“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go get your mother. We have a lot of plans to make.”
He holds out his hand like he expects me to take it.
So I do.
It’s all part of the plan.
Act 3: Aim Where It Hurts
Elijah throws a celebration each year to commemorate the day he opened the church. Apart from Easter and Christmas, it’s the big payday in terms of those love offerings.
Mom has it figured out beat by beat: The service starts at 2:00 p.m., and some of the women go to cook the food in the church kitchen after, and others scatter to wrangle the kids. Elijah’s moving through the sea of people, Mom by his side. She catches my eye and nods.
I move.
Haley is unobtrusive. No one really pays her any mind in the crowd. So no one notices when I slip out of the sanctuary and weave through the maze of halls that I’ve mapped not just in my head, but on actual paper for practice.
I grab the bag I stashed behind a stack of extra chairs, then head to the bathroom.
The bathrooms closest to the office are empty, and it takes ten minutes to clog the toilets enough so the water’s sloshing onto the tile floors. I tiptoe out of the bathroom so my shoes won’t leave wet marks and hum to myself as I stroll back down the hall. All that’s left in my bag is a stack of Bibles. I pull them out and toss the bag in the garbage can as I pass. They get tucked under my arm neatly. Looking over my shoulder, I can see that the carpet in front of the bathroom door is getting darker.
Perfect. Right on time.
By now, Mom has made the excuse to go check on the women in the kitchen, leaving Elijah behind in the sanctuary.
He won’t see her again.
Still clutching the Bibles, I knock lightly on the office door at the end of the hall, then swing it open and peek my head in before there’s an answer.
Adrian, Elijah’s administrative assistant, is sitting at his desk like he always does after a service. The beauty of this con is that Elijah runs a big operation, and does it in a way that’s good for him financially but bad for him if he’s about to get robbed, which he is. He underpays people and doesn’t like shelling out for security. Adrian is a twenty-three-year-old unpaid intern from the Bible college. He shouldn’t be sitting there “guarding” the safe. But Elijah doesn’t trust anyone to handle—or count—the money. It all goes straight down here, completely unaccounted for until the next morning, when he’s got time to deal with it. It’s a terrible way of doing things, but it does make it easier for us. Because after a big day like this, that safe’s going to be full. And the only thing standing in our way is Adrian, who is sweet and the kind of naive that comes from your parents sheltering you from the scary secular world and you never poking a toe out, even once.
“Adrian, I think there’s a big problem in the bathroom,” I say. “I was bringing these Bibles back to storage for my mom and there’s dirty water all over the hall!”
“What?” He leaps to his feet, and I hold the door open for him as he speeds out and down the hall, turning the corner so he’s out of sight. “Oh my gosh!” I hear his voice echo a little down the hall when he sees the disaster I’ve created.
I don’t have a lot of time. My heart’s in my throat as I rush to the window, unlocking it and pushing it open. Mom’s there, climbing inside as soon as there’s space, and I step out of the way as she slides into the room.
“You’re on lookout.”
My entire body feels like it’s vibrating as I go to the door and crack it. I keep one eye on the hall, but every few seconds, I glance back to watch her progress.
“Took me weeks to get him to punch in the combo with me in the room,” she mutters as she goes down on her knees in front of the safe and opens the expensive leather tote that all the richer moms carry. “Maybe I’m losing my touch.” She keys in the number. The safe swings open.
The noise she makes is all pleased triumph. She moves faster than I can believe, and that money is all in the bag lickety-split. She swings the safe shut with a snap.
“Walk me through it,” she orders.
“I’ll offer to go get more help for Adrian. Then I slip out and walk across the greenbelt, where you’ll be waiting in the car.”
She smiles and kisses her pointer and middle finger, pressing it to my cheek. “That’s my girl. Let’s do it.”
I grab the blanket off the couch in the office and go out the door, and she climbs through the window with the leather tote full of love offerings.