We still had to undergo the normal security procedures, but at least we knew what to expect. And not only was Chaplain Thomas waiting for us, but he also acted maybe one-tenth pleasant. “Who says God doesn’t perform miracles anymore?” Aleesha said while “Chappy”—I’d started referring to him that way when he was out of earshot—passed out hymnbooks for us. Our laughter got so out-of-hand he stopped what he was doing and looked at us. I felt horrible when he saw us staring at him. But Aleesha won the prize for pulling that fat out of the fire. As rotund as Chappy was, that metaphor fit, uh, quite snugly. She waved at him as if we’d been trying to get his attention. I’m still not sure how she pulled it off—I was preoccupied with watching him watching us—but somehow she got him laughing, too. Who but Aleesha could wordlessly “tell” a nonexistent joke across a good-sized room? “Greetings, you all,” Rock said in a mock Southern accent that sounded as fakey as the ones I would never get used to hearing at the movies.
