glance. She, then, looked at me.
    â€œBut if you quit now, then they win,” she said.
    â€œLet them win,” I spat, but my words tasted bitter.
    â€œOh, no. You’re not quitting now,” Luke said. “I’ve already sent an e-mail to Dartmouth outlining my reasons for hiring you and telling him how well you play. I’m not getting moved to another church because of petty infighting. We go on, business as usual.”
    â€œExcuse me? What if I don’t want to go on, ‘business as