Chapter 4

Wednesday, March 24, 12:30 p.m. Passion Ministry

Clutching an orange smoothie, Maggie watched her fiancé play the piano, unable to believe that he would soon be her husband. Perpetually struggling with her self image, she worried some younger, more attractive siren would entice him away.

Without him, she had nothing. Was nothing. Her only child gone, Maggie lived for John and his son.

Though she knew it was weak and selfish, her prayers to keep him by her side were more ardent than those for the poor and starving. If they could just get through Easter, she would be Mrs. John Jacobs, ready to take on all female comers.

And there were many because he was beautiful.

Maggie had known that from the moment she met him, seven years earlier. Though few women could resist his muscled body and handsome face, they were more apt to say cute or attractive. But beautiful? It was a word she reserved for the exceptional. God was beautiful. That’s how she knew that John and the Passion Ministry were so very special.

One of the Ministry’s main platforms was the sanctity of life. All life. Her lover’s last hit, Our Children, had made that very clear. The simple lullaby had sparked an international sensation. Money and followers poured in. The donations were all spent now, sucked away by various charitable deeds. Street kids had been housed and single mums, the poor and the sick had received aid.

Maggie contemplated John’s awesome responsibilities. Still more people in the world needed his help. His Ministry. His passion. And only her Apostle could deliver. His Palm Sunday concert was in five days, and the marks of Christ had arrived, thank God.

“John.” She moved to kiss his head, momentarily appeased by his familiar scent. “Darling, we’ve got to talk.”

John stirred. “I’m beat.”

“Come, darling,” she suggested, putting down the drink. “It’s lovely outside.” Careful not to touch his wrists, she led him onto their private deck. Then brought him the smoothie.

“Drink.” She took a seat, knowing that while the marks were visible, no solid food would pass his lips. Just the thought would make him queasy.

He sipped tentatively.