I started to put on the shirt and hesitated because the fabric felt scratchy against my sunburned skin.

"Danny," she said, "if you're feeling shy, I can turn around while you get dressed."

"Okay. Thanks."

I struggled to pull the flannel over my flesh, but the shirt was too small. I couldn't even button a single button. So I said, "This isn't going to work," and gave the shirt back.

Melissa laughed. "Sorry, Danny. Ethan was one of the little people. Anyway, you wanna stay for lunch? I could butcher a chicken. Are you hungry? Would you like to have some lunch? Forgive me for blurting this out, but are you seeing anybody?"

"I am hungry, Melissa. And I would like to stay. But, truth be told, I saw somebody in my bedroom this morning."

Melissa raised an eyebrow. "This morning? You don't seem like that kind of a
guy."

I thought: what kind of a guy am I? Why am I flirting with this woman who isn't the woman of my dreams?

"You're Danny Gospel," Melissa said. "Now I remember. I saw your family perform in Riverside Park. I was very moved by the music. Are you sure you can't stay for a while?"

I shook my head. "No. I can't stay."

Melissa shrugged. "Well, come visit again sometime. I'll butcher for you."

"Okay, that would be sweet," I said, and then hurried away from her farm.

The cool air, burning sun, and a swarm of mosquitoes fought over my skin while I jogged over the gravel. My bare feet were bleeding when I arrived at the cornfield where the pickup got stuck. Grease was standing there waiting, having already hoisted the Chevy. Good old Grease, with his big flat nose, pink ears, and great girth of gut. He was always dressed in dirty clothes, and he wore a dirty cap over his greasy comb-over. He was perhaps the dirtiest man on earth, but he'd been my good friend since childhood.

"This morning," he said, belching, "I was hung over from too many beers and three cans of beans. But at least I had the sense to put on a shirt and go to work."

I shrugged my red shoulders. "It's a long story."

Grease raised his unibrow. "Is there a woman in the story?"

"Yeah, buddy. I'm getting married."

Grease lowered his unibrow. "What?"

"I'm getting married. On Christmas Eve."

Grease snorted. "That's a fantasy."

"No, it's holy matrimony, and she already has a dress picked out."

Grease slapped his greasy thigh. "What did you do, order a woman from the Internet? I'm tempted to order one myself. I've been saving up."

"Hmm. Are you sure that's a good plan?"

"I'd love to buy a hot Italian, but I'd settle for a chilly Russian at half price."

"Grease, maybe you should pray about this."

"You know, Danny, a two-for-one Mormon special would be nice."

"Shut up, Grease."

We climbed into his truck, and he hauled my wreck away, down the gravel road. "Strangest thing," Grease said, rubbing a dirty hand across his stubble. "This is the second accident today. First one was a hog truck. Something weird is going on in the world."

A few minutes later, when we drove past Saint Isidore's Church, I could have sworn there were swine eyes peeking sheepishly through a stained-glass window.

Excerpted from: Danny Gospel by David Athey.  Copyright © 2008; ISBN 9780764204449;  Published by Bethany House Publishers.  Used by permission.  Unauthorized duplication prohibited.