Heaven Is A Deal by Michael Gerber

Well, not an Arby’s sandwich—all the décor inside said “Ar_y’s.” We used to tease the owner, saying that it sounded Jewish. We’d shout at him, “Go eat some matzo!” It was all a joke—we didn’t even know what matzo was, except that kind old Pastor Johnson always called it “Satan’s saltines.”

Anyway, I don’t think the restaurant really had a name, once Arby’s forced them to take down the sign. You just had to know it was there, and if you didn’t, well, you were out of luck. Small towns are like that, and that’s why people like me love them. I’d been coming to this place for fifteen years, since freshman year of high school, when I joined the baseball team. Then, when I was a senior, it got kicked out of the chain for salmonella or something, I don’t know. All I know is that it’s twenty-five cents cheaper per potato cake, fifty cents less for the sandwich, and that matters to us. My wife’s a preschool teacher, and there’s never much money to be had doing God’s work either, so every penny counts. I’m not saying that excuses everything you’re about to read, I’m just…well, I’m just saying it. I’m proud to be in jail. In wicked times, that’s the only place for a righteous man to be.

We were on our way to see my wife’s relations in Nine Forks, Nebraska. That’s about six hours, as the crow flies, from Buffalo Nut. Their two-year-old Brendon had gotten possessed by a demon, and everybody was using the exorcism as an excuse for a good old-fashioned family get-together. You know what they say: when life gives you lemons…Anyway, we’d gotten a late start, but that meant at least the roads would be clear. A quick dinner, and we’d be on our way.

“You know, this isn’t really meat,” my daughter Hayden said, eying her Ar_y’s sandwich like it was going to bite her back. She’s eleven, and a pistol.

“Sure looks like meat to me,” I said, taking another bite. “Mm-MM. Tastes like meat, too.”

“It’s not. It’s just a goo that comes in big bags. Then they bake it.”

“Oh, bullpucky,” my wife said. Griselda’s the tough guy in our marriage. “Eat your sandwich.”

“I told you we should go to McDonald’s.”

“And I told you that McDonald’s is too expensive,” I replied. “Plus it’s way in the other direction.”